21 May 2018
Simple privilege
Five minutes later, I was 20 francs poorer, but walked away with a confirmation of being a legal resident of Switzerland once again. From this moment on, all my voting materials, tax documentation, official notifications, social security receipts and so on will come to my new address. I am back.
No questions asked, no need to give reasons for settling, proof of income or employment, no forms to fill - by showing a Swiss ID, I had established my right of abode. Simple as that. The clerk even gave me a welcome pack containing useful information, a map, discount chits, a transit timetable and one official garbage bag for the town (no Canadian has ever heard of Sackgebühr).
Arriving in Canada nine years ago, this same process took much more time, money, visits to several government offices, and lots of paperwork. Part of this was of course due to my status, at the time, of a temporary worker. But it was also at least partly down to Canada not keeping a centralized register of its residents.
These days, I know that in not doing so, Canada is in good company: Amongst liberal democracies, it is Switzerland that it is the outlier. While the Swiss find it perfectly normal that they need to register with the local municipality where they reside, others would be aghast at the prospect of the government tracking their every move. It reeks so much of totalitarian surveillance that Brits don't even have ID cards. And I remember once trying to build a business case around Canadians abroad, only to find that the government has no reliable numbers on just how many Canucks live elsewhere.
Blessed with a history of good governance, the Swiss do not second-guess their system. Even Swiss living abroad are meant to - and do - register with the local embassy or consulate, enabling the government to publish precise statistics on how many citizens live where (26'109 in the Montréal district, moins moi).
Similarly, the Swiss are often puzzled about debates raging in other countries around voter ID requirements and "registration drives" before big elections. Much like the gerrymandering of electoral districts, these concepts simply don't exist in Switzerland. Districts never change, and their weighting is adjusted to the registered population.
If nothing else, having lived abroad offers another perspective on basic processes I have taken for granted. And it lets me better appreciate these simple, but massive privileges I enjoy.
Labels: politics, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 13:58
10 April 2018
It's about time
Not a minute later, messages started appearing on the screens in the train, explaining that there was a delay due to "operational reasons". Simultaneously, the conductor came on the tannoy to explain that our arrival would be delayed by a few minutes since a preceding train was still blocking the track at Zurich Airport.
By that time, a lot of huffing and puffing had already ensued with the bleary-eyed commuters around me, with one lady calling someone to explain that she'd miss her connecting bus because that there were "delays again", and that she'd now have to wait another 30min for the next bus.
As she hung up, our train set into motion again. In the end, we arrived at the airport a full five minutes late. I easily made my flight, from which I am writing this now. But to my compatriots, the event surely confirmed their impression of degrading service reliability, and ruined their day early.
Taking the train has been a recurring feature of my most recent trip. Yesterday, I was travelling from Frankfurt to Zurich, using a deeply discounted Sparpreis ticket that restricts users to specific trains - at least in theory. In practice, my first ICE was running over ten minutes late, and when we got to my planned connecting station, I learned that the other train was over 45 minutes behind schedule. The German conductor shrugged and suggested I continue riding the first train all the way to its terminus in the border city of Basel and figure out a way to Zurich from there. By the time we reached Switzerland, station announcements proclaimed that the connecting train had now been cancelled completely. Gone, disappeared, presumably vanished along the tracks with all hands aboard. Die Bahn kommt not, and it didn't much care, either.
The Swiss Railways, on the other hand, immediately mobilized a replacement train from its stand-by reserve in Basel, in order to keep its famed Taktfahrplan intact. This was taken for granted by my connecting countrymen, and we reached Zurich with a delay of a full three minutes. The Germans, including the ICE train staff, were baffled.
Punctuality, then, is as much a cultural as a chronological concept. That in nine years in Canada I have never taken Via Rail already says a lot. But every time I walk across the lobby of Montréal's Gare Centrale on my way to grab lunch, I glance at the big arrivals and departures board hanging from the ceiling. Not only does it show but a handful of trains running all day, inevitably at least half of them also post a delay. And we're not talking five minutes here: Half an hour or more are the norm, with revised arrival times indicated as "estimates". No one seems to mind. "That's just how it is" my colleagues would say. It probably helps that Via Rail's main competitor is an airline that finished dead last in North American punctuality statistics.
The Swiss, then, are both fussy and spoilt with their trains. Yet there is one country that puts Switzerland to shame with its rail performance. That country, to which I had bought a rail pass for this vacation, is of course Japan. In the land of the rising sun, delayed trains would be considered rude and shameful. And therefore, they simply don't seem to exist.
