Zurich

How tired was I? So tired that for the first time (perhaps ever!), I slept through that first jet lagged European night for a solid eight or maybe even nine hours. That's impressive (for me)! When Ed called this morning, he actually woke me. At 8 am. Oh, I needed that (both the deep sleep and the call which, for him, was made around 2 a.m. -- the man keeps unusual hours)! The bug (it's not Covid) that knocked me down back home had receded, then came back (yesterday), but that night of sleep knocked it down once again. Oh, precious rest!

It's cloudy and there's rain. Looking out my window:

I go down to breakfast. The hotel is not small, but there are few diners. It could be the hour (8:30), but more likely it's because of the slowness of travel at this time of the year. I get a beautiful table with a grand view.

With buffet breakfasts, you have to get familiar with the offerings. The first day is like an experiment: try this, that, look for Muesli of course, at the last minute add some protein. I think I covered my bases, but tomorrow, I'll scale back. Too much on that plate! 

By far the item of choice (for me) is their homemade Bircher Muesli. What's that? Well, regular old Muesli is oats and dried fruits and nuts, with added milk or yogurt just before you eat it. Bircher Muesli has you soak the oats with the grated apple and fruit juice overnight. And in the Bircher Muesli, the emphasis is more on the fruits than the oats. Here, I took both!

As usual, I read during my morning meal when soloing -- catch up on emails, on news feeds. And I allow my thoughts to float -- today, to the subject of satisfaction. There is a reason why I am nearly always so deeply satisfied with my European travel days: after spending quite a bit of time beforehand making decisions about hotels, eateries, excursions, I let all that go once I've begun the journey. Those expectations slip away and the day unfolds. When I catch myself thinking -- oh, this meal wasn't great, or this weather sucks, I try hard to erase that thought because really, I'm not in search of perfect anything. I'm in search of listening, looking, feeling open to whatever takes place around me.

It's a lesson I learned in France and it's become a goal for me, something to strive for: I had noticed over scores of meals eaten in restaurants there, that the French -- perhaps the biggest food snobs (sorry, French people!) on the planet, never complain about food they're served while eating out. I've never once heard a grumble, never seen a dish sent back. The tables are filled with happy people chomping away. Americans, by contrast, often evaluate -- you can see it in their faces, read it in their posted comments! (And yes, send back if dissatisfied.) And honestly, I do value their evaluations. I read all those negative thoughts, say on Tripadvisor or elsewhere. I rely on them! So thank you! At the same time, I know that an evening spent in a restaurant is a happy experience for those who let go of judgment and just enjoy the meal for what it is. It doesn't have to be perfect to be absolutely great. 

Just like a meal, a travel day as well doesn't have to be perfect, the weather doesn't have to be excellent, nor the food exceptional, for the day to be totally sublime. It surely will be rich in detail no matter what.

 

After breakfast, I take an umbrella (but I never use it -- the rain stops right about now) and walk over to where there is a semiweekly market from 7 -11. I happen to be here on one of those mornings, which turns out to be incredible luck.

The market is awesome!

(artichokes in all shapes and sizes and pink lettuce!)

And I've been to many markets, including our own in Madison -- considered to be one of the country's best. What the Zurich one has going for it is not quantity (of vendors), but quality (of foods and flowers) -- achieved in large part because their season is so much longer than ours!

Like in France, presentation matters, though the French are more fastidious in this regard. I'm enthralled by the veggies -- mostly Swiss, though the white asparagus is German...

But I am absolutely mesmerized, charmed, and enchanted by the spring flowers.

I cannot say enough good things about them. Such art in the bouquets! Such variety!

I can see that our own spring market is smaller in scope (though larger in size). We're nowhere near the variety that I find here. 

 

 

 

(Something to be remembered: women in Switzerland were given the right to vote in federal elections in 1971, so yes, it is a socially conservative country, though not a religious one: 35% claim to have no religion, outdistancing the next most popular group -- Catholics at 31%)

 

(Swiss cheeses...)

 

 

Afterwards, I return the unused umbrella. The rain takes a pause!
 

 

 

I head out toward the old town. It's very pretty, albeit there is some street construction (pipe replacement? new cable installation? Don't know...) that you have to navigate.

I have a goal. I'd heard there is a great collection of Impressionists at the Kunsthaus Museum. I love the Impressionists. I'm on it!

Oh my goodness. 

I did not expect this: it will go down in my memory as the most emotional museum experience of my life, for reasons I could not possibly have expected. At the end of it, I had to talk to someone, review this, summarize it in my head in some fashion. I call Bee in Poland (she is an art enthusiast!) and we talk.

Let me see if I can explain it here without losing the thread and spirit of Ocean. (As you know, I tend to summarize and focus on a theme briefly, then move on.) What they have done on the second floor of the Kunsthaus (that's where most, but not all, of the museum's Impressionists are) in the last two years is extraordinary, in part because the history of that collection is extraordinary. Or perhaps not so extraordinary, when you think about it. It's just that we don't think about it. 

