Do you believe in magic, in destiny … if not, then Switzerland is the place to come to.
Last afternoon we headed for the city square after settling into the lovely hotel Rigihof at Zurich. We soon realized that we were lost and got off the tram. I was very hungry by then.
We got down, definitely where we hadn’t planned to be, right at the front of Restaurante Pizzeria.
R P is where we had our first lunch at Switzerland at the banks of Lake Geneva at Montreux. Where we had discovered that pizzas can be made with fresh slices of Parmesan cheese, melted blobs of buffalo Mozarella, slices of pepperoni and fresh salad leaves and cherry tomatoes… very different from Dominos chicken tikka pizza back home. I was hoping to have it once before leaving. What were the chances of landing at another branch of the same restaurant in a city four hours away, when you are lost. – sorry no qn marks or brackets or exclamation mark on this keyboard –
Still don’t believe in magic – qn mark –
Well we figured out after lunch that everything was shut on Sundayat Zurich. Out of desperation we got onto a river cruise –included in the rail pass – got bored out of our heads and land landed at the old square at 8 pm.
We were trying to find our way to the Swiss restaurant with a long name written in an indecipherable scrawl by the lady in the Tourist Office in the station. And my map reading skills suck. The language barrier didn’t help.
That’s when we stumbled into a kiosk set up for the Zurich film festival beside the Café Odeon which Lenin used to frequent.
In the stall we bumped into a young lady called Shivani. Her family had moved in from India a few generations back. She comfortably switched from German to a smooth American accented English as she told us that the places we were heading to were tourist traps. She told us about a little lane with sit out pubs. She said that this where we should head for real Swiss food. She even walked us part of the way when we came back saying that we were lost. For all you know she was for real. Or was she …
And so we walked up the cobbled narrow paths, sandwiched by grand stone buildings, not a soul on the roads lit up by yellow lights, steep climbs by many awe inspiring Cathedrals, and we came into a street buzzing with little restaurants.
We sat at the first restaurant thanks to a Juhu beach like aggressive salesperson cum waiter. K wanted Roesti, the Swiss Sali or fried potatoes and she had it with the house specialty of sliced veal in a creamy sauce. The name of the dish was unpronounceable but Shivani had strongly recommended too. K loved it.
I had the only Swiss dish which I hadn’t tried so far – Cordon Bleau – which according to K is not pronounced as blue but blah.
Pork, stuffed with ham, stuffed with cheese, coated with bread crumbs, deep fried … Cordon Bleu should come with a health warning.
I didnt like it too much as I found it to be too dry and the cheese wasn’t very inspiring.
But sitting out on the tiny cobbled path, candle lights, a lane tucked away from tourists was just what we needed to close our last night at Switzerland.
Must thank Shivani for the wonderful time at Marketgrasse, the name of the street
And yes, by now I believe in magic, the reasons are obvious I guess
Shubho Bijoya to all