May Day, Swiss Style

I had a pretty good idea of why the helicopters had been hovering high over Kurfirstenstrasse, so I decided to grab my camera and go see if the head-knocking was underway. Instead, I found that May Day was still pretty peaceful in Zurich, with the feeling of a Mardi Gras morning when everyone is positioning themselves for the big event, milling about the streets, little rivers of people streaming through the backstreets, all heading in the same general direction.
I hopped off the tram at Paradeplatz and merged into the flow. The protesters were nothing more than school kids, really, and I snapped a few photos before heading off to search for the anarchists. The flow of people emerging from the sidestreets grew thicker and I tagged along. Police in riot gear were gathering on the corners in small groups, talking in little groups, notes in hand, plotting their response if things turned ugly.
After blocks and blocks of wandering through a part of town I didn't recognize, I turned a corner, walked through a small gate in a wrought iron fence and into a festival crowd of communists, socialists, assorted rabble, children in strollers and their parents who nibbled on pork cooked on a revolving spit. In true Swiss style, there was no shouting or loud music, just hundreds of people in line at booths to buy food and drinks. Flags and posters festooned the place, decorated with sickles and anvils and revolutionary slogans. There were signs in German decrying the "Fehler" of capitalism. Oddly, though, capitalism seemed to be thriving all around me. I couldn't figure out if the merchants were making fun of the socialists or were truly ignorant of the irony in what they were doing. My favorite booth had a picture of Che below barrels of wine and a container of Sangria. Hey, why behave like a socialist unless you can make a few bucks at it?

There was lots of drinking but nothing in the way of violence, so I left after a half hour and walked dozens of blocks to the Hauptbahnhof. From there, it was back home on the tram.
The helicopters are still there, buzzing above the gathering crowds. As late afternoon sets in and the drinking carries on, I'm guessing that the fun is going to start soon, and I'll have to make another pass to find out. I may be wrong, though, as this is Switzerland after all. The festival merchants may just fold their tents and go home to count all the money they made off the socialists.

A Chuy Slice of Swiss Cycling

It's hard to complain when you live in a place like Switzerland, but, let's face it, the weather has really sucked until lately. Today, though, was a good one; bright sunshine and clear skies. We took the train to Wadenswil to pick up our tandem from Bernie, our old friend and always-affable owner of Bikeway, and, after buying various geegaws, sunglasses and shoes before his half-price sale ended, hit the road for the horse farm.
It felt really odd, in a good way, to be cranking up the steep hills that led to the farmland. The last time we were here, it was the last time, or so we thought. We never expected to have the good fortune to be riding again in this beautiful part of the world, in the shadow of the alps and high above Lake Zurich.
We rolled past an old man on a bench who shouted loudly in Swiss German, encouraging us to keep going, until we reached the flat part that runs for a mile or so with the deep green hills rolling away to our left. We stopped for a couple of quick pictures so that our friends back in Grapevine, Texas could see that we're spreading the gospel of Team Chuy throughout Europe, then turned and bombed our way downhill until we hit the flat Seestrasse along the lake.
From there, it was a fast and steady pace back to the city. We picked up a couple of loafers who liked sitting in the draft of a big bike and surprised a few hotshots who dared to pass and were forced to wonder how two riders with a combined age of well over 100 could hold their wheel.
We rode hard through Horgen and Thalwil, cruised through Kilchberg and slowed for a noodle along the lake as we neared Enge. A quick stop by the lake to tempt a swan with granola crumbs, and we saddled up for the last mile to Kirfurstenstrasse.
Spring is nearly here and Switzerland is coming into bloom. Bright bikes and multicolored jerseys are springing up all over. The riding season, finally, has arrived.

Two-Wheel Deal: Yes, We've Done It Again

We may not have a place to live, but we do have a new bike. In a moment of bike-sale induced insanity, brought on partly by rare pre-spring blue skies and brilliant sunshine, we bought a tandem from our pal and newly sanguine bike shop owner Bernie, who has marked all his machines at half-price as he clears out inventory to begin again with new stock. A half-off sale on bicycles, particularly in Switzerland, is a deal far too good to pass up. We caved quickly, after a brief spin around the block, and left it parked at the shop until we secure permanent lodgings in the world's tightest housing market. Who needs lodging, though, when you've got a new bike?
We left there to drive up the winding road to Etzel, where there is a sort of fake winter in play, with plenty of snow in a smooth rolling blanket over the hillsides. It's too warm, though, for that sort of scenery, and we sat in the sunshine to eat bread and cheese beside an old church and talk about how the spring flowers and well-groomed Swiss cows will be out soon.

Winter tries again next week, according to the forecast, but it looks to be an empty threat, with rain and snow in the forecast before the sun comes back for the weekend. We'll go see Bernie when it calms down, and take the new bike around the lake, or maybe over to the horse farm, or the roller coaster, or one of the dozens of other routes we haven't been back to yet. But we know they're waiting. And so are we.