Welcome to Switzerland

From where does friendship begin? The evolution from stranger to acquaintance to one who enters the inner shrine of friendship begins from a single glimpse, a word interchanged, or some comic physical interaction when none was intended. Between some, it is a slow process that may never reach fruition and among others, it happens at lightning speed when two folks instantly understand one another.

I did not know how Matthias and I became friends, as we spent no more than a day and an evening in each other’s company. Perhaps we were in transition towards friendship, as he seemed much more open and free-spirited in Alaska. Here, in the Alpine land of Switzerland, he appeared detached, cautious, and more concerned about what people thought. Apparently, Matthias thought I was a true American, as I talked far too much and tended to share information he didn’t care to know. However, when I decided not to dominate a conversation, he blatantly said that didn’t suit me either. He took me to a disco, and laughed with idiosyncratic glee when I tried to dance in my hiking boots. (No, I didn’t bring a change of shoes.)

Switzerland was an idyllic realm of mountains green as malachite, and Zurich in particular complemented the rocky ranges with a mirror-like lake. The city was small, picturesque, with many bridges, a plethora of small floating boats, and multiple restaurants and shops with a lakeside front. The architecture and buildings were thin, pointy, and poignant. Everything was elegant, balanced, and perfectly organized. Even roasted chestnuts from the street were sold in a paper bag with two compartments, one for the steaming “marrons” and the other for empty shells. There was the Lindt chocolate factory unveiling delicious aromas along Lake Zurich, water taxis, and delectable cheeses in the shops. By the way, even groceries are expensive in Switzerland, since the Swiss believe in paying a great deal for good food. They don’t understand why Americans are so fond of bargains. Matthias told me the Swiss were most proud of the Zurich clock tower because its face was the larger than any other in Europe. Another entity with a preoccupation with size. Quite Freudian.

At Matthias’ suggestion, I took the inevitably prompt train to Luzcern, one of the most scenic sites in the German part of Switzerland. It was a quaint town, also adorned by a lake, but the main attraction was Mount Pilatus. This extraordinary mountain rose through the clouds, like a spiral into heaven. I remembered my love of summits, despite my fear of heights, because of the feeling of being aloft, of flying within the ever fluctuating winds, touching the clouds and the air.

It was not until later, that I realized the genuine importance of the site I had just visited. Mount Pilatus. Pontius Pilate. This was where the Roman governor or praetor, had been exiled after the revolution of Israel, where he perished, and where his bones were buried. Rumor had it he died of a broken heart. This was the anti-hero in the story of Christ, did anyone care about his heart? Ironic that such a place of misery for him became so exhilarating to many tourists who followed.

Suffering. Dying. Rising. Someone once told me that this is the cycle of life, this constant transformation and letting ourselves die so that we can continue to grow. The problem was that many of us get stuck in the suffering stage, and have trouble letting go of status quo, remnants of mediocrity. Only when we die to the past and open ourselves to the present could we unlock the mystery of our own hearts.

So maybe we all need to learn this lesson. And maybe we all are worthy of redemption. Even Pontius Pilate.