Switzerland: Interlaken and Zurich

I spent my first weekend as a resident of Florence in Switzerland. I climbed onto the bus with the Bus2Alps crew, nestling myself in amongst the drunken students who felt it was necessary/beneficial to "pre game" for the 8 hour bus ride that was ahead of us. I sat quietly, wringing my hands, trying not to become angry.

I had discussed the concept of anger a few days prior to my departure, with the Lorenzo de'Medici counselor, Mac. I scheduled an appointment, walked in, sat in the chair adjacent to him, and looked down at my hands in my lap. I then looked up, with tears in my eyes, and said, "I'm angry."

I wouldn't say that anger is something I've every really struggled with before. Sure, there have been times I've been cranky or irritable. But rarely is it long-lasting, and it can usually be attributed to a bad-hair day, an anxiety attack, etc. But here I was, blessed beyond belief to be living in the most beautiful country on earth, and I was angry.

I was angry at all the students who are just here to get drunk and eat gluten. That's all they seem to be here for. Not for personal development, religious enrichment, cultural exposure. They want cheap booze and Italian pizza. And they shovel these things into their loud, obnoxious, American mouths, without regard to whether it is detrimental to their health. They stumble down the streets in fits of intoxication, shouting obscenities to locals, offending those who have invited us into their country, without regard to how they are representing their country.

And it pisses me off.

Which is how I found myself at the rest stop in the middle of our trek to Switzerland, clenching my jaw as students behind me in line scoffed at the fact that, while they were purchasing Swiss chocolate, beer, and vodka, I had the only brand of gluten free chocolate in the entire store and a 3-pound bag of Arborio rice.

It was on sale. And I needed rice. And it was on sale.

We arrived in Switzerland at 4 in the morning, and stumbled into Balmer's Hostel. Everyone on the bus was excited to be staying in Balmer's due to its "prime location" (on top of a club). I was just excited to have found somewhere cheap to stay.

My roommate from Italy and I were the only two in our hostel room, which was a blessing. However, the curse was that the walls were paper-thin (actually, I think paper could have blocked out sound better than those walls).

We awoke 4 hours later, got dressed in our layers, and went to check out the "included breakfast" highlighted by our tour group.
It was bread. And butter.
So, I ate half a chocolate bar, and we headed out to the activity I was looking forward to most: paragliding.

As we stepped out of the front door of our hostel, I was shocked by what I saw. Having arrived late the previous night, I had not yet seen the breathtaking surroundings. Interlaken was nestled in a valley of sorts, walled in by towering, pine tree-covered mountains.

I had been to Lake Tahoe, the mountains of California, and Yosemite National Park. But I had never seen anything like this. The snow-capped mountains were impossible to take in, and are even more impossible to describe.

We met the bus that would take us to the launch site for paragliding, and put on neon-colored snowsuits for warmth and protection. We piled into the van, signed a waiver (I cringed a bit as I scrawled out my name), and headed up to the mountaintop. During the ride, we interacted with the pilots who would be guiding our tour; mine's name was Kurt.

After a 15-minute drive to a nauseatingly high altitude, we exited the van and hiked an additional 10 minutes upward. From the top of the mountain, one could see clear blue skies poking through the clouds and fog. At the launch site, parachutes blanketed the snow-covered ground. Anxious students were being hitched to the front and running off the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the fog. It was quite an eerie sight.

I didn't even have time to be nervous, as I was so taken aback by the view. My hands, although gloved, already felt numb, and Kurt situated me in a warm hat, sunglasses, and a helmet to ensure the wind wouldn't hurt my face too much during our descent (I don't know how much this really helped).

Before I knew it, I was strapped in, with Kurt right behind me. He leaned forward and yelled in my ear, "Now all you have to do is run straight forward and off the edge."

Yeah, just run off the edge of this cliff. That's all you have to do.

It actually was quite simple. There was no fear; no adrenaline rush. I just ran until my feet were no longer touching the ground. And then it was like Soarin' Over California. Except if I fell out I would die. But I didn't think on that too much.

