Dear Barbara,
Winterthur took place in my personal list of bizarre cities unexpectedly.
To be honest, I didn’t expect that a place in Switzerland would ever be part of this list. On the other hand, whenever something like this happens, I remind myself why traveling is fascinating. Partly it’s because traveling destroys our prejudices.
I know that I might have been pre-occupied before visiting Winterthur. The truth is that I loved Lucerne, and I didn’t want to leave. You know, whenever I have a good time in a place, and I have to move to the next one, I make an unfair comparison. I try to project how the next place will be better than the previous one. It is unfair indeed: you can’t compare something wonderful with something you didn’t yet see.
In Winterthur stayed in a cinema.
Yup, this is true. Before the journey, I’ve been in a rush, as you know, trying to bring different projects to an end. That said, I didn’t check my hotel options in Winterthur thoroughly. Everything was expensive anyway, therefore picking the least expensive option sounded like a plan.
It turns out that my choice was slightly bizarre. The Hotel Loge in the main pedestrian street of Winterthur is a cute building. A charming facade, some tables outside, and a small alley. But when you enter, everything will remind you of a cinema. In fact, it is a cinema. This small building hosts three arthouse cinemas, almost attached to the few rooms of the hotel. There are posters on the walls, and there is a popcorn machine. Plus, a bar on the ground floor serves excellent drinks and stays open till late. What makes the Hotel Loge even more interesting is that the price includes free tickets for the cinema for the hotel’s tenants.
Being in Winterthur for a night means that I don’t have the opportunity to explore the city as much as I want. After a short walk around the town, I decide to watch the Astrid movie.
But first, I had to save myself from choking.
The restaurant where I died
The time in Winterthur moves slowly. I mean, really slowly. Despite being bigger than Lucerne, Winterthur seems like a village to me. All the pedestrian streets of the historical center exit to the same main avenue, and that’s where I walk when I see Orsini. It’s already dark, it’s cold, and I’m hungry.
Orsini is exactly the place I’m searching for when I’m not at home. After observing the faces of the locals on the streets, I always try to find a place with similar faces inside. Orsini describes itself as a “working-class joint,” a so-called Arbeiterkneipe. When I enter Orsini, I see a bunch of noisy older men sitting at a round-table. It’s probably a regular’s table because the guys are joking with the waitress -and she is joking with them, too.
She is a happy woman, and she also jokes with me. I order a schnitzel, and she says that the portion is so big that I won’t be able to eat it. As if the supposedly big portion is not enough, I order out of pure greed some meat salad. It’s a tasty dish consisting of meat and cheese in small slices, garnished with onions and mustard. And after three bites in one single second, it happens.
One of the onions doesn’t find the way down and stucks somewhere in my throat. It seems impossible to remove it. I’m about to panic -and I probably do. I hit my chest, I drink water, I swallow some bread. I try to breathe, but nothing happens. It’s perhaps not that bad, but I’m officially in panic. I try to nod to the waitress, but she doesn’t see me. Some game occupies the regulars’ table, and I’m left all alone choking.
The waitress then comes, totally unaware, and lands an insanely large portion of schnitzel in front of me. I cut a slice, and I decide to eat it without chewing it. To my surprise, it works. For once, voracity can save someone’s life.
But for a few seconds after recovering, I have the feeling that it didn’t work, and I’m dead. That the guy eating, there is somebody else who has replaced me. It’s like observing myself eating that schnitzel. Although I advise the guy that almost choked that he shouldn’t eat the whole portion, he won’t listen. When I finally return to myself (I hear my voice ordering wine, I think of you, I feel glad that I’m alive), it’s already too late for advice: I have eaten the monstrous schnitzel, and I’m in a food coma. I wonder if I’ll die twice tonight.
Delete everything (Sankt Gallen edition)
The following day, I ride the train to Sankt Gallen. The railway station seems rather boring, but when I start walking the streets, I realize that Sankt Gallen has probably the most elegant inhabitants. I don’t know if this is true or not, but it’s late afternoon, and everybody seems to walk down the main streets dressed for something important. The hats, the shirts, the jackets, everything is shiny. And so are the faces.
Prosperity. I’m searching for a spot to take some photos: I want to combine people and architecture. The most beautiful street is Multergasse. It seems that this is the only street that is allowed to receive some sun during the winter. There is a deep orange light that makes Sankt Gallen look golden. I find a spot that seems to be right. The Multergasse gets some last sun rays, and the same happens with a column. The rest of the street is dark, and only the rooftops at the end of the street get some light. I set my camera, and I wait.
I take approximately twenty photos, and when the sun goes down, I hope that I have at least one. It has to look cinematic -and in my mind, I project it in that odd cinema-hotel in Winterthur. And indeed there is one: a teenage girl walking down the street with a friend. Both girls walk by me. But while I’m checking the photo, the girl approaches me. “Did you just shoot a video of me?” I nod negatively. “No, I just take photos of this very spot.” “Please, don’t post anything online. I’m not supposed to be here today. I came to meet some guy”. She has hazel eyes, she’s probably fourteen, and she’s in love.
Something melts inside me. I remember my short childhood elegy from Aegina, and now I feel vulnerable. “Is that you?” I ask her while showing her the photo. It’s definitely my favorite out of the twenty shots I took. “Yes,” she says. “Alright,” I reply, “no problem.” I hit the delete button. It’s a photo I felt proud of, but suddenly it’s gone. My urge for a cinematic shot is gone too. It feels like a third death in a row.
“Oh, thank you,” the girl says.
I put the camera in my pocket, and I walk towards the train station. The afternoon sun is still shining gloriously, but I’m not in the mood to shoot more photos. I have to catch the train to Bregenz.
I’ll write to you from there.
George
More about Switzerland: The mirrors of Zurich & Behold the pale son of Lucerne
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Last Updated on November 8, 2020 by George Pavlopoulos