I despise the heat. Since anything above 25 degrees is too hot for me, I’ve decided to work remotely for a couple of days – at an altitude of over 2,000 metres. Far from the reach of the city heat, it’s cows and flies distracting me from my work.
Sunday, 12 p.m., 32°C in Zurich: summer is fraying my nerves
Monday, 8.10 a.m., 12°C in Juf, 20°C in Zurich
Monday, 9.48 a.m., 16°C in Juf, 23°C in Zurich
Monday, 12.30 p.m., 21°C in Juf, 26°C in Zurich
Monday, 4.10 p.m., 23°C in Juf, 32°C in Zurich
With the sun shining on my screen and arms, it’s time for a break from writing. I decide to go and explore the village. For research purposes ... or something like that. Three minutes later, I’ve reached the other end of town. I snap a photo of the village sign. A motorcyclist stops behind me and asks whether I want to take any more photos. I answer no. «I do, though,» he replies. I ask if I should take one for him. «No,» he says. We say goodbye politely.
Walking back into the village, I stop off at the local store. Amongst all the souvenirs emblazoned with Swiss crosses, there’s a sign which reads: «ALL THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED!» It goes on to demand 350 Swiss francs in damages in case of theft. Just how exactly this amount has been calculated is a mystery to me.
Sun cream applied, I sit down in the beer garden once again. This time, most of the customers are day-trippers. They drink Rivella, beer and Suure Moscht apple wine accompanied by nut pastries wrapped in rustling cellophane. The ashtrays are branded with Coca Cola Light, which is almost as bizarre as printing the Diet Coke logo on size 48 Crocs.
The only reason Coca Cola Light even still exists is because there are people who’ve never drunk Coke Zero.
Monday, 7.20 p.m., 20°C in Juf, 31°C in Zurich
A woman comes out of the room next to me, bike in tow. In Zurich, I’d find this kind of anti-theft measure completely understandable. But who’s going to nick a bike in Juf? Who’s so afraid of that happening that they take their bike back to their room? To me, the scene seems so absurd that it could well have come from a movie script for a Swiss comedy:
A Crime of Opportunity – A Comedy
The second instalment of my reportage from Juf (provided anything else happens to me) will be published in the next few days.
When I flew the family nest over 15 years ago, I suddenly had to cook for myself. But it wasn’t long until this necessity became a virtue. Today, rattling those pots and pans is a fundamental part of my life. I’m a true foodie and devour everything from junk food to star-awarded cuisine. Literally. I eat way too fast.
Background information
Interesting facts about products, behind-the-scenes looks at manufacturers and deep-dives on interesting people.
«Here, we call it a tropical night when it gets above 10 degrees!» the landlady at Pension Edelweiss in Juf (website in German) tells me. At 2,126 metres above sea level, Juf is the highest village occupied by permanent residents in Europe. It’s nestled at the back of the Avers Valley in the canton of Graubünden. Here, where the River Rhine begins before meandering towards Rotterdam, the temperature rarely rises above 20 degrees. Boarding my noon train in Zurich on Sunday, the thermometer reads 32 degrees. One train ride, two Postbus rides and a little over three hours later, I’m sitting in the shade on the terrace, the gentle wind blowing in from the mountain making me slightly chilly. It’s 22 degrees and it dawns on me that I’ve brought neither a sweater nor a windbreaker.
I hate the heat that builds up in the Central Plateau in summertime. All that sweating, then trying over and over to cool down, only to sweat even more, drives me crazy. On days like these, my home office can reach up to 30 degrees – as can our editorial office. Retreating to a higher altitude seems to be the only effective way for me to break this vicious sweaty cycle. I’ll be like Icarus soaring towards the sun – only, it’ll get colder the higher I climb. A 2160-metre elevation will do nicely. After all, Icarus did kinda melt in the end.
Day one in my dream summer location. Juf has 30 permanent residents, who make their living through agriculture and tourism. There are no trees here, which, according to my Aver Valley travel guide, is why the farmers of yore used sheep dung as firewood. «Zurich smells like shit this morning,» reads a message from my wife. I suspect this is the aftermath of Zürifäscht, Zurich’s city festival. I breathe in some thin mountain air and get ready for my first meeting of the day. My workstation is an ergonomically adventurous combination of dresser and upholstered chair, my laptop on a crocheted mat. Outside, I can hear cowbells.