On my entire trip, not one of the many trains departed even a minute late. Whether it was one of the fabled Shinkansen super expresses, or a simple suburban train, they all left smack on time. The entire system is perfectly calibrated for maximum efficiency and reliability, and the Japanese are masters at lining up in the right spots, letting people off first, getting on quickly, and whoosh... we're off.
The latest statistics I found indicate that the average delay for a Shinkansen train was 52 seconds, down from a record 17 seconds in 2007. This is in an island nation with anything from typhoons to blizzards happening, with the occasional earthquake thrown in for good measure. It's mind boggling. Throughout my trip, I saw precisely one sign indicating a delay, prompting instant jokes about that train driver committing seppuku at the end of his shift. Speaking of suicide, urban legend has it that it is dishonorable for Japanese to throw themselves in front of a train during rush hour, since the ensuing delay would inconvenience too many others...
Reflecting on the different perceptions of punctuality will hopefully help me putting things into perspective the next time I find myself on a delayed train. And until then, it will give me new found appreciation for doing things just in time. Or, as they say when the Montréal metro is stuck: D'autres messages suiveront.
Labels: Asia, Canada, culture, Switzerland, travel
# posted by Oli : 12:23
05 February 2018
Need to vent
Or so I thought one night, as I once again dodged her bewildered looks and opened the bedroom window, letting in the icy winter air. As any Swiss, I wanted to lüften the room before going to sleep. And as any Canadian, she considered that sheer madness. I tried to explain, but I was quite literally lost for words.
"To air out" or "to ventilate" are the translations the dictionary lists when I look up the German term. But while that may correctly describe the technical process of exchanging the air in an enclosed space, it falls far short of capturing the cultural importance lüften has to the Swiss.
In Switzerland, lüften happens everywhere, and all the time. Those who don't sleep with their bedroom windows ajar will at the very least open them before going to bed and after getting up. Kitchen windows open after cooking. In school, one student per class is inevitably put in charge of opening and closing the windows, just like someone has to clean the blackboard. In the army, we received detailed orders on the proper lüften of our barracks on day one of boot camp (diagonally across the hall, at least three times a day, no less than 5 and no more than 10 minutes). Until the recent advent of air conditioned train sets, even train windows could be opened to ensure adequate ventilation.
And in Canada? Complete incomprehension prevails. In the summer months, windows are cranked open and left that way for weeks on end. And in the winter they are kept shut. "We are paying to heat up the air in our house" she said sternly. "I do not want to contribute to global warming outside!"
Don't they understand? How can they not be concerned about the stale air inside a home, and want to exchange it for the crisp and pure variety outside? Aren't they afraid of.... well, what exactly?
Unsettled, I turned to the handy Xenophobe's Guide to the Swiss for a neutral perspective. And sure enough, a section in the chapter on Obsessions reads
The Swiss are subject to numerous obsessions. One of the strongest is their preoccupation with air. Inside Swiss homes the uncontrolled movement of air in the form of draughts is detested. The Swiss believe that exposure for even a few seconds to a draught will bring on every ill known to mankind. Thus rigorous efforts are made during the construction of Swiss houses and apartments to eliminate the slightest possibility of a draught ever being allowed in. Yet each morning, they seem to put aside their phobia when they fling open their windows to air their bedclothes out.And suddenly, it all made sense. The Swiss are so fixated on lüften because they are so opposed to any naturally occurring flow of air. Whereas they build their air raid-proof houses with eternity in mind, Canadians take a more relaxed approach to construction: When I sit in our kitchen behind the (closed!) balcony door, I can still feel the cold seeping in. And while we have replaced all the windows recently, the wind blows right through the cracks between their frames and the crooked walls.
I can relax now. There really is no need for a translation of lüften. In Canada, even the oldest buildings do it all by themselves.
Labels: culture, language, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 21:15
05 January 2018
Try me
As we ambled past bakers, butchers, fruit vendors and the like, she noticed something: None of the merchants offered any samples! Indeed, the little trays so common at Montréal's Atwater market (and many others around the world) were nowhere to be seen. No Swiss vendor deemed it necessary to tempt the clientele with little bits and bites, and no Swiss customer seemed to expect any.
