Swiss Secrets

Switzerland is a country of many secrets. It's a good country to take up residence in if you wish to live somewhere where people mind their own business. It's a good country to come to if you wish to mind your own. This is part of the reason, I imagine, that Phil Collins, Shania Twain, Ingvar Kamprad and Michael Schuhmacher are our quasi-neighbours. If I were a celebrity or a high net worth individual, this is where I would choose to set up house in the twilight of my spotlight years, too. It's also not a bad place to come if you have a few billion dollars to bank, or if you have, say, $648 million in pillaged gold that you would like to stash somewhere, no questions asked.

It's a country of many secrets.

I just returned from a long ride with my friend and new riding buddy, Amy. The sun was out, sort of, and the temperatures were hovering just above freezing. Amy's an American, brought here by a husband's Nestle job. She also happens to be an x-semi-professional cross-country rider, so while I just about manage to keep up to her on the flats, she leaves me in the dust on the hills. We rode through the farmlands today, looking for trails that lead into the patches of forest that punctuate the fields and that might bring relief from trying to keep traction on soft-packed snow cover. No matter how many times I ride through these fields and forests, there always seems to be new passages to explore; secret trails that are not marked on maps and, most uncharacteristically, are without signage. Sometimes they lead nowhere in particular, and today we found ourselves dismounting more than once to push our bikes as the undergrowth thickened and the trail disappeared without warning.

On the flats, we kvetched about the mysterious and varying opening hours of Swiss shops and businesses (one of my favorite topics), how to decipher what documentation is required when renewing one's residence permit (it's simple: you just keep going back and each time they will tell you that you are missing something, until one day you will arrive with everything required), and the inexplicably exorbitant price of a jar of organic almond butter. Sometimes, it's good to have company in these things; it makes me feel like I'm not the only one who feels left out of a few secrets.

As per my newly employed Ironman schedule, I arrived home after 2.5 hours in the saddle and exchanged my shammy for running shoes. I was just about to leave for my run when something new and interesting happened: a rather bone-chilling and not-so-distant siren came piercing through the air. Unable to identify the source of this impolite interruption, I went to the patio doors, with a curious what-are-the-Swiss-up-to-now frame of mind, and opened them. It was then that I appreciated our highly efficient double glazing, and took several involuntary steps backward as the mega-decibel sound boomed into the living room. I quickly closed the doors and did what I always do when I don't know what's happening in Switzerland; I sent an email to Michael at work, asking him to ask Francois.

Francois has brought us into the confidence of many Swiss secrets. My favourite came last August when things had suddenly became eerily silent in our little village. The shops and restaurants were closed, and the streets deserted. The outdoor pool was open, but I was the only one swimming in it, stopping after every few lengths to look around me with an increasingly uneasy feeling. After about a week of wondering, I finally asked Francois, 'Francois, where did all the people go?'

Francois, cheerfully: 'Into the mountains, of course!"

He went on to explain that everybody, and I mean everybody, in Switzerland heads into the mountains in the month of August. Why one would want to escape to the mountains when everyone else is there is beyond me, but in any event, I persisted with my line of questioning:

'When will they come back?'

Francois, again cheerfully: 'Next month!'

I wished somebody had told me; I might have stocked up on some groceries had I known I was going to be left behind in an evacuation.

Unfortunately, Francois was not available for my questions today. Thank goodness Google was; and I managed to find an explanation as the third deafening round of wailing bellowed out from the heavens, reverberated across the lake and echoed back from the mountains. My online sources informed me that on the first Wednesday of February every year, Switzerland tests it's civil defense sirens. That makes good sense, for a country that has not been in an official foreign war since 1515 (if the country was at war, and if I were granted citizenship - two equally improbable events - I would be relieved from military duty on account of my diet. Yes, Switzerland has a law against vegans serving in the military).

The knowledge that nothing was seriously amiss brought some relief, but still made me feel a little on edge as I headed out the door, determined to get my run in no matter what day in February it was. I turned my MP3 player up in an attempt to mask the shrill sounds that accented my run, but combined with John Mayer's somber voice, this only made for a somewhat bizarre and distorted doomsday soundtrack as my route wound through the vineyards, the backdrop of which reminded me of another Swiss secret.

In the 1960's, Switzerland passed a law requiring space in a nuclear shelter for every single resident. By 1991, the project was complete, meaning that there are now bunkers under virtually every hill and free-standing building across this quiet little nation. I suppose it's comforting to know that I am never more than a few minutes from a fallout shelter with an air filter, should it be determined that a ballistic missile is headed in this general direction. Our friends who own homes have shown us their bunkers in the basement; obscure concrete-reinforced rooms with stacks of bottled water and blankets in a corner. Our own picturesque village of Chexbres, nestled amongst the terraced vineyards, has bunkers built into the rock beneath it. I have yet to find the doorways (and I've looked), but I've heard that the illegal migrant workers who are brought in to harvest the grapes in September are housed in them.

These are the things that are only whispered about in Switzerland.