It was absolutely incredible to see the snow-capped trees passing below me. Trees, hills, and rocks, all around me. I was just flying slowly through the air, and I can see why the word "gliding" is in the title. It truly was the most relaxing thing. All the while, I could not possibly look around enough. Kurt kept trying to take pictures with his selfie stick (they sell the pictures to you for 40 franc afterwards, and I was not about to pay that--although they did look pretty phenomenal). He kept saying, "Say cheese!"

I don't want to say cheese. I want to look at the world flying beneath my feet. I looked for signs of wildlife, but only saw a few birds. However, even seeing those tiny creatures around me truly put some perspective on how large these trees below me were.

I got to sit back in my halter and relax during the flight. I didn't have to hold myself up or worry about anything. Kurt steered and kept us safe (at least to my knowledge).

During our final descent, we had the opportunity to request some more adventurous twists and turns. Of course, I did, and we began winding through the air at a rapid face, weaving furiously as the air slapped my face. As we approached the earth, I realized that they had not yet briefed us on the logistics of landing. Kurt just yelled in my ear, "Now just stand and run when we land."

Land on my feet? Jokes.

Oddly enough, I did it without falling. Which I consider a huge accomplishment.

After the paragliding, I didn't really know what we were to do. Other students went off to ski, which cost an additional pretty penny. I was all about conserving my money, but suddenly found myself with two more days in Interlaken with nothing to do.

We went back to the hostel, rested up a bit and looked at our "before" and "after" pictures, and I did some more research on gluten free food options in Switzerland. Not a lot of options.

We finally decided to head to the downtown area, look through some shops, and inquire about the ingredients used in a chocolate-making workshop that was being offered.

We went back outside, and crossed the street to head back to town. I liked crossing the street in Switzerland much better than crossing the street in Italy. In Switzerland, if you are exiting the corner grocery store and a car is approximately 3 blocks away, they will assume you are planning on crossing eventually, will stop approximately 700 feet back, and wait patiently for you to make sure you didn't leave any bags in the grocery store, close the door of the store, approach the curb, and cross. And, while you cross, they will smile and wave at you. (In Italy, if a car is turning right and you are crossing the street to their left, they will purposely not turn right and turn left just so they can hit you. 100 points for an American).

As we left, I couldn't help but take pictures of every building, be it store, home, or hotel, we saw. They all looked so...Swiss. It truly looked like something straight out of Disneyland. Or, rather, Disneyland looked just like Switzerland. I suppose that's the correct way of wording it.

We accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up walking for approximately half an hour away from the city center. We walked and talked about our lives, and it was a truly bonding moment for us. We found ourselves in the snow-blanketed farmlands, with old tumbling wooden barns filled with sturdy Clydesdales.

We finally turned around and backtracked, finally finding our way to the city center. My roommate wanted to use a map, while I wanted to be more adventurous and find our way without it. After all, it was Interlaken. There are only so many wrong turns you can make in Interlaken.

After arriving in the downtown area, we went to a chocolate store to inquire with the chef regarding which ingredients were used in the chocolate making workshop. I asked if the workshop was safe for Celiacs, and she looked confused.

"It all has gluten," she said rudely.

"Oh, okay. Thank you," I said, prepared to leave.

The man she had been talking with, who was sipping a Lindt hot chocolate (glutenous!) at the bar, said, "Why would you think any of it was gluten free? It's all milk based."

I turned back; now I was the one who was confused. "Celiac," I said. "Not lactose intolerance."

"Celiac means you can't have milk," the woman said stubbornly. Apparently she knew more than me. 

"I'm trying to see if there is gluten in the chocolate," I said. "As in wheat protein from barley, malt, etc."

She looked at me as if I was speaking gibberish.

"Can I see the ingredient list for the chocolate?" I asked, sensing her confusion. She refused. At least, she would not tell me what ingredients were in the chocolate until I agreed to sign up for a one hour-session She took out her book and, pen in hand, demanded, "When would you like to sign up?"

