The more I see of Switzerland, the more I like it. I made it to Zurich sans escort (applause please), a place I’ve always wanted to see and a place my husband has yet to see, which means I now have the upper hand in the relationship. I love it when my life makes sense.
I arrived on a snowy Friday evening and as soon as I stepped off the train into the beautiful station, I could smell something in the air. Ah yes, ’twas the scent of money. Zurich is one of the most expensive cities in the world and believe me, it shows. It’s not flashy or ostentatious, it’s just somehow always there, in the pristinely clean streets, the state of the art buses, the luxury shops, the finely presented locals (note to my sister: you’re right, they are the best dressed men on the planet) and stately bank buildings.
But you know me, I’m more impressed by Swiss Alps than mountains of cash. There are no snow-capped peaks in this part of the country, but the river is fabulous…
And, thanks to my gracious host, husband-induced starvation was held off. We started at Zeughauskeller which began its life as an armoury in 1469, then functioned as a grain storage loft, later as a warehouse and office building and now, naturally, serves up beer and sausage and wienerschnitzel that I can only describe as divine.
Why beer is served in giant, flaming glasses is anyone’s guess, but then again, why not? This place is designed for big fun and angioplasty. The communal tables put strangers together for an evening of cultural exchange and belt loosening. We sat next to a Russian delegation of young men who took full advantage of the fact that sausage is sold by the metre.
Oh, if ever there was a phrase to make me sigh with wistful longing for my husband. I’ve finally found the one line to whisper in his ear, guaranteed to turn him inside out: “sausage by the metre.” He would have eaten that place right into bankruptcy.
But the weekend wasn’t entirely carnivorous. We had lunch at Europe’s oldest vegetarian restaurant, Hiltl…
Zurich hipsters have been hanging here since 1898 and personally I’m sold on chowing down a fine curry under crystal chandeliers and disco balls.
Food and company aside, one of the best things about my weekend in Zurich was finding that everyone everywhere spoke English, as in better than I speak English. If it weren’t for the six-figure salary and new wardrobe required, I’d plant my funemployed arse in the red velvet booth at Hiltl and never leave just to avoid words like heureux and écureuil.
But it wasn’t all about taking in Z-town. I spent the weekend brainstorming with an inspiring kindred spirit, the great Rebecca Self—coach extraordinaire, globetrotter, and all around smartypants. We chatted and plotted over wine and homemade soup and Swiss chocolate about what we could accomplish if we put our minds together. While these are early days, I think we might be on to something. We shall see.
What a weekend—a new city to love, a new girlfriend to love, and new ideas and possibilities to love. Husband? What husband? That’s called selling BS by the metre.