What a difference when we made it to the back of the market, where an Italian cheesemonger was proudly standing behind big wheels of fontina, provolone and pecorino. The moment he heard us speak English, he chimed in with his thickly accented "Ello! Come try formaggio!", sticking out a plate. And when I responded in Italian, he immediately started cutting thick slices of formagella for us to try... and, unsurprisingly, buy.
Unfortunately, this market is not the only place where the Swiss show their stingy - or is it snotty? - side. I vividly remember leading a group of 20 American visitors into the main branch of Sprüngli, Zurich's flagship chocolate store, many years ago. I sung the praises of their signature macarons, Luxemburgerli, which were sitting pretty in their alluring colors behind the counters. The Americans looked intrigued. The Sprüngli staff was unimpressed. When asked how they taste, their answer was: "Very good."
Naively, I thought that a cultural misunderstanding was happening, and sprung into action. "I think they'd be curious to try", I advanced in Swiss German. "Certainly", came the response. "What size of box do you want to buy?"
I was dumbstruck. And then I got angry. "Clearly, this store wants you to buy the cat in the bag", I said, loud enough for all the store to hear. "Let's leave." 20 American credit cards disappeared into wallets again, and we stamped out.
Obviously, things did not change since. Time and again since, I witnessed bewildered tourists at Sprüngli's airport stores experiencing the same obnoxious parsimony. "You can also buy single truffles if you want to try them first" was one of the stand-out lines put to a shocked Japanese once. It's revolting.
And yet... I keep buying those damn good chocolates. And the markets are as popular as ever. Like any good Swiss, I roll my eyes, frown in disgust, and then pay up. For as long as I do, vendors are vindicated. When it comes to free samples, they'll have the last laugh as they say "Just try me!"
Labels: culture, food, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 13:24
30 June 2017
Svalutation
Then came the currency devaluations. In the tragedy that is Argentine politics, my host saw the value of her savings diminish time and again, as the peso took a plunge, inflation soared and incomes stagnated. Wistfully, she spoke of those friends smart enough to park dollares in an offshore account across the river Plate.
A typical South American tale of poor government and short-sighted policies, I thought back then. Little did I know that a decade later, I would find myself in a similar predicament.
When I moved to Canada in 2009, one Canadian Dollar bought approximately 0.95 Swiss Francs, a rate that increased to 1.1 by the summer of 2010. Since then, though, it's been a steady decline. Today, that same loonie buys a mere 0.73 Francs. That is a 25% loss of value from 2009 or 34% from 2010.
And it is not just against the Swiss Franc that the Canadian currency has fared poorly. Exchange rates against the greenback and the Euro have similarly declined. (Comfortingly, the value against the Argentine Peso has doubled over the same period.)
It goes without saying that Canadian salaries have not grown proportionately to the decline in exchange rates. And why should they? Compound consumer price inflation in the country since 2009 has been a mere 13%, with an annual average well below 2%. So within their own borders, Canadians are mostly doing okay. If you happen to travel abroad, however...
Visiting Switzerland has never been cheap, but the continuous erosion of Canadian purchasing power really starts to bite now. If it weren't for accommodation and transport provided by friends and family, my current trip would be a true splurge, but without the glamour factor. Or so it felt when I bought a Butterbrezeli the other day and realized that it cost the equivalent of a Montréal sushi lunch.
Will I let this malaise spoil my vacation? Surely not. But it gives me more of an appreciation for what people unlucky enough to earn "soft" currencies have to contend with all the time. Not much they can do (save for that offshore banking account - surely just a coincidence that the Swiss have long excelled at that trade) - they just have to live with devaluation.
And they do: The other day, walking across the lawn at the local Badi, I came by a latino-looking man lying in the sun, flipping through the flyer of a hard discount grocer. Next to him, an old-fashioned FM radio played the classic by Italian singer Adriano Celentano that drove home the point: Svalutation!
Labels: Canada, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 05:49
03 January 2017
Tunnel Vision
The Gotthard is but the latest in many Swiss tunnelling achievements, and a testament to the enduring passion the Swiss have for drilling holes through anything that stands in their way. This is not restricted to railway lines: Roads are routed through many hills, hydroelectric galleries connect dams and turbines, the cogwheel train to Jungfraujoch was blasted through the famous North Face of Mt. Eiger, and Zurich is about to get its first tunnel dedicated exclusively to cyclists. Meanwhile, the post office has published a series of stamps coated in ground rocks from the latest dig.
