Bern
is definitely my favourite capital city. It lacks in the
self-aggrandisement which capital's often gain through being the
largest or the most powerful city and has thus carved itself an
interesting subniche as purely an administrative city.
Bern is just so damn laid back. On
my suggestion I could live here, my companion said "If you ever live in
Switzerland, live here and work in Geneva." And anyone who thinks that
German speakers can't relax needs to come here too..... Bern is very
compact and the HI hostel I was staying at was at the bottom of either
an exceptionally steep hill or a superb furnicular rail. I took the
latter and alighted by the side of the river Aare, next to the strand
known as the Marzili which is where Berner and Bernerin alike go to
chill. And so do I for a few minutes. Das Parliamentsgebäude (the
parliament building) backs onto the same hill I just described. I went
round the Swiss federal parliament (not sitting), which is like a very
large school room, Next up was the room in Bern where Albert Einstein
lived when he was writing the theory of relativity. The building is now
Einstein-Haus and entry was 2 swiss francs. There in lies a short
story... Because Switzerland has four official languages (French,
German, Italian and Ratoromansch - a dialect) they have to use CH as
the official tag because Latin's the only language they could agree on.
In fact, the French speaking area around the German speaking Bern
declared itself a new state because of the "Röstigraben" effect as its
known. For a reason never explained, the following legend is on a wall
in the city: Den Geist aus der Flasche gibts nur im Märchen. Den in der
Dose auch. I've no idea what it means. (Even now) My final stop on this
leg was to walk past the Schweizer Nationalbank, which has a notice on
the door saying there is no exchange inside!
If there is a city with power in Switzerland, it is divided between the civic centres of Geneva and the banks of Zuerich.
Inside and out, the Palais des
Nations is pretty much beyond photography and seemed to need too much
paperwork, but the tour was instructive and the bookstop did a tidy
trade in UN reports and kitch. The building itself was originally half
the size than present and the HQ for the League of Nations (everyone
else's failed attempt to construct an international community
independently of the US). Geneva was a key city then, and is now. From
the International Telecoms Union to the World Intellectual Property Org
to the more abstract signs of connection such as the Broken Chair,
Geneva is rooted in diplomacy. The sculpture regularly serves as a
focus point for protests. Neighbours to the UN on Avenue de la Paix are
the Comité International, the 'International Red Cross'. Another
astounding museum and the symmetry is very apt. The outside of the ICRC
building is very well constructed with the organisations' symbols at
the forefront but also references to the Geneva Conventions and those
lost in war (represented in grey vails). The archive of patient files
from the first war the Red Cross helped at is still in the building,
the walls list every war the ICRC have healt with since Henry Dunant
founded it. A depressing site which I don't think I will ever forget.
The evening is spent at a really nice restaurant on Rue de la Croix
Rouge, close to the world's longest wooden bench! Searching for the
local dish, I end up eating perch from the lake. I screw up the only
bit of French I need all night (Mousse au chocolate). I spent the final
night of the trip in the posh surroundings of Rue Rothschild, but it
was still an HI hostel. Both the airport and main train station in
Geneva sit on the French border and there's always a risk you'll be
asked to show your passport only on an internal train or plane.
Check-in guy at the airport shouted out 'Liverpool, Wykiki, Baghdad'
and ignored the weight allowance as I put my luggage in. We headed off
in search of crépe. Sadly none was forthcoming so we settled for la
Marmite and a roast beef club sandwich and Rivella - the Swiss national
drink.
Arrived at the railway station
from hell, a big hill climb away from the hostel... and no lift.Of the
two districts which the hostel sits between, Morgental was nicer but
the city in general left me with the impression that it was trying too
hard to please and had become a Swiss cliché or maybe like a larger
version of The City in London. No soul, but the hostel was spotless and
well run, with a 24-hour bar. 'The Future of History', the Musée Suisse
was closed, being rebuilt. It was right next to the Hauptbahnhof (Main
rail station). Everything is so damn hectic. Amazingly, the previously
very well run hostel assigned me to the wrong room and I nearly ended
up having an argument from the guy I woke up in the first (wrong) room.
I hopped aboard the incorrectly named 'Salzach Sprinter' into
both the city and state of salt through the amazing Salzach valley with
the Alps towering over Europe's biggest national park, the Höhe Tauern.
The main square has been taken over by the commercialism of Salzburg Festival.
The
hostel (Jugend und Familiengästehaus) was on Josef-Preis-Allee, not far
from the river Salzach. I avoid the Sound of Music tours and the
tourist traps. I love this hostel, a laid back semi-urban retreat with
really nice staff and a radio perminently tuned to FM4.
I returned to the shadow of the High Salzburg Fortress (Festung Hochsalzburg). I climbed up there via the SLB furnicular.