(In one room, you read how the public reacts to the idea that we should actively discover the provenance of art displayed at a museum, specifically this museum) 

When you go to a museum, you dont give much thought to where the art is from, who acquired it and with what means. At the Kunsthaus, they've done just that, in part because they had to. Their huge, sumptuous collection (only at the Orsay have I seen more Impressionism in one place) was established at the hands of Emil Georg Bührle. I'd never heard of him, but I bet every Swiss person knows the name. Bührle was a German born Swiss industrialist who became the richest man in Switzerland (!) back in the day. He bought a machining tool company and converted it to the manufacture and sale of weapons and ammunition. He sold to everyone. Wherever it brought in more money. And when the war started, he sold big time to Nazi Germany. To Mussolini. And the thing is, he did this with "neutral" Swiss blessing. But also without it -- after the war, he sold illegally to Pakistan. And his production methods? Horrible victimization of poor women, children. And after his death,  in the 1960s,  his son was found to illegally export arms to South Africa. It was that kind of a family.

 

(The collection, which spans many many rooms, is arranged chronologically -- by date of acquisition. But at the very beginning of the exhibition we have this: a very famous Renoir; next to it is a full story of who was painted, for what reason, whom it was passed on to over the generations, and in the end which owner was killed by Nazis, who had it after that, and how Bührle acquired it. A story of one sorrow and tragedy after another. )

 

 

His was (is?) also a family that bought art. Bührle used art as a way to solidify his stature among the rich and famous of Zurich. He bought or acquired mainly Impressionist canvases throughout his life. It's important to know how he bought and acquired it: some was art that had been looted by Germans. Some was purchased under-price from Jews seeking funds to flee Germany. Bührle went on art buying sprees in Nazi occupied France. The guy was ruthless!

 

(Bührle himself donated three large canvases to the museum. This is one of them)

 

Bührle contribute a lot of money to the building of the Kunsthaus. Blood money. 

(so much to read here! I dont expect you to delve into the details, but while there, I read every word, fascinated. Horrified.)

 

 

After his death, his family arranged for even more canvases to be displayed at the museum. Some 200, on a complicated loan arrangement that I do not fully understand. But it's just a fraction of their haul. They also kept a lot of the art for themselves. 

Initially, the "donated" art was not displayed. But in 2012, after long negotiations, the Zurich City Parliament and a vote by the public (53% voted yes, but only 35% voted...) approved the showing of these masterpieces in a new extension of the museum. It opened in 2021. And right away, protest erupted.

What the museum has done is this: it is tracing the history of all of it -- Emil Georg Bührle, his wealth, his art fancy and presenting it in written format on the walls of the museum, along with the canvases -- some of them with blue tablets signifying that the provenance of the art is still under review. Some canvases have been traced as stolen from Jews. These have been removed and returned to original owners. Blank spaces with just cards remain.

 

 

 

(blue cards: under investigation)

 

All of it is there for you to read and take in. And each Wednesday -- the museum entrance fee is waved and there is an open discussion as to what should happen next. 

What absolutely blew me away was the open, honest way the museum is looking back on its history of complicity and the country's complicity, and on the moral underpinnings of art acquisition. I'm living in a year where back home, we are trying to shut down any discussion of historic failures -- ones that don't fit into a comfortable understanding of our own splendid position in this universe. To see how an uncomfortable discussion might proceed was so moving for me!

(not only Impressionists: Bührle expanded his repertoire toward the end of his life)

 

 

I accosted one of the museum staff (did you know that the Swiss are reserved and do not generally look for conversations with strangers?) and I talked about all this with her. (And of course, American politics came into full focus, though this sweet person did not try to shift the narrative to the faults of other leaderships, she fully embraced the idea that all governments are suspect and do things that are corrupt, it's just that currently -- but not exclusively! --  America ranks high on this dimension.) She spoke of how important it is to speak up and question the status quo (and yes, she did ask why we are not protesting openly in America right now). 

And so ended my museum visit. The levity that I had so stamped onto this trip was momentarily dispelled and my heart pounded with the pain of those years of fascism in Europe. 

One last moment: I was going down to the exit, passing through a more conventional floor of museum pieces, also famous, also beautiful...

... and I came across another installation, this one by Refik Anaddl (called "Glacier Dreams"). Think: AI. Think: The biggest challenge of our time -- preserving our endangered environment. Then step inside and experience this (it's moving and dripping and melting...):

 

 

Time to leave. 

(3 generations, making their way up to the exhibition...)

(walk back, through the "old town")

 

 

(view toward my side of the river; the pink building is my hotel)

 

 

I pause for a while at the hotel, talk to my friend who for once shares the clock with me, and as the afternoon very quickly moves from one hour to the next, I decide to do one more outing -- nearby, to a church of all things (the Fraumunster), and then to Cafe Sprüngli.  Let me explain both:

The church is one of few in this world that has stained glass windows by Chagall. I want to see them. The weather had turned again and it's raining when I step outside, but the church is close by and they have plenty of umbrellas here. (And plenty of rain!)