These days, no new transport link in Switzerland can even be contemplated without at least one tunnel. New stretches of highway are routinely planned to punctuate as many hills as possible, and villages in busy valleys leading up to resort destinations are relieved of transit traffic, as the wording has it, by rerouting the roads into curvy bypasses in the mountainside.
The digging is incessant. Every time I drive to Davos, a new tunnel has been added to the route, making the ascent ever quicker. When I took a train to Zurich the other day, I got lost in a new underground section of the main station. I hadn't realized that I had just travelled through a new tunnel involving a 180 degree turn, landing me in Zurich facing the opposite way than before.
One could be excused for thinking that there is a set number of tunnel boring machines in Switzerland, which must constantly be kept busy. While many projects have indisputable merits, there are also cases where tunnels are built in the complete absence of mountains. They are called "highway covers" and are meant to relieve nearby residents of car noise. Little does it matter that the first such edifice was built in spitting distance of Zurich Airport, meaning that citizens can now enjoy the roar of departing jet airliners undisturbed by the hum of cars.
When she first joined me on a trip to Switzerland last year, my better half was so amused with this national obsession that she jokingly suggested stacking one tunnel above another, as to better use the available mountains. I decided not to bring up the idea with my friends in politics and media, for fear of them pursuing the idea in earnest.
Ever since they built the world's first road tunnel in 1707, the Swiss were tunnel visionaries. But these days, they could just as well be accused of tunnel vision - randomly drilling holes through everything. Even cheese.
Labels: Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 12:50
11 September 2016
Davos Man
None of us does so entirely by choice. The illustrious four gentlemen mentioned above end up in the alpine resort thanks to the annual World Economic Forum. And while I have in younger days seen to the VIPs swift transit from Zurich airport to said event, my link to Davos is of a more humble nature.
For as long as I can remember, my family has picked the highest city in the alps as the base for vacations at altitude. I started out as a passenger in a fur-clad Davos Sled, and soon slip-slided my way through 6 consecutive winters of ski school on the bunny hills at the foot of Jakobshorn. In my final year, I even won the week's ski school race, against fierce competition from a field of Dutch kids who had just had their first encounter with the vertical dimension.
It came as no surprise, then, when my dad eventually announced that he had bought a flat there, located a ways from the ski hills but very conveniently across the street from the golf club - a nod to evolving priorities.
Indeed it was the town's versatility that has always been its biggest draw; for clearly Davos is no beauty. But it offers a vast range of winter and summer activities, which suits the diverse tastes and athletic prowess of visitors from all walks of life. Combine that with an ample choice of shopping and eating places, and ever-improving road links to Zurich, and you get an appealing mix for urban realists who value a reliable getaway more than picturesque scenery.
Thus, Davos earned its place as a principal destination in our recent late-summer whirlwind tour of Switzerland, serving as a convenient and hospitable base from which to undertake hikes of the surrounding - less concrete-covered - mountains and valleys. And it had all the trappings of Swiss civilization (A Migros, a bakery, punctual public transit, 4G cell phone coverage, good water pressure...) that the home-sick traveller craves.
"It's all about the people you meet there", is how the attractiveness of Davos is often described by the jet-set tribe. And it's really true: We met family, friends and acquaintances, all gathered for just a few days on their way to and from the four corners of the earth. Gathered around a rich table of food and wine, connections were made, experiences shared, ideas exchanged and plans drawn up - even if they were just for the next day's hike.
Heads of State and captains of industry will agree: The Spirit of Davos is alive and well. We will be back!
Labels: family, Switzerland, travel
# posted by Oli : 21:50
31 July 2016
Patriot Day
2016 is the first year I can consider both of these events truly "mine", and it also marks the first time since 2009 that I took part in events for both of them. (Normally, I am on vacation during at least one of the days, but this year I was tied down.)
The Swiss event, the largest such celebration to take place in North America, was held on the last Saturday of July (since August 1 is not a holiday for expats in Canada) and offered the expected mix of folkore, pathos and culinary delights. Unlike the sole other time I drove to the picturesque town of Sutton for it, this year she came along, placing me in the role of a cultural interpreter. Having to explain traditions such as jodeling and lampion parades forced me to reflect on them, and the way the Swiss observe their national day.
The comparison with Canada Day imposes itself, with memories of it still fresh. Granted, the two were not like for like, as the Swiss festivities were those of a sentimental expat community, and the Canadian ones in Montréal's Old Port arguably these of a sceptical separatist province.