I stuttered, explaining I had to check with my roommate, whom I was traveling with, and see when she was available to sign up.

"Then why are you here?" she asked, frustrated.

I started over. "I want to talk with my roommate about possibly signing up, but I need to know what is in the food and if I can even participate," I explained.

"Well, if you don't sign up right now, I'm not going to go back in the kitchen and get the ingredient list. I don't want to waste my time on you," she said.

I tried one more time. "Can I just see the ingredient list, please?" I asked. She looked at me like I was the largest inconvenience in her life, and grabbed a bag of chocolate (apparently the 'chocolate workshop' is just melting the chocolate down and putting it in a tray to form it into cool shapes). 

I instantly saw "barley" printed amongst the ingredients, and said, "Okay, it has gluten, so unfortunately I can't do it. Thank you for letting me check!"  

She didn't say another word as I left. 

My roommate and I then headed to Coop, the large grocery store. I browsed all the chocolate bars, finding 1 gluten free brand in the store (and it wasn't even Swiss). We then went to a charming looking cafe on a street corner, with delicious looking desserts in the window. We walked in, and I asked the lady working if anything was gluten free. She pointed to a strange looking dessert; it had the appearance of a cupcake made with chocolate spaghetti.

"This is gluten free," she said without hesitation. 

I didn't know what it was, and it cost an arm and a leg, but I bought it. I was hungry, and who doesn't like dessert for lunch?

My friend and I sat at a table and dug in to our desserts. Mine was okay; it was rather flavorless. That is, until I got to the pastry in the center at the very bottom...at the end. 

I felt sick to my stomach, poking this biscuit in the middle of my "gluten free" dessert with my fork. I couldn't believe that I had been told this was gluten free, and yet here I was eating something completely immersed in gluten. (I was sick for a good 4 days after this incident). 

We walked through a few more chocolate shops, sampling truffles (sure, it was risky, but the damage was already done at this point. I took a similar approach with the Florence Chocolate Festival a few days later upon my return. That chocolate-dipped strawberry cup topped with whipped cream...). We then went to Coop, the grocery store, and purchased some inexpensive yogurts and salads to eat for the remainder of the weekend, as everyone else was spending $50 and upwards a night on fondue. We also stopped in a bio store, where I found the largest selection of gluten free foods known to man. I purchased bread and granola. It was the most exciting moment, aside from paragliding.

We went back to the room to rest and do homework. I was rapidly writing a research proposal, as I wanted to conduct an independent research study in which I could eat at and review gluten free restaurants in Italy with funding from the school, and produce an analysis of Celiac and eating as a part of Italian society. My roommate had homework as well, so we sat in silence as we typed furiously, listening to the (frankly, downright dumb) conversations the other hostel residents were having as they prepared to go out for the night. 

We then went out after eating our salads, to the outdoor ice skating rink. It was more like a maze, with several rinks connected by small pathways. The ice was by no means smooth, and we each fell. Luckily, I used a small 'skating assistant' (a traffic cone decorated as a panda bear), which enabled me to coast a little faster. There was an adjoining bar and line of bratwurst and cider-selling canvas tents, and we listened as we skated under the disco lights to an Elvis impersonator performing next door. 

After about an hour, we were so cold that we were forced to retire. We had seen earlier that a bar next to the hostel was offering a "Ladies Night," with buy one get one free drinks. We stopped there, to discover that the two drinks offered were 1) a glass of wine or 2) a fruity beer. I wanted wine; my friend wanted beer. As we went to order, the waitress informed us that we had to get the same thing for the deal. The beer had gluten, so our only options were to either both get wine or get our respective drinks without the deal. My roommate consented to the wine, although she grumbled about it to a degree I was unhappy with. My stomach was churning from the pastry earlier that day, but a part of me was also hungry. So, I looked through the menu, to find that they had gluten free buffalo wings--a rare find. I ordered some, and (upon reflecting on my earlier mishap), asked the waitress if they were truly gluten free (meaning they were fried in a separate fryer). She went to the back to check, and returned with the answer: no, they shared a fryer with the breaded products. 

