View from the Grossmunster
I never lived in a city. I grew up in the soft, rolling hills of rural Switzerland, amid squat brick homes and lush gardens in a quiet neighborhood, just a few yards from the woods, where I roamed as a child. I spent my days outdoors, bare feet buried in soft, velvety grass or dancing over leaves and fir tree needles. I was content. There was nothing amiss. Those are the memories of my childhood: perfect, peaceful, solitary.
Yet, as a teenager, I fell in love with Zurich, the City of Ages in the heart of Switzerland, at the core of Europe. I lived only twenty miles from Zurich. In my free time, I felt the draw. I rode a train and walked downtown from the station. The air was always special in the city.
I spent hours exploring backstreet shops, where incense beckoned and sales staff smelled wonderfully exotic of Jasmine and Patchouli. My feet grew accustomed to the cobblestones in the alleyways, where once horses tread and found solid footing. Buildings, hundreds of years old shone with fresh paint over aged stone and shadows followed the same, primeval pattern as they had for centuries.
I sat by the river on Saturday afternoons and fed flocks of colorful waterfowl. Boats thumped gently against posts and piers. Passersby sometimes joined me for a while; the ducks made welcome conversation starters.
I formed no lasting friendships in those city days, but I was satisfied to engage and disengage, meet and part, observing and learning, noting differences and likenesses in our ways. It was the dance of adolescence, unperturbed by technology and material goods, untouched by consumerism. There was strength in our souls, mine and the city folk's and we met well.
Zurich was a progressive city, where teen fashions were born and youth congregated in protest against a rigid adult world; where hippies squandered away time and where the best parties raged. My philosophy of life emerged there and lingers tenaciously to this day. Even in the new millennium, I am not a material girl.
I live years from my childhood now and thousands of miles from my city. Dust of East Texas settles in my nostrils with the smell of heat and molded leaves. There are few shadows here and the towns and cities reverberate mostly with engine noise. I don't walk barefoot in the tough, dry Texas grass; it is riddled with purple grass burrs and fire ants. Sometimes, I miss my childhood home in the hills of Switzerland. And sometimes I miss my city.
I miss the sounds, which ricochet off the many buildings and reconvene, multifaceted, like rays of light in a prism. It is a symphony of noise, a medley of familiar songs and it still plays in my memory.
I miss feeling the cobblestones under my feet in the narrow old alleys, where cars seldom drive and well-dressed shoppers click their heels from shop to shop.
I miss the river, deep and green with algae, home to feathered flocks: shadows dashing after bread crumbs, nimble bodies plowing through cool water. I miss the thick stone walls, the concrete pillars and the heavy oak boat piers.
I miss the faceless strangers, who brightened my days and intrigued my nights. Their influence is not forgotten, although their names and faces have long faded into oblivion.
Most of all, I miss the scent of my city, cool and ancient in the morning, hot and busy in the afternoon or damp and sinful through the night. There is not another city like my city. There is only one Zurich - and today, for me, it lives only in the past.
Yet, as a teenager, I fell in love with Zurich, the City of Ages in the heart of Switzerland, at the core of Europe. I lived only twenty miles from Zurich. In my free time, I felt the draw. I rode a train and walked downtown from the station. The air was always special in the city.
I spent hours exploring backstreet shops, where incense beckoned and sales staff smelled wonderfully exotic of Jasmine and Patchouli. My feet grew accustomed to the cobblestones in the alleyways, where once horses tread and found solid footing. Buildings, hundreds of years old shone with fresh paint over aged stone and shadows followed the same, primeval pattern as they had for centuries.
I sat by the river on Saturday afternoons and fed flocks of colorful waterfowl. Boats thumped gently against posts and piers. Passersby sometimes joined me for a while; the ducks made welcome conversation starters.
I formed no lasting friendships in those city days, but I was satisfied to engage and disengage, meet and part, observing and learning, noting differences and likenesses in our ways. It was the dance of adolescence, unperturbed by technology and material goods, untouched by consumerism. There was strength in our souls, mine and the city folk's and we met well.
Zurich was a progressive city, where teen fashions were born and youth congregated in protest against a rigid adult world; where hippies squandered away time and where the best parties raged. My philosophy of life emerged there and lingers tenaciously to this day. Even in the new millennium, I am not a material girl.
I live years from my childhood now and thousands of miles from my city. Dust of East Texas settles in my nostrils with the smell of heat and molded leaves. There are few shadows here and the towns and cities reverberate mostly with engine noise. I don't walk barefoot in the tough, dry Texas grass; it is riddled with purple grass burrs and fire ants. Sometimes, I miss my childhood home in the hills of Switzerland. And sometimes I miss my city.
I miss the sounds, which ricochet off the many buildings and reconvene, multifaceted, like rays of light in a prism. It is a symphony of noise, a medley of familiar songs and it still plays in my memory.
I miss feeling the cobblestones under my feet in the narrow old alleys, where cars seldom drive and well-dressed shoppers click their heels from shop to shop.
I miss the river, deep and green with algae, home to feathered flocks: shadows dashing after bread crumbs, nimble bodies plowing through cool water. I miss the thick stone walls, the concrete pillars and the heavy oak boat piers.
I miss the faceless strangers, who brightened my days and intrigued my nights. Their influence is not forgotten, although their names and faces have long faded into oblivion.
Most of all, I miss the scent of my city, cool and ancient in the morning, hot and busy in the afternoon or damp and sinful through the night. There is not another city like my city. There is only one Zurich - and today, for me, it lives only in the past.