Indeed, the official act was repeatedly interrupted by loud demonstrators demanding more rights for First Nations people. While the jeering and booing visibly bothered the military band playing O Canada for the flag raising ceremony, the crowd generally chose to politely ignore the protesters, and the local MP addressing the audience ad-libbed a comment about Canada respecting everybody's freedom of speech.
Most striking, though, was what followed next. While the Swiss tradition may be to light a bonfire warning of foreign threats, the Canadians chose to celebrate by making more citizens. Across the country, a cornerstone of National Day proceedings is a special Citizenship Ceremony, where a lucky group of applicants is invited up on stage, and then sworn in to become subjects of Her Majesty in front of an applauding crowd waving Maple Leaf flags (helpfully handed out by government staffers beforehand).
In the inevitable speeches, Swiss politicians love to recall the story of William Tell and how the valiant Eidgenossen have resisted foreign invaders for over 700 years. Their Canadian counterparts invoke a history of immigration and multi-culturalism, and pride themselves in welcoming more people into their fold every year. (Only cynics would note the excellent opportunity to capture new voters before anyone else does.)
It was a touching and appealing message to listen to, and I would hope to hear similar words from podiums on August 1st. For there was a fine irony in hearing the Canadian politician say that the red and white of the Maple Leaf flag should evoke relief and compassion much like the flag of the Red Cross. Which of course was derived from the Swiss flag.
Labels: Canada, culture, event, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 22:02
24 March 2016
Duality
I’ve just read the Globe and Mail, my home country’s leading newspaper. And then I went on to read the Neue Zürcher Zeitung, my home country’s leading newspaper. Such is my new life as a dual citizen.Of course, citizenship is mostly associated with carrying a passport of whatever country one is a citizen of. When I recently became a subject of Her Majesty, I was told that I needed to wait at least 3 business days before I could apply for one of the little navy booklets sporting Canada’s crest. So on day four after the citizenship ceremony, yours truly arrived at a Passport Canada office, application form and supporting documentation in hand.
And once again, Canada impressed with its “under-promise and over-deliver” performance: After half the processing time I was told to expect, I found the much coveted 36-page, Maple Leaf-decorated document in my mailbox. It was, and is, the tangible embodiment of my recent accomplishment. In the company of a similar, bright red booklet, it makes me a secret agent dual citizen.
More intriguing, though, is the possibility to avoid visa hassles: According to a recent study, Canada and Switzerland both allow visa-free travel to 172 countries, though not necessarily the same ones. Showing the right color passport at the right border can spare you onerous and expensive bureaucracy. And if a visa application is really required, one passport can be used for continued travels while the other sits in some banana republic’s embassy.
Travel with two passports is not without pitfalls, however. Inattentive use of multiple IDs when crossing borders can mix up immigration control systems and in the worst case is illegal. The considerations are such that there is even a step-by-step guide on travel practices for dual citizens. Obviously, one should always enter a country of which one holds citizenship with that country’s passport. In my case, this means not just Canada and Switzerland, but the entire Schengen area of Europe – at least while it is still intact. Once inside a country, it is important to also leave that country with the same passport again, so as to ensure that there is a consistent entry and exit record. This is particularly important for third countries, where permitted stays are limited to a certain number of days.
All of which means that from now on, I’ll have to think a bit harder about which document(s) to carry where. A recent jaunt down to the United States for a skiing weekend, for instance, was the maiden voyage for my virgin Canadian passport on its own.
The true test comes with travel around the globe. Which brings us back to my present predicament, for I am writing these lines on a flight from my home country... to my home country, operated by – what else? – my flag carrier. In this case, it sports a big white cross on a red tailfin, a sight which still evokes the warmest of feelings (not to mention a giddy anticipation of a box of chocolate to be passed around the cabin after dinner). In a few hours, I will land in Zurich, exchange a Grüezi with the immigration officer scanning my red booklet, and be on my way.
Yet soon my journey will continue, always due east. And in a fortnight, I will be boarding my hometown airline again. That time, there will be a maple leaf on the tail. I will sit back and relax, as this tale will come full circle – figuratively as well as literally. My navy blue booklet shall be ready for inspection when we land, for this flight, too, will have brought me... home.