Well then they're not gluten free, are they?

So, we returned to our hostel after I finished my wine (my roommate didn't like hers and complained about it, leaving it barely touched). I didn't know what to tell her...I'm sorry you didn't get the beer? You could have gotten it if you wanted to. She was rude to me for the rest of the trip, and barely talked to me. I don't know. After returning to the hostel room, I ate another chocolate bar and the rest of my bag of gummy bears (I lived off of candy this weekend...it was my only option). 

We had not originally signed up for the bus to Zurich the next day, anticipating staying in Interlaken. However, since we had looked at all Interlaken had to offer by that point, we opted to go to Zurich the next day. 

Our bus dropped us off at a Starbucks in the middle of nowhere, and everyone looked at each other with a quizzical expression. We all had the same question on our minds: Now what? 

The group went in one direction, towards what looked like the shopping district. My roommate and I went in the other direction, towards the tall steeples, where we had seen a museum on our way in and heard about a large church (St. Peter's) with Europe's largest clock face. 

For a while, it seemed like we were headed nowhere. Then, we suddenly turned into these cobblestoned, winding streets, as if stepping back in time. The city was still asleep, it seemed, but slowly people started filling the streets. We browsed the shops, taking our time strolling through a two-story cookware store, which I particularly enjoyed. 

We walked into several churches, searching for the one that was St. Peter's. Each church was so different, and so beautiful in its own way. I loved looking at the towering organ pipes plastered against the back walls in the choir lofts. Most people look to the altars. I look to the organ. 

We finally decided to climb the Grossmunster, the double tower that would provide a panoramic view of the city. As we reached the very top, every steeple in all of Zurich struck 12:00. It was a phenomenal experience to be up there and hear the resounding echoes of what seemed like 50 bell towers, signaling the middle of a gorgeous day in Zurich. 

After arriving back on the ground, we walked through a few shops, and stopped so my roommate could eat lunch. I discreetly ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich under the table. We then wandered back towards the center of the town, where we went into the Swiss National Museum. We spent the remainder of our time there, reading about the Protestant Reformation, various wars fought in Switzerland (not many; they truly are neutral!), and wandered through exhibits on Swiss furniture. Finally, there was a special temporary exhibit on paper cutting, an art I had not yet heard of. The work was truly exquisite and breathtaking; I had never seen such detailed cutting work! The framed papers looked like intricate, multidimensional lace designs, and I was awestruck.

We returned to the Starbucks meeting point, and took the bus ride back to Interlaken, where we ate our leftover salad in the hostel room and settled in for another sleepless night (it was some kind of Korean Appreciation/Celebration Week, and a group of Koreans decided that the hallway outside our door was the prime location for a 5 am conference. Also, some guys who wanted to go to the casino were mad at their friend Jessie, who wanted to go to the next-door club. So they decided the most effective way of expressing their displeasure was by yelling at him at the base of the stairs adjacent to our room). 

My friend and I decided that on our last day in Switzerland, in order to escape the cold, we would treat ourselves to a relaxing afternoon in a spa tucked away in the corner of Interlaken. For only 28 francs, you could rent a swimsuit (gross, I know) and have full access to the indoor whirlpool, swimming pool, and sauna.

The jacuzzi took up almost an entire room, and was encased in glass so as to provide a panoramic view of the Swiss mountains. It was breathtaking, and upon walking into the room, I could see myself turning into a prune sitting there all day long just gazing up at the unbelievable surroundings.

After becoming quite prune-y, my friend and I decided to take a bit of time in the sauna. As we approached, we saw a sign on the door in German, with an English translation underneath: "Nakedness Zone."

We looked at each other, not sure what to do.