There’s room for improvement when it comes to the ergonomics of my set-up... but the air up here is really clean. Source: Simon Balissat
I’m late to my first meeting, but not because my internet connection is bad. I simply lost track of time. There’s wireless, which hits 15 Mbit/s when I test the speed. The lines to Hamburg and Zurich seem to work – I can hear everyone clearly. Unfortunately, thanks to the centimetre-wide gap between my door and the floor, I can also hear the communal shower across the hallway. Less-than-ideal background noise and improvised workstation aside, I’m able to focus. There’s not a single bead of sweat running unpleasantly down from my armpits and my shirt isn’t stuck to my back. After the meeting, I start writing ...
I take my lunch break in the beer garden of Pension Edelweiss, where I’ve rented a room. The sun drives the temperature of the Aver Valley above 20 degrees. I wonder if other people have had the same idea as me? Next to me, there’s a group of apprentices sitting with their teacher, cramming for an exam. They’re probably carpenters – there’s talk of types of wood and the composition of concrete. Water, gravel, cement. They all order the «Wochenhit (pick of the week)» from the menu: bratwurst and chips. Judging by their accents, they’re probably from the local area. I opt for the «garnished sausage salad with cheese», the daily special. No sooner have I made my decision than a group of men joins me at the table.
The daily special: sausage salad with cheese. If Pornhub existed for food porn, this photo would be in the Amateurs category. Source: Simon Balissat
Clocking the laptop and camera lying beside me, one of the men thinks I’m a Südostschweiz journalist. «No, I work for Galaxus,» I explain politely. Puzzled faces all round. I’m keen to find out whether they’re from around here. «Nah, we’re from Appenzell.» A couple of minutes later, I get a follow-up question: «Galaxus, the online shop? I’ve ordered stuff from there before. Do you work in the warehouse?» I answer in the negative, explaining that we’re basically like the Migros magazine, only online. Ever so slightly baffled, everybody nods and turns their attention to their food. They, too, have gone for the «pick of the week»: bratwurst and chips.
The view from the terrace. Source: Simon Balissat
A warning to those with sticky fingers. Source: Simon Balissat
I’m having to shell out a fair bit myself, opting to buy a bottle of factor 50+ sunscreen for 14.50 Swiss francs. I’d have got it for cheaper from Galaxus, but I forgot to buy a bottle while I was in Zurich. «Unfortunately, we only take cash,» the elderly saleswoman says when I ask if they accept card payments. «The nearest ATM is in Andeer,» she adds. In other words, a half-hour journey by Postbus, which only stops in Juf every two hours. I guess I just won’t buy any sunscreen – I’ll have to stay in the shade instead. However, as I go to put the tube back, the saleswoman says TWINT is fine, pulling out a piece of paper with a mobile phone number on it.
The mercury has gone just over 20 degrees. Source: Simon Balissat
CrocsClassic Coca-Cola Light X Clog 207220-030 Size 48
48
Dinner is served at 6.30 p.m. sharp. At one of the tables, there’s a group sitting drinking wine, one man holding court. Since not all of them are proficient in the same language, they switch clumsily between German, English and French. Somebody claims that Instagram was invented before Facebook, which everyone at the table accepts as fact without checking. «So this is how fake news starts,» I think to myself before finishing my hot berry sundae (included in the half-board menu) and heading back to the room.
In the town of Juf in the Avers Valley, a tourist takes her bike to her hotel room every day to prevent it from being stolen. One day, when she pops into the local store to buy something, she locks up her bike out front. The old lady who works in the shop starts talking to her about how much she should charge shoplifters in damages. The tourist strongly feels that 350 Swiss francs is too little, especially with today’s inflation. When she leaves the shop, her bike is gone. The surly local police inspector, though originally from Juf, has been planning to serve his last few months until retirement at the police station in Andeer. When he investigates the case, he uncovers a dark secret!
