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Christmas in Switzerland

Dean Jones

    Was something drawing me back to the country for another family Christmas, and to enjoy the memory of Christmases past? I couldn’t decide whether it was the anticipation of seeing the Alps, enjoy a quality of living I had never experienced, or getting away from the life I was leading in England. Other than the visits to North Wales over the weekends to climb and scramble on the peaks of Snowdonia National Park, I was slowly becoming jaded and tired of work and the effect it was having on me. So a break was just I needed, and where better than the land of efficiency and where a plan is always essential, almost a Swiss tradition?
    When I flew into Switzerland I was treated to a fantastic view of the mountains in the distance prior to landing in Zurich. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the Swiss Alps. It was Mont Blanc in France. The airport has grown in recent years with a new terminal and excellent facilities. This should be no surprise to anyone who has visited the country (only the best in Switzerland). The airport has its own railway station, which is located underground (something you might see in a James Bond film), and is connected to Zurich and the majority of the larger Swiss cities. As soon as you stepped of the plane, efficiency was in the air, even the weather was on time.
    On this occasion, I was driving from Portsmouth to Zurich via the Channel Tunnel to spend Christmas with my family. My grandparents moved to Zurich twenty years ago, and we held a family Christmas there for the past eight years.
    I’m not sure if it’s British stubbornness, but why oh why can’t everyone drive on the same side of the road? Throughout my time spent on the continent, I had to contend with stretching to the left had side of the car whenever I had to pay parking fees and tolls. However, I was lucky on the drive down, because the French toll booths were free. The workers who manned the booths were on strike, and taking an extended Christmas break. They were standing by the booths holding an enormous banner and waving me through. Having seen the GB sticker on my car I was treated to a demonstration of various French hand signals.
    The Channel Tunnel runs from Dover to Calais, from which I traveled to Paris on the ring road. The road didn’t offer many views of Paris, although I did glimpse the Eiffel Tower from a distance. I left Paris, heading east to the French/German border at Strasbourg, and then south to Basel and, finally, heading east to Zurich.
    At the Swiss/German border, despite my car being full up with Christmas gifts in varying boxes and packages, I was not stopped. The mere thought would have sent a shudder down the spine of a Swiss Customs official. Oh no! One got through! However, it appeared that their attention was drawn to a van belonging to a reputable Swiss bank (well, Swiss bank) trying to return valuables to their Jewish owners.
    I had arrived and was looking forward to the world-renowned Swiss hospitality. Even though I had been there before, it took a while to locate my grandparent’s house in Zurich, even though it was close to the Opera House. To say their place was big is a major understatement. At the front door they sold maps, and looked for a generous donation to the ‘Not So Well off Swiss Bankers Association’. What was most annoying was the number of tourists who would ring the door bell asking if we had any spare rooms available, especially at Christmas. However, the family didn’t plan to spend much time there, especially on the weekends, in which we would put on our hiking boots and travel to the mountains to hike, eat rosti and down a beer or two.
    I quickly hauled my suitcase and gifts up to my room on the third floor. The room came with the option of a financial advisor to plan my spending during my visit. My grandparents employed a landlady/concierge who was helpful and would prove to be extremely useful when dealing with the bureaucracy for which Switzerland is world famous. This included a visit to the local police station to determine whether I was financially viable to be able to park in a metered road.
    Every week my grandparents sent the landlady to Germany with a shopping list as the food is cheaper over the border. Strangely enough, my second cousin Hans used to come to Switzerland every week to do his shopping. He would walk into the closest grocery and claim that unless he got some service, he would send in the Panzers. He is current receiving treatment at one of Switzerland’s finest sanatoriums for the delusional and the generally over optimistic.
    When travelling in Zurich on the trams and local trains, you realize that death and taxes are not the only two things that can be guaranteed in life. The other is that Swiss trains would always arrive and depart on time. It was a badge of honor, and I believe the word “late” is one of those words adolescent Swiss boys look up in the dictionary to find out what it means. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that train engineers had thrown themselves off the nearest alp if their trains were 30 seconds late.