"Do we really have to be naked?" I asked her.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "I mean, in America, clothes would be mandated, but even in a nude 

sauna they are optional. Otherwise you'll have law suits for perverse behavior and such."

"Yeah," I agreed. "In America you would at least have an option. Anyways, who are we hurting by keeping our swimsuits on?

"Maybe it's a warning," she said. "Like, if you go in there, be prepared to see naked people?"

I thought about it. "Well, there's no one in there, so let's just go in."

We stepped inside, and our lungs were instantly hit with the overwhelming menthol steam. We took our seats along the side wall, and allowed ourselves to sit back and relax.

A few moments later, the door opened. In walked a rather overweight nude German man, who nodded to us and waddled over beside us to plop down in a seat.

And then, another German man.

And then, another.

And then, another.

And then, a German man and his girlfriend.

And then, another German man.

And then, another.

I sat there, surrounded by nakedness.

"Do you ever feel," I whispered to my friend, "that you go to a party and are extremely overdressed?"

She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. We looked at each other, not needing to say how insanely awkward this was. We decided to enjoy ourselves, however, and continued to relax in the awkward silence that surrounded us.

Then, the silence was broken by the sound of the door opening once again. A spa employee poked his head in and, motioning to my friend and I, said, "You two. Out. Now."

We looked at each other, shrugged, and got up. Upon exiting the sauna, the employee closed the door, 

crossed his arms, and turned to look at us disapprovingly.

"Do you see the sign?" he said, pointing to the "Nakedness Zone" sign.

We nodded, looking at him. It was silent. He looked us up and down, waiting for us to say something. To explain ourselves.

Finally, he broke the silence again.

"It means you naked!" he yelled, in broken English. "You no naked, you no in! You no naked!"

"Oh, uh, okay, sorry," I stuttered.

So, we were kicked out of the sauna for breaking a cultural norm. Perhaps we were perceived as disrespectful by not complying with the norms. Nevertheless, as embarrassing and uncomfortable as it was, it is one of those stories that will remain engrained in my memory for quite some time (whether I would like it to or not).

I returned to the jacuzzi, where I sat and watched as a patch of blue sky increased in size, illuminating the peak of one of the largest mountains. The mountain literally shone. I obviously couldn't capture it, as I didn't have a camera at my disposal (that would not bode well in a "Nakedness Zone"). Nevertheless, I will never forget what a difference a burst of sunshine made when it cut through the clouds and hit the crest of the mountain.

Before returning to the hostel to prepare for our departure, I dragged my roommate over to two beautiful looking churches on one side of Interlaken that I had been admiring. They looked stunning from the outside, with brick-covered facades and beautiful, sharp, distinctive steeples. We approached the first, a medieval-looking church, and the large wooden doors swung open automatically. I laughed out loud. It was such a contrast; the old look of the church, with these historic doors, and they swung open as if we were entering a mall. I imagined a robotic voice on an intercom saying in a deep voice, "Welcome to the house of God." We walked in, and I must say, it was the ugliest church interior I have seen in my life thus far. The walls were a plain white, with contemporary-looking artwork and stained glass. It looked like a confused artist's studio rather than a church. The church next-door looked much the same, and I was glad I didn't budge too much time to tour the churches. 

All in all, it was a good trip. I consumed 4 large chocolate bars, 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a bag of gummy worms, 2 small 3-franc salads, and a glutenous pastry. I was in agony on the bus ride home, but whenever I closed my eyes, I could see the image of the trees swooping below me as I was paragliding. And I felt happier. 

The sunset on the drive home was beautiful, and even those who were drunk on the bus (literally everyone on the bus; the guy sitting across from me finished an entire bottle of wine in the first 2 hours) had to stop and admire the brilliantly rich orange and purple hues against the alps. 

As I have taken advantage of an opportunity to be a student journalist for a Florentine database (where I can write articles reviewing theatre shows I get to see for free), I was able to write an article on my travels from this weekend. It can be viewed here:

http://www.flonthego.com/2015/lifestyle/02-10/switzerland/