On this blog I whinge about The Swiss quite a lot. However, it's important to note that The Swiss I whinge about are the surburban, middle class Swiss (of which there are many). However, there is a whole other world of Swiss; a world of isolated villages where the men are farmers who make huge wheels of cheese by hand and where the village got its first television twenty years ago (such as one particular village which will not be mentioned here).
This evening found us in just such a village, as we went to meet a chap that was interested in buying our car. As Bruno went off for the test drive, I made my way into the only cafe/bar/restaurant in the town. It was like "Deliverance" but with Swiss standards of hygiene. This was probably the only time a Young Foreign Woman had come into the place on her own. Ever.
Fifteen minutes later Bruno comes from a successful test drive, to find me seated at the Stammtisch*, someone has paid for my coffee, and I have been offered a job by the owner. Various customers pat Bruno on the back, congratulate him on the upcoming wedding, and tell him what a lucky man he is.
I am a Swiss-Redneck Winner!
* These establishments always have a Stammtisch, which is reserved for regulars. It takes more or less a lifetime to become a regular, and you may well have inherited the position from your father or even your grandfather. The Stammtisch is official, with a large pewter ashtray in the middle to mark it out. Sitting at the Stammtisch if you are not a Stammgast is the social equivalent of going through to the back and sitting in their living room.