(five panels, not really possible to photograph in one shot...)

From there, I go to Sprüngli. 

Maybe you've heard of it? Sprüngli is 190 years old. First established (by David Sprüngli) as a "confection" shop, it was an important keg in the machinery that propelled Switzerland to "best chocolate in the world" fame.  Many generations of Sprüngli men (!) have owned and operated it (though the Sprüngli empire was initially split between two Sprüngli sons: one brother went on to establish the industrial production Lindt-Sprüngli company, while the other stayed with the Sprüngli candy shop (eventually also cafe and restaurant) in Zurich (and beyond).

Good chocolate is very in right now. Some of the best marketed chocolate is in fact so good that I dont even especially like it. Way too intense. But Sprüngli is of a different tradition -- it's fine chocolate, but it's also enjoyable. People of my generation stay loyal to it even as the babes of the world flock there as well.

I have especially fine memories of Sprüngli, because I came here with my two girls on their very first trip to Europe. We didn't exactly visit Zurich, but we flew to it because in those days (one girl was 8, the other 5) Swiss Air offered the best overseas flight fares. And in our several hour layover in Zurich (we were on our way to Madrid, where my now ex had a conference), I decided we could zip over by train to the city center to explore a bit of it and to eat Swiss chocolates. I took them all to Sprungli. Neither girl remembers that visit, but I do! Their first European meal!

Today, I stared at chocolates, fighting with myself about taking any home. (It's not as if we lack chocolate in the US.) I'll let you know who won once I get back and start making family dinners and brunches again!

Then I went over to their cafe. As luck would have it, one of the limited tables opened up. 

(what luck: a mirror by my seat!)

 

 

I literally asked the server which pastry she regarded as most Sprüngli appropriate. She pointed me to this one.

Sprüngli is heavily into the production of macarons these days. Of course, it was delicious.

It's hard to take back food memories. Photos and words commemorate experiences, sights and sounds. But the whole act of eating, drinking -- that's another dimension of experience. For instance, my hotel room has a coffee/tea machine. (I dont know many European hotels that do not have it, as the British will not travel unless you give them a pot for boiling water in their room.) They've selected tea bags for my sampling pleasure and one of them called Brener Rosen (a combo of fruits and plants) is just heaven. Especially as I sip it, sitting by the window, looking out on the view of the river. At least with tea, I can bring some home (or order online!). But so many eating memories go by the wayside. And perhaps that's as it should be. Perhaps your memories should be of a whole, rather than its minuscule parts.

 

Speaking of food, in the evening I go to Neue Taverne. That is one strange choice considering where I am (Zurich Switzerland!). It was a last minute selection. I was supposed to meet up with my American friends who are spending their year in southern Germany, but they got sick and I'm a barely recovered sickie, so we cancelled the meetup and I scrambled to find a suitable venue for just myself. (Eater is a good guide for this place, but, too, so is Michelin.) Neue stood out at first because it had only two $ in the Michelin listing (as opposed to their usual three or four!). And it also had a rosette. And it's two minutes away. And it's totally vegetarian. Considering all the meat eating done in this country, I thought this to be a real plus -- I'll fill up on veggies before being tempted by meats once again.

And it is in fact a superb place. An extraordinarily talented chef heads up a team in an open kitchen and they do wonders. Too often in Michelin favored places the visuals dominate. The ingredients blend well but many are lost in the small bites and the adornments are little more than that -- adornments. Not here. Everything made sense. The taste of each dish was a magnificent match-up of flavors that only a very talented chef could think of.

I could have done the tasting menu, but I chose instead the a la carte so I could control my intake! Brioche with parmesan and truffle, eggplant with wasabi, herbs and crispy bread, and finally a desert of parsnip, dried pear, walnut and black cherry molasses. I was blown away!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 [I've become a bore with my thank yous -- they are excessive, I'm sure. I seek out people to thank in this restaurant that seems to be 100% full of Swiss people. I thank the waiters -- mine, not mine, who cares. The cooks, the chef, who catches my eye, the people at the table next to mine. I have this need to compensate for the horrible words said by our leadership about Europeans, about everything.]

 

As I walk (the two steps!) back to my hotel I think about this brief trip to Zurich in its entirety (tomorrow morning I'm leaving, so that tonight marks its end). I haven't been feeling great about city visits lately (with the exception of Paris). Too chaotic. Why then did I like my 1.5 days in Zurich so much?

A lot of it is having it fall into place so well (in my perception). My hotel room was available early, so I did not have to drag myself around town while I was dead tired yesterday. When I did go out, it felt warm and flowers were blooming. My hotel room has that large window and when I sit down to write, I'm very close to it. As if one foot in Zurich as I try to put down in words how it feels to be here. Then there is the quiet. Much of Zurich center is pedestrian. I see no cars on the opposite bank as I look out. I dont hear their roar. It's heaven! And the market this morning! The food! And of course -- the emotional walk through the rooms of the museum -- it all comes together into a memorable whole. It's been quite the wonderful visit to this city. Tomorrow, I'm off to the country.

with so much love...