    We gave a watch to our cousin Fredrick, who, upon opening the present, rushed out the door and raced to the train station to synchronize his watch to ensure it was set at the right time. He was determined not to be the laughing stock of this school on return from the Christmas holidays by being the only one with an inaccurate timepiece.
    When visiting other countries you come across interesting activities. One celebration that focuses on the common standards of different nations is the Swiss/Japanese train drivers club, which has vowed to ensure that trains run on time. The club is made up of train drivers and conductors. It is the only club I know in which “kamikaze” is in the membership terms. One Christmas, the train delivering club members to Zurich was late by five minutes. Before you could say “bonsai” the train carriage was a blood bath with the club members fulfilling their sacred duties of dying rather than be an accomplice to delayed public transport.
    The first year our family met in Switzerland we brought a tree so big we needed the fire service to put the star on the top of the tree and needed a machete on Christmas morning to get to the presents. It wasn’t until we chopped it down on January 6 that we discovered there were still a number of gifts that weren’t opened. Placing the lights on the tree was a monumental effort, taking a team of experienced Sherpas two days to scale the heights of the lower branches and pave a way to the higher branches of the tree. Then, with some trepidation, family members were sent up one by one. It became one of the most famous ascents in the history of Christmas trees. On the way down, we found a bird nesting for the winter and a couple of squirrels protecting their nuts.
    As well as the overly decorated Christmas tree, one tradition that I brought over from the UK was the grand tradition of leaving two mince pies (fruit, not meat, for those not in the know) and a glass of whisky for Santa. This backfired one Christmas, when we left the bottle. We don’t know who drank the bottle dry, but the individuals looking like death at six in the morning with a headache was a strong candidate. The best way to recover was taking a walk to breathe in the clear Swiss air, and relive last night’s meal.
    While I had studied German, any attempts to use the language were usually met with a response in English. This always astonished me. Not that the Swiss could speak English, but the surprised tone in their voice that I had made it out of Britain and traveled as far as central Europe. This was usually expected of the Germans. I put it down as their surprise I could live without a fish and chip shop for any length of time. The pride one feels in being able to speak a foreign language is limited by the ability of the foreigner to listen to you struggle and destroy their language. The English approach appears to be the classic, speak loud and slowly, and then everyone will understand you.
    The tradition of carol singing was as prevalent today as it has been for many years. However, the response tended to be more negative; including the throwing of water, hurling of abuse, and if they were really bad, money so that they would go away. What a wonderful way to raise money for those in need, including failed Swiss bankers. One year, when the carolers arrived, we positioned them over the cellar door in the garden and when we had too much, we pulled a leaver and they fell like a brick into the cellar. We would threaten to release them on an unsuspecting town. My family was given the key to the city.
    The key to a good Christmas is the food. There are many Swiss traditions and local delicacies to enjoy; and many more if shopping in Germany. It really is cheaper. My grandmother would spend the days leading up to Christmas baking, which included plates full of biscuits. The biscuits would be the shape and pattern of Swiss currency. They are so life-like that they have become legal tender in some of the more remote valleys of Swiss Alps.
    Crisp new layers of snow would welcome hikers, climbers, along with the cold weather denial club. They meet every year to snowboard and ski with nothing but a small slip of material, generally wrapped around their heads. I believe they defined the phase, “freezing your nuts off.” Although a few squirrels may lay claim to that saying.
    The abundance of snow makes the Christmas holidays much more special. You could take a sleigh ride or go snow shoeing or launch yourself down a hill with two pieces of wood strapped to your feet, a common activity. The snow does not bring traffic chaos as you see in other towns in other countries. In fact, every September cars line up to have their tires changed from summer to winter, up to the point that the local law enforcement ensured that tires have been changed or the full force of the law will be on you. However; there is a lot to be said about a stay at a Swiss prison. Run like a well funded hotel, the guests (inmates) are given complementary slippers, robes and three substantial meals a day. Also, long-term inmates are given the opportunity to buy their own cells.
    And finally, as they say on the news, for foreigners in Switzerland, there are a variety of experiences, none more so than during the Christmas holidays. So enjoy your stay there and be amazed to the point of incredulousness.

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