Zurich is Switzerland’s largest city with a population of around half a million people. It lies in the northern lowlands of Switzerland, where the Limmat River flows from its lake the Zurichsee. I’ve taken the midday train from Lucerne. Within the hour I am entering the city from the hills in the southwest in glorious sunshine. Zurich’s Hauptbahnhof is a massive station but consolingly is also the epitome of organisation. Runs like clockwork. Indeed hardly a minute passes without a train coming or going. Almost three thousand trains pass through every day, connecting with Swiss, local and international destinations in one of Europe’s busiest hubs.
The first station here opened in 1847. Two decades on and it was already too small. In 1871 the rebuild was complete and the Neo Renaissance building emerged from its scaffolding as a significant city landmark. The Hauptbahnhof is cast in the station-as-palace mode. A massive triumphal arch at its entrance looks down Bahnhofstrasse, Zurich’s main street. A bronze statue of railway pioneer Alred Escher stands guard atop a grand fountain. The imposing Main Hall is framed by high arches with restaurants and cafes lining the concourse leading to the platforms beyond a spacious lateral concourse. The Main Hall also houses regular exhibitions and events. There are three platform levels. The upper street level holds sixteen platforms beneath the vast glass and steel roof. Downstairs the ShopVille shopping centre occupies the mid level and below this are ten underground platforms for the city S Bahn. If you are at all anxious about where to go, the signage and information boards are clear, and there are alo helpful personnel on hand to deal with any questions.
I exit by way of the Europallee development, a converted train yard now lined with high rise buildings and street level eateries, bars and clubs along its pedestrianised length. I am staying at the Trip Inn a short walk further on at the edge of the city centre. Still, sunshine and baggage take their toll. Arriving early, a leafy terrace behind reception makes a good oasis after my trip, if you’ll pardon the pun. There’s a lively restaurant next door and plenty more places for refreshments nearby. It’s a short walk sloping down Backerstrasse to the Sihl River which borders the west end of the city centre, flowing beneath the Hauptbanhof before joining the Limmat.
East of the Sihl things are picking up with the gathering crush of rush hour wrapping Zurich in clinking trams and throngs of pedestrians and cyclists. By way of an oasis, and also my first point of pilgrimage, the James Joyce Pub on Pelikanstrasse is quiet. The pub’s interior is in fact the bar of Jury’s Hotel in Dublin, shipped here in the 70s and reconstructed, lock, stock and barrel of stout. Much of the terrace decking is reserved but I blag a pew and order a Guinness. Very good it is too.
James Joyce is Dublin’s most famous exile. A renowned wanderer, Zurich is the place he ultimately came to rest. He stayed only briefly on his first visit in 1904. A decade later with the outbreak of the Great War he left Trieste for Zurich and stayed until 1919. Here he finished Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and the play, Exiles. He began Ulysses as a novel taking its lead from an earlier short story and developing his own literary alter ego Stephen Dedalus. Ulysses recreates Dublin but looks to the heart of every great city. Zurich as the starting point was particularly important as the refuge for artistic and political emigres during the war years, sparking the Dada movement and sheltering Lenin on the threshold of revolution.
After the war Joyce lived in Paris but throughout the 30s returned regularly to Zurich, receiving treatment for his failing eyesight and for his daughter Lucia’s mental health. In December 1940 Joyce and his family fled here but he died in January 1941 and is buried in Fluntern Cemetery with his wife Nora, and children Giorgio and Lucia
Pelikanstrasse leads onto Bahnhofstrasse through the Pavilion Sculpture, a concrete gateway by sculptor Max Bill from the late twentieth century. Bahnhofstrasse is Zurich’s swishest street. Originally built over the city’s ancient moat, today it marks the commercial centre of the city. Upmarket retail, hotels and banking institutions make this one of Europe’s most prestigious and expensive addresses. Mostly pedestrianised, but accommodating Zurich’s ever swirling tramways, this is a place you must walk with a spring in your step. Brass in pocket too. Paradeplatz is a famous square halfway down. The Peterhof built in 1913 is a striking building with stepped gables emphasising its status as a cathedral of commerce.,
Further on the street terminates at Burkliplatz. Along here are the quays for boat trips on the lake which stretches 25 miles into the southern distance with glorious views of the snow capped Alps beyond. The sun beats down and I pause for breath, and some more refreshment. Cheap at half the price, at least it would be. Worth it though.
Stepping off the contemporary commercial swirl of Bahnhofstrasse is stepping into a different world. Between here and the Limmat the Altstadt, Old Town, is a warren of winding narrow streets, rising and falling amongst traditional housing in the Swiss style. This is where Zurich was founded by the Romans on the Helvetian settlement at Lindenhof Hill and named Turicum. Lindenhof is the still the focal point of Zurich. The hill itself is now parkland, presiding over the roofs of the Altstadt.