Labels: Canada, Switzerland, travel
# posted by Oli : 08:12
29 December 2015
On every street
While I no longer get lost in the city, and have a reasonably accurate sense for which way to turn upon emerging from a metro station, the specifics remain vague. Often, I suddenly find myself at a street corner that I had believed to be elsewhere, or I struggle to recall at what intersection a particular store of coffee shop is located. Not driving regularly means that while the city's streets are not completely foreign to me, the best way to get from A to B behind the wheel remains obscure. Throw in the usual construction and road blocks, and I am mazed.
This lack of on-the-ground knowledge became particularly obvious over the last few days, which saw me return, as usual for the holiday season, to Switzerland. Stepping off the bus in the village where I have lived for 20 years, I noticed a young woman looking lost. She had only just moved to the town, and had accidentally gotten off at the wrong stop. Without thinking, I was able to direct her through a maze of alleys and walkways to her destination - something that I'd be hard-pressed to do in Montréal.
The following days, with their exceptionally mild and sunny winter weather, saw me going for walks rather frequently. One of the nice features of the Swiss countryside is that, unlike Canada, it is lined with hiking trails. Not that I would have needed the yellow signposts: Every path, junction, trail and road is intimately familiar.
Effortlessly finding my way through neighborhoods, fields and forests, I came to realize that the region was covered by more than just landmarks. Every street was overlaid with memories, making it unique and unmistakable: This is where we once lit a fire with the boys. Here, the farm dog always ran after my bike. Down there is where we used to hang out after school. And in that orchard stood the apple tree of seasonal temptation. While change is inevitable and indeed visible, it is this intangible layer of memories that makes this particular area so cozily familiar, and walks through it so enjoyable.
Others agree: In recent years, a childhood friend, who has long since moved away as well, has joined me in a tradition of Christmas Day walks through the village, taking advantage of our both's return to the old stomping grounds for the holidays. She too, commented to the fuzzy warm feeling of walking through this terrain des souvenirs.
Will a stroll through Montréal ever feel the same? Maybe - after all, I'm less than 7 years in, compared to the 20+ lived in the tiny Swiss town, so there is still time. Or maybe not - perhaps only the experience of growing up and gradually exploring one's surroundings can create such a tapestry of memories. Which is probably for the better, since nostalgia is best enjoyed in small doses. Unlike the other thing I indulge in these days, upon returning from every walk: Swiss chocolate!
Labels: leisure, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 10:40
30 September 2015
Game of Thrones
This week, I have received my instructions to vote. Twice.
The election in question does not take case in some banana republic, of course. But in two different countries, one day apart: On October 18, the Swiss elect their next national parliament. And on the following day, Canadians do the same.
Not only are the two forms of democracy different, but the rules of the game are, too, as the documentation in my mailbox illustrated.
The packet from Switzerland included a leaflet that said in bold letters No e-voting. Turns out that the Federal Council has rejected the electronic vote system that a coalition of cantons had been planning to use. Thus, it was back to paper for everyone, including citizens voting from abroad. At least, this time around I was able to receive and return my ballots by mail in time. Four years ago, the paperwork sat unused in Montréal while I was in Chile.
The Swiss system works on proportional representation, and elects both a lower and an upper house of parliament (hear that, Canada?) In each canton, a panoply of parties, both established and less so, compete for votes. The two newly elected chambers then pick the 7 federal ministers who form the executive branch, distributing seats roughly according to the share of votes each party got. A compromise-bound coalition ensues.
Each citizen has as many votes as there are seats to give out in his canton, either by simply picking the list prepared by the preferred party or by randomly assembling candidates from across all parties. The Swiss can even double their vote for the same individual. The system offers so many twists, it would not be out of place in a game show.
More straightforward, e-voting glitch aside, is how a citizen casts his vote. From birth, every Swiss citizen and his current residence are on file with the civil registry office. To this address, both the privileges (voting documents) and duties (tax forms, military marching orders) are being mailed. And the Swiss are perfectly aware and comfortable with continuously updating their records as they move around the globe. One of the first things I did after my arrival in Canada was to register with the Swiss consulate in Montréal. And ever since, I have received my ballot papers for elections and referendums in the mail.
Like the vast majority of Swiss residing in the home country, I cast my vote by return mail - all I have to do is fill in the ballots and sign a card. (Since I live abroad, I also have to stump up for postage in the absence of e-voting.) Signed, sealed, elected.
