I'm allergic to money. As soon as I get it, I spend it, otherwise I get an awful rash. Zurich, where I've been living for four days, is a particularly good place for those who suffer this terrible allergy. It's a clean, tidy and wealthy city full of cafes, restaurants and shops. Every morning, on my way to the Zentralbibliothek, which is (obviously) very central, I treat myself to coffee at some wonderful place. It doesn't matter how expensive it is: it's always cheaper than the worse cup of dirty water you can buy from the filthiest shop in the most deprived area of London.
After working in the library for three hours, I go out to grab some lunch. In order to avoid the usual chains, and also trying to avoid the most expensive restaurants, I go to places where, I believe, I can meet the locals. I usually end up in terrible bars surrounded by people who are as curious about me as I am about them. Things get worse when, over and over again, I forget that European people don't smile at strangers. Well, good continental people do smile (good meaning, those like Anni who have defected the infectious continent).
The only swiss thing missing in Switzerland is Danone's Petit Suisse, my favourite dessert when I was a boy. All the rest is here: cheese, chocolate and the Swiss (with or without their moustaches), whose English is as unintelligible as their German.
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