Restaurants and bars colonise the pavements. The lanes widen into picture book squares flowing around antique churches. St Peter’s Kirche is distinguished by its huge clockface, reputedly the largest in europe with a diameter of twenty eight feet. The church dates back to the thirteenth century, with the tower being built in the 15th century. I find space in a square at a small Italian restaurant which is becoming a habit of mine. But all of Europe meets in Switzerland, and thoughtully left me a seat and table to fortify myself with pasta bolognese and a glass of wine.
Across the river the Altstadt continues with the Niederdorf area on the east bank. This pedestrianised area of narrow cobbled street, antique shops, galleries and all sorts of cafe life has a more edgy Bohemianism than the far bank. The Old Town continues on through Munstergasse, or Lunstergasse as my DK has it. Mmm why name a street after them? Anywho, Munstergasse leads to the Grossmunster, Zurich’s signature twin towered cathedral. The twin towers were unfortunately scaffold clad for restoration work.
The church was originally founded by Charlemagne in the 8th century, the present structure dating back to 1100AD. In 1519 it became a centre for the Protestant Reformation with Zwingli.as its preacher. Ulrich Zwingli was born in 1484 and studied at Vienna and Basel. Influenced by the Humanist teachings of Erasmus he pushed for radical church reform. The issue of fasting at Lent led to the Affair of the Sausages, something to which we can all raise a hot dog. Zwingli did not stop there but opposed Rome across the spectrum. He joined with other radical preachers including Luther and Calvin in breaking from the Papacy.
The Swiss divided along religious lines and sporadic civil war followed. The second War of Kappel in 1531 near Zug frustrated Protestant objectives with Catholic Cantons asserting their traditions. Zwingli died on the battlefield and Switzerland emerged uniquely as a country of two religions. Catholicism and Protestantism are still equally practiced.
Four centuries later, another form of revolution was in the air. On Spiegelgasse, the Dada movement was founded in 1916 at the Cabaret Voltaire. Artists Hugo Ball and Emmy Hemmings set up the venue as a radical venture to tilt at the conventional strictures of art. Tristan Tzara, Jean Arp and others of the art community huddled in Zurich during the war years joined in. They fought the idiocy of war with an idiocy of their own. Sound poems, collage and performance art were developed by the Dadaists as a protest against authority. After the war, the movement leaked into the wider world and developed into Surrealism,
The original Cabaret Voltaire was shortlived, but is now reincarnated at its original premises with a cafe, exhibition and performance space and an upstairs library. The downstairs exhibition features a collection of artefacts with a disconcerting soundtrack of sound poetry. Included here was, intriguingly and logically, Fear of Music by Talking Heads. It all makes sense. Or stops making sense, perhaps. Upstairs, a long, hushed room has shelves full of books for quiet perusal. far removed from Dadaist anarchy, but perfect all the same. I take my time over a wonderful pictorial history of Max Ernst, one of my favourites. In the German army during the war, it was afterwards in Paris that Ernst hooked up with Dada, and became a leading light of Surrealism.
After the songs, and the building, there’s room for food or refreshment at the ground floor cafe. I order a coffee at the counter and retreat into more silence with my notebook. What good are notebooks?! Well, they’re the place I first create the cities in my head, which brings me back to Talking Heads. Road to Nowhere was written by David Byrne, taken from their sixth album Little Creatures in 1985. We are all on that journey, so let’s stick together.
There’s a city in my mind
Come along and take that ride
It’s alright, baby, it’s alright
And it’s very far away
But it’s growing day by day
And it’s alright, baby, it’s alright
Back along the main drag of Niederdorf, I find shelter from the sunshine at a tavern where a clever sign promises ‘beer as cold as your ex’s heart’. Ah, without love, where would we be now? The bar is amiable, the beer is cold, and I balance on the pavement beneath a brolly watching the folk sail by. Later I must sail myself across the Limmat and home. Across the Sihl again too. Lagerstrasse along the side of the Banhof is well named. There’s an Irish bar, Kennedy’s, and they do good food for a cheerful rush hour crowd. The Donegal barman tells me he’s settled in here and insists the price of food and drink is much the same as home. Although Swiss mountains are also a bit higher, I’d say.
Later on the sun reluctantly sets. For my last blast I sip beer al fresco at Bar Campo on Helvetia Platz at the top of Backerstrasse. It’s a warm Autumn night and retiring early doesn’t appeal, morning flight or no. I fall into company with a couple of friendly locals. Zurchers are born linguists, speaking English easily besides their own native ingredients, German and French, some Italian too. Richard was raised on Swahili while Marelio juggles a couple of local languages. It’s good to talk. We are at the crossroads of Europe after all. Those roads do lead to a load of somewheres.