Compare this to the Great White North. “I can’t travel to see the client on the 19th”, said my boss. “It’s the election.” I looked confused. Would planes not fly on that Monday? Would there be a curfew and police roaming the streets?
Nothing of the sort. But as it turns out, in this vast and sparsely populated country, elections still take place like they did decades ago: On Election Day, citizens are requested to show up in person at their local polling station, stand in line to wait their turn, disappear into a little cubicle to fill in a ballot paper, and cast it right there and then. Since most people have other stuff to do on a Monday as well, employers are required to give employees a block of 3 hours of paid time to go to the polls. And while advance polling and polling by mail now exists, I have yet to meet somebody who has used these services. (Government figures suggest that only 14% of votes were cast through alternative means at the last election.)
Should a Canadian have moved since the last election, the responsible government body will not have been advised of this fact by the tax agency or the local municipality. Instead, it is up to prospective voters to re-register in their new district. And to prove that he is indeed an eligible citizen.
So while the process to cast a Canadian vote may be more cumbersome, the actual choice is dead simple. In each riding, there is precisely one candidate to elect, from a choice of 4 or 5: Each major party will present one contestant. In picking a person, you vote for the individual, the party’s platform and also for a prime minister, as it is understood that the leader of the party with the most elected candidates nationwide will become the next head of government. If you like your local MP but not his party leader… well, too bad.
I have learned all this despite not being allowed to play the game: Since Elections Canada has no idea where registered voters live, they send their documentation to everyone in Canada. And what about Canucks outside Canada? A controversial law was recently upheld on appeal, limiting voting rights to Canadians living abroad for less than 5 years and having an intent to return to reside in Canada. Everybody else has no say.
If Switzerland applied the same rules, I’d be completely without a voice in this fall’s political season. As it stands, I can vote for the clowns providing the next four years of entertainment in Berne, but not for the gang running the show in Ottawa.
Is it more likely that by 2019, I will be allowed to show up at the polling station in Canada, or to vote electronically for Switzerland? With these odds, perhaps I'll just go play the lottery instead.
Labels: Canada, politics, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 19:20
26 May 2015
Pit stop
As the plane taxies to the gate, I run through the plan once again: Get off as the first passenger, breeze through immigration, down the stairs and out through baggage claim, across the bridge into the airport mall and straight into Migros. This should be about 10 minutes.
Pile chocolates, crackers, candy, cookies and, yes, toothpaste, into the trolley and pay. Stuff it all into the expandable bag in my hand. 15 minutes if things go well.
Stop by a mailbox and an ATM on the way to the Sprüngli store. Get the dark Truffes du jour and a few bars of gianduja for special occasions. Pack them away as well. 15 minutes.
Backtrack to the departures level, locate the check-in counter with the shortest line, have the bag tagged and sent on its way to Montréal. While waiting, call mum and arrange for rendez-vous. 10 minutes.
Time check: There are now 200 minutes left prior to scheduled take-off, 155 to boarding.
Meet & greet with mum and aunt, present Mother's Day gifts, find a sunny spot on the terrace and have coffee with Gipfeli. Chit-chat, and say thank you for coming out to the airport this morning. Promise to spend more time with them soon and discuss plans for next month's return to the home country. Emphasize that it will be for more than a week and correlate with annual vacation allowance in Canada. Decline second coffee and resist second Gipfeli in consideration of a long-haul flight's worth of catering coming up. 120 minutes.
With casual glance on wristwatch and random reference to time zones, get the group on its feet again. Walk mum and aunt back towards parking garage, hug and kiss them good-bye. 5 minutes, 10 with emotional reserve.
Race back to security screening and use priority lane. Ignore duty free selection of Swiss wine, whine about poor exchange rates instead. Proceed directly to airline lounge and stock up on magazines. 10 minutes.
Clear immigration again, get into airline limo to departure gate and board aircraft. 15 minutes.
Settle in, sit back, accept a glass of champagne from flight attendant. Breathe. Reflect on the merits of getting up at the crack of dawn and routing the return of the business trip via Zurich. As the plane pushes back from the gate, remember hugging mum. And buying chocolates. Smile as the engines come alive.
12:50h - take-off.
Labels: family, Switzerland, travel
# posted by Oli : 20:35
30 December 2014
Houses without names
Building on an entire childhood's worth of memories, the streets and shortcuts are intimately familiar, and so are the families living in every building. Looks like the Römers must have gotten a new car, the Langs seem to have added a shed and here is the swingset on which I used to play with the Stein sisters. I wonder why they didn't take it down in all this time?
