Zurich 1995

Zurich is a bourgeois city full of well-groomed people, enjoying well-groomed lives with well-groomed pleasures within walking distance. 

In other words, it’s civilized.

People here are unhurried and helpful, and at the main station Halpenhoff, they give us directions, tell us exactly where to get off and get on the buses.

At the Croatian Consulate, a gruff officer at the door told us it would take one month, then one hour, then later, just 20 minutes to process our travel visas. 

Nearby, fit young people cycle by the lake in the cool crisp air, looking at swans and pairs of duck swimming cooly by.

On many streets stand more colourful cow statues than there are people.

There are many rich glamourous shops full of designer goodies, and the cafes swivel with heads sipping morning coffee. We have coffee at a quiet side street café, with two smartly dressed old ladies.

Heather and I both buy white orthopedic slippers I see on sale in a pharmacy – the only things we can afford. I go next door and buy the latest Vogue Italia. Then we bought a bag of fat blueberries from a greengrocer with a splendid display of fruit – served by a snotty Filipina. We ate the berries on the run, our mouths blue with juice.

Heather said: “Zurich airport is like Changi.”

I said: “In fact, Zurich airport looks like Marina Square.”