I had to work a little this morning but after lunch, Hostess took me up the Raten Pass. I saw no rats.
We’d hoped there’d be a nice panoramic view from the top of Lake Ägeri and the mountains of central Switzerland, but sadly Hostess’ plans were thwarted by thick cloud which came rolling in as if we’d dragged it up the mountain behind us. Nonetheless, there was briefly a stunning view of the central mountains until the experience was made unexpectedly eerie as the cloud came up from the lake and engulfed us all, making me wonder briefly if Hostess was secretly channeling Jamie Lee Curtis. I was therefore duly touristed, and as such was dropped in Zug where I had a potter round and looked at some shops for a souvenir, although I couldn’t find any Zug-specific fridge magnets, only generic Swiss ones of the gaudy châlet variety, so I didn’t bother.
The 28-minute journey from Zug to Zürich cost an eye-watering 18 CHF in second class, but this was a necessity so as to avoid using up a travel day uneconomically; my train tomorrow morning is an early-for-me one (8:40) and while I could’ve tried to figure out a way to get to it, it seemed a (very expensive) shame to miss out on Zürich and the Christmas markets other than the one in the Hauptbahnhof. As a reward, I had time to look at some lovely Hans Hilfiker as the second and minute hands did their thing settling onto a regional service which also afforded a good look at Lake Zürich (sit on the right going north), something I’d missed on my way in as the light had already faded.
On arrival in Zürich I wandered directly to the Coop to buy some Cenovis, the Swiss equivalent of Marmite which is an alternative to Marmite in a way that is different to, for example, Vegemite, which is to say that Cenovis is actually nice. Not better, necessarily, but importantly not worse. I also looked at the prices of things and started to feel poor, much like my experience in Oslo of trying not to breathe for fear it might cost money. My hostel was only five minutes away from the station and right next to the Peter Church, and although I really wanted to get out and see stuff as soon as possible, I checked in, got a piece of cake from my roommate, and then decided I needed a power-nap.
When I woke up at six o’clock, it was dark, which was the perfect environment for exploring the sparkly-tat. Zürich’s Christmas markets are spread around the city, and while I’m not sure if I saw them all, I certainly managed to look at a few. There was a convenient starter market on the Münsterhof right next to my hostel from which I garnered the confidence to potter along the river to the Opera House and the much bigger concentration of sparkly-tat and Glühwein in what I’m assuming was the main market on the Sechseläutenplatz. But Glühwein was not the only lovely thing to pass my lips this evening for there are many types of lovely warming beverage starting with Glüh and for I am fickle I managed to sample quite a few of them.
First I decided I should seek sustenance and line my stomach, and after much pottering and faffing found a stall selling falafels, my travel go-to which are usually cheap and can be found almost everywhere. I ended up having the sabich experience by mistake which at 15,50€ was cheaper than the falafel I’d wanted, yet I remained disappointed by it and by my mistake as it was utterly exquisite meaning I probably missed out on some absolutely mind-blowing falafel. Zürich mocked my failure and taunted me for the rest of the evening by having me happen upon an array of (marginally) cheaper falafely places dotted around streets between markets, and so after washing away the taste of bitter disappointment with a Glühwein, I washed away the shock of paying 8€ for a Glühwein by paying another 8€ for a mug of Glührum, a new discovery for me which at the time helped me forget the expense while I considered that this might be better than Glühgin.
One thing that struck me about my Zürich exploration is that I have either developed the skills of a sniffer dog or Zürchers simply don’t even try to hide the fact they’re smoking weed. I was surprised just how many little pockets of weedy smoke I walked through — or walked past me — as I was out and about. And not ropey teenage weedy, either, the proper full-on Amsterdam experience, especially near the station but actually pretty much everywhere.
The market on the Sechseläutenplatz was very pretty and there were lots of things to look at and prod at, including people selling Swiss watches, people selling hats, socks, Christmas swirly things and other stuff but it was absolutely heaving with people not looking where they were going or just gawping at their phones to the point of becoming annoying. I’d already offended the watch-maker by innocently mentioning the Japanese, so after a final look round with an affected air of disdain I took my leave and headed towards the Hauptbahnhof along streets dotted with bonus mini-market experiences. A friendly Austrian gentlemen practically forced me to sample his Glühsecco along the way, something I liked but was not sure was better than Glührum or Glühgin.
The Illuminarium is a trippy Christmas Festival of Lights at the Swiss National Museum in Zurich, which is a stone’s throw from the station. I wouldn’t ordinarily have found it had I not spied the colours and heard the thumping music from what I think might’ve been a pop-up club in part of it. The museum building dates from 1898 and was built in a style that mimics French Renaissance city mansions, with towers, courts and a park. It’s probably no coincidence that the inauguration of the establishment now hosting a light festival was filmed by François-Henri Lavanchy-Clarke, Switzerland’s first cinematographer and the first non-French citizen to receive a licence from the Lumière brothers to film in Switzerland. He also set up the first European presence of what is now Unilever. Make of that what you will.
There remains one drink I have yet to find, the apparently near-mythical Glühaperol, which I fear could be dangerous. I was tempted by some Glühapfelwein until I spied the words “apple cider” on a board in the same establishment, a sight which instantly gave me a dislike for whomever was responsible as, for a native of Herefordshire, saying “apple cider” is a pleonastic anethema, like talking about “pig bacon”, “cow beef”, or “tree-wood paper”, as cider can, is, and forever shall be made only from apples. One has to draw the line somewhere.
I left among sparkles of indignation.
There was no free cheese or chocolate to be had in the station, but I did spend some time looking around the various stalls to see what I could’ve won. There was a man selling finger puppets who seemed unimpressed when mine posed for photos with some of his own folk. The departures board still had things coming and going even at a relativel late hour. I considered the places one could go with a pass still valid, but remembered my life was waiting for me in a rucksack in the hostel. I walked back through the cold past a shop window with a toy train that chuffed back and forth when I pressed the “touch me” sticker on the shop window.
Exhausted after a busy evening’s exploring, I made it back to my hostel to find a new person in our little dorm of three.