I
went down into town to the Dommuseum in the spectacular cathedral in
the centre of town, and the Residenz Gallerie, inside the palace of the
Prince-Bishops of Salzburg. Inside is a ballistrade constructed as a
Baroque joke. Every piller was tuned to a different note, so it could
be played like a glockenspiel. Outside there was a real glock which
chimed every hour, and a café which sold ridiculously expensive torte
if you sat next to the glock. I didn't.
If you translated
Salzburg's treatment of Mozart to Liverpool and John Lennon, then we'd
have a Lennon Square boasting a Lennon statue in the centre of
Liverpool and little chocolates (or maybe pots of Scouse) named after
Lennon would be sold. We don't, because the idea is silly. But
obviously not in Salzburg. And amazingly, the Mozart statue is in bad
nick.
Austria has a public broadcaster called ORF, they have
several radio channels. One of these is called FM4 (eff-emm-fear) and
that particular station broadcasts from breakfast to mid-evening in
English and then mid-evening til Breakfast in German and so I love it.
Plus it's just really damn good.
Just in case you hadn't worked it out... the river Inn runs through this town.
Out
of Switzerland and back into the EU in the form of Austria, my passport
is checked but no arguments. The hostel was on Reichenauer Strasse and
was a fantastically ugly cantalever building and everywhere on the way
was being rebuilt.
It took me four attempts to even find the exit there's so much rebuilding. Or rather a 4 year "Neubahnhof Offensive"....
My room was up on the second floor with no lift and dingy lights.
A
few minutes later and with my waterproof jacket at the hostel, the Alps
unloaded their load of water on me and sodden and unable to find a bus
stop I ran across the road into the Hilton.
Innsbruck had defeated me, badly organised.
Welcome
to the world of Schengen. My journey to Innsbruck on the InterCity
'Berlitz Sprachcenter' started and ended in Austria and was run by the
Austrian state railway, OBB, and yet I travelled through the forests of
Southern Bavaria and therefore Germany to get there. I was welcomed on
my phone and there was no passport check.
On arrival in town, I
belted around to the 'Goldenes Dachl' - which is actually gold-plated
and the area which is 'gold' is more of a balcony but nonetheless a
Maximilaneum (Museum to Maximilian) for an ex-Prince of the area.
Next up was Die Kaiserliche Hofburg zu Innsbruck "Gothic, Baroque and Rokoko in Tirol". Much more impressive, the Royal Palace.
I
also popped into the cathedral of Max I, which has the ridiculous
spectacle of a massive church with marble copies of him guarding a
casket which never contained anything. His body is buried in Wiener
Neustadt.
I finished my tour by visiting the Tiroler Volkskunst
Museum (Tirolean People's Museum) before retiring to a cafe within
shooting distance of Triumphpforte (think Arc de Triomphe, except this
one was built by Max to celebrate his marriage) for some apple juice.
The ubiquitous Billa supermarket on the terrace at the back of the
hostel provided sustenance.
I spoke to the OBB about possible travel plans. The journey turned out to be a 2 hour wait followed by three trains.
The
first train went from Innsbruck to Feldkirch, a border town but still
Austrian. A slam door local train but my luggage was carried on and off
by a party of Zürchers. The next train was also a local journey from
Feldkirch to Sargans, just on the Swiss side of the border, via the
station at Schaan-Vaduz in Liechtenstein, with no passport check.
Strangely.
And then finally I hopped aboard a train to Zürich, arriving in the commercial capital after 5.5 hours.
Linz's new cathedral (Neuer Dom) sits with little notice on the
main street up to the main square. The main square is almost too well
framed for a city of Linz's size. I found out why later...
I
carried on into Hauptplatz and got a tour. The guide explained...
"these pillars on either side are the only parts of Adolf Hitler's
ambitious plan to be realised". Unfortunately the opportunity to sample
the real vibe was prevented by the circus being in town (or rather the
'Kroner-Fest' - Krone being Austria's equivilent of The Sun/Bild). So I
got the hell out.
My first stop was the Ars Electronica Center,
across the not-so-Blue Danube in Uhfahr. The region is so called
because of its history away from Linz. The population used to make
their living ferrying Linzers over the river, until Linz built a bridge
and enslaved that side too...
After the AEC I grabbed a
schnitzel at Schnitzel Express in the absense of any other ideas. She
then rushed off and I spent the evening chilling.
The hostel
borders the Botanical Gardens and the Linzerstadion and the
receptionist is a Teutonic stereotype. The room has four beds and a
nicely suburban window view.
I did the world's steepest
furnicular Pöstlingbergbahn, up to another castle which houses another
railway. The Grottenbahn or grotto railway. Poetry to come when I can
attempt a translation, but the view over Linz is spectacular. The other
one is the Lentos, fantastic building masking a dull, conservative
display of art.
Obviously not a city used to visitors.
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