Zürich Impressions

I had a large part of the day at my disposal. I saw the sights until early evening. I then visited a small company in rural Switzerland to deliver some PCBs for repairs. That was the reason for my visiting Zürich.

During the journey to and back from that village I experienced Swiss precision.

As I sat in the train, I was attracted to the clock on the platform. Its second hand did not move in jerks as I had seen in all other clocks before. This one moved evenly without stops for seconds. As I watched it, it touched 12. It was 1800 hrs and I could feel the pressure in the small of my back as the train moved. Wah, I thought. The ETD was 1800 Hrs.

It was a journey of about 40 minutes and delivering the PCBs took about 40 minutes. The train from the village back to Zürich was at 1952 hrs. It was due to arrive at the station at 1950 Hrs. My host from the company dropped me off at the station at 1940 Hrs or so. I bought the ticket and waited. The clock on the platform in this village was similar to the one in Zürich. Again, as I watched the clock, the train thundered in and the second hand reached 12 the trains came to a halt. It was 1950 Hrs. Wah!, I thought again. The synchronisation with the second hand was repeated at 1952 Hrs when the train started, the same pressure in the small of the back.

I was curious about the time the train reached Zürich and did as expected. Should I say that the clock did as expected? It reached 12 as the train came to a complete halt, at the designated ETA.

I walked in the cool quiet streets of Zürich and reached my hotel. After freshening up a bit I went to the small restaurant attached to the hotel. I went to a small counter where people seemed to be ordering food and drinks and a petite pretty girl came to me across the counter and asked me what I wanted. She looked as if she was a student who was earning some extra money a waitress in the evenings. She had that kind of abandon about her.

I said that I would have a beer as I looked at the menu. “Whatever you say Sir” she said and brought me my beer. I did not understand much of the menu anyway. I chose something that I thought would be good. The girl said “Sit at a table Sir and I will bring your order there.” I was actually surprised by her Sirs. It sounded very formal. At the same time, all through this interaction she had a casual carefree attitude and appeared to be flirting with everyone.

I took my beer to an unoccupied table and sat down. Zürich being full of tourists there were a lot of different kinds of people. I had an interesting time observing them. Soon, the girl brought me my single dish and placed it in front of me with a flourish, wished me a cheery Bon Appetit and went away. As I started eating the food, I realised right away that there was something wrong with it. I mean that there was something in it that did not agree with me.

I am allergic to the cooking medium that goes by the name Dalda in India. It is actually a hydrogenated vegetable oil. What happens is that my tongue becomes itchy and if I look at it in the mirror, I see a lot of small cuts on it. They do not bleed but they appear to be fairly deep cuts. Certain types of bananas also do this to me.

I went to the counter again and explained the matter to the girl. She went pale. She was profusely apologetic. It was almost comical. I said that it was not her fault but I had ordered it and there was hardly anything she could do about it. She was not ready to buy it. She said she would get a purely vegetarian salad for me and brought me a tomato salad. It had pieces and gratings of cheese and various herbs for aroma. It was bland but delicious. She also brought me another beer though I had not ordered it. She repeatedly came to the table from behind the counter to see how I was doing and to make sure, perhaps, that I had not conked out.

I really enjoyed that unusual meal, in spite of the fact that my throat was still itchy, a little.

At the end of the meal, I told her that it was good and asked for the bill.

She crossed her arms and said, “No bill Sir, compliments of the restaurant, Sir”.