The Water

Sometimes, led merely by the instructions of a friend who also misses vegetables because working in the city often means quick lunches, you find yourself going through the door of a shop that looks very much like an ordinary Asian supermarket but turns out to be a real kitchen, a little corner of Asia and in the middle the city you thought you once knew, you are transported, over lunch-break on a Tuesday, to a completely different continent.

The bell above the door tinkles as you enter and you make your way to one of the red formica tables and in the warmth of all the retro-redness (sea-side cafés in coastal areas of rural Ireland that served battered cod and chips soaked in white vinegar, come to mind) you look at the blue plastic cut stripes as door curtains opposite, acutely aware of the scent of something exotic being deep fried and very soon a glass of mangoteen juice is served by a friendly face, apologizing for the weather and you look out at the rain pelting down outside, a little bit surprised by the fact that you had already forgotten it was raining and realize, it might well be monsoon time for all you know.

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The very first new potatoes from the garden – always a special occasion…

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I suppose no-one really noticed but here in Switzerland almost half of the bee colonies died this winter. It’s an alarming figure - 100, 000 colonies, due to the Varroa mite which has had such a devastating effect due to the general weakened immune system of the native honey-bee.

Einstein said that when the bees die we have four years left to live. We don’t really know exactly for what the bees are responsible other than pollination but even then, such a catastrophic decline must alarm even the most materialistic of thinkers. This reminds me of a story I once heard, that since over 20 years in a very remote province in China, an interesting spectacle takes place. The entire population, who rely incidentally on pears for their economic prosperity, climb up the fruit trees when they blossom in spring and collect the pollen with wooden rods on which chicken feathers are tied. The pollen is then dried and brought back up to the blossoming tree in order to ensure pollination.

I believe in lighting candles instead of complaining about the darkness and that’s why for years I’ve put up insect hotels (some of them 5* like the above) to welcome special guests here in the garden. 

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Humilitas
The more or less ‘friendly’ discordance between cantons is nothing new for people living in Switzerland. Earlier this week I received the Retail Market Report 2012 from the Location Group stating that, according to their latest study, retail locations in Zürich recently reached a staggering SFr. 12 500 per square meter. The Economist reported on this fact mentioning that Zürich has now become the most expensive city in the world, pushing Tokyo from its former position at top of the list.

A well-known Basler columnist took this information as stuff for a wonderfully witty essay which almost reads as if it were a ‘Letter to Zürich’ written from a little brother. A little brother however, who has outgrown or rather never saw the need to show-off or scream about its own worth. Basel is seldom mentioned in such ratings and more often than not, passes as invisible but this doesn’t seem to bother the Basler at all or in any way shake their self-esteem. There is a wonderful word that comes to mind. On Isola Bella it’s omnipresent, everywhere you look – on the gigantic lemon- and orange-tree flower pots, on the coat of arms, on the stone pathing, in the woven wall tapestries there it is – the symbol of three intersecting rings and above it written, carved in stone or woven in coloured threads - the word, Humilitas.

Humilitas, the Latin root of our modernday word humility, meaning not only the idea of being humble but also connotating the concept of an intrinsic sense of self-worth. To be ‘grounded’ or ‘of the earth’ are other possible interpretations because of the word’s connection to the word, ‘humus’ (earth).

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As for Basel, speaking to a fashion designer recently about the city and its self-confident and undeniable presence in Miami, the plee for independant coverage in journalism (BAZ) etc. I concluded, ‘For me, it feels like Basel still belongs to the Basler’.

I like that!

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Weekend plans…

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Breakfast bird…

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Leading up to the old Sylvester celebrations in Appenzell, a young boy listens while his peers sing ancient songs in a local Beiz in Hundwil… sends shivers down your spine. The boy’s gaze reflecting the timeless mood of the evening with its archaic remnants of oral tradition where sounds more than words speak across the centuries and melodies get passed on from one generation to the next – in this neck of the woods, it’s an exclusively male domain.

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Women-men. . .

Ring out the old, bring in the new…

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