The answer was different from what I had expected. A few days later, while sticking to the Christmas catch-up tradition of going on a hike with the two sisters, I found out that their family no longer lives in that house. After the sisters had moved out, their parents decided to get a smaller condo in a bigger town, and a new young family has since taken over their former home. My mom told me that the Lang family had also left, and we wondered if the Schmids were still there.
It is natural for things to change, and it makes perfect sense for older couples to move out of a big family home after all the kids have gone. And yet, walking through my old town with a sentimental mindset, I had taken strange comfort in the fact that I knew the names and faces attached to most of these houses, and played in their courtyards and living rooms, even had been at sleepovers in many. It was one of the distinguishing features between the village and the big city I live in now, where I barely know the names of the two families sharing my own roof, never mind the neighbors.
Now these houses have no names any more - not to me, anyways. It's not exactly like finding out that Santa isn't real, but there was some disentchantment nonetheless.
All the more soothing, then, to visit the good friend who has moved to the tiniest of alpine hamlets, in the scenic lower Engadine valley and in spitting distance from the Austrian and Italian borders. His village looks like out of a picture book, and it hosts an intact and vivid community. Not only does everyone know everything about everyone, they also get together all the time for all sorts of activities. What started as a matter of survival in a largely self-sufficient, rural alpine environment has become one of the key attractions to the people who today elect to reside in the village, instead of moving to bigger towns with more action.
A visitor from far-away lands is immediately noticed, but once the sniff test has been passed, one is free to enjoy the peace and quiet of country living, the occasional sneaky look from behind a curtain notwithstanding.
As much as my friend enjoyed visiting me in the city earlier this year, I enjoy the cozy hospitality of his town now. The liberty and ouverture d'esprit in Montréal are ultimately what I prefer. But on a snowy walk through the picturesque lanes and alleys today, I noticed that they do not come with names or numbers here. It's unnecessary. Here, the houses stil have names.
Labels: culture, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 08:17
16 September 2014
Lord of the Rings
In doing so, I delivered on the most essential, and formal, task that the happy couple had asked of me. When they put it to me a year earlier, I felt flattered, cajoled, but also somewhat unsettled by the request to be their best man. As the following twelve months were to prove, this role comes with a number of responsibilities, and with expectations that are different from what they would be in Canada.
When I started talking to my Canadian friends about the role bestowed upon me, they nodded approvingly. "You'll be great", they said, and "I'm sure you'll be very funny".
I was confused. Why would I be funny? On the contrary, I was meant to be button-down, organized and meticulous, for together with the bridesmaid, I was to be the chief organizer of proceedings before and on wedding day.
As it turns out, one of the key deliverables of a best man west of the Atlantic is a witty speech at the wedding reception. That was news to me - and fortunately, it is still unknown to those who are now husband and wife. Speechwriting therefore was not required, for the few announcements on wedding night were acts of improvisation.
Preparing for the big day, however, was not. The Swiss, with their fetish for perfection, expect wedding ceremonies to run like clockwork. Ceremonies, food, entertainment, transportation, surprises, everything is supposed to happen smoothly. Bridesmaid and best man are to make sure that it does, so that the happy couple can enjoy its day with friends and family.
Living up to this expectation takes a bit more than just signing a piece of paper. No surprise that, in the months preceeding the big day, the bridesmaid and I spent a fair bit of time on preparations. Me being overseas did not make things easier, though thankfully the bridesmaid was both understanding and very supportive under the circumstances. Once ready, we could simply run through the script on the day itself, and except for a few minor hick-ups, things went according to plan. They even said YES at the right moment.
Of course, some expectations of a best man remain the same. Inevitably, I found myself putting together, and drinking through, a bachelor's night one day this summer. Knowing me for longer than my sister does, the groom had a good idea of both my organizational and party aptitudes when he picked his best man. His liver, and his in-laws, must have been equally thankful for his choice.
Here and there, being asked to act as the best man is a big honor. It caught me by surprise, it touched me, and it made all the prep work a pleasure. And when it became too much, I simply delegated, not even shying away from child labor: The all important task of providing the wedding rings at the right time was dramatically executed by... the bridesmaid's toddler.
And they wore them happily ever after.
Labels: event, Switzerland
# posted by Oli : 22:27
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