One of my greatest aspirations is to never lose that awe, { that AHHHH }, that jaw drop in the face of beauty, giddiness at the simple existence of the spectacular. Interlaken is truly one of the most stunning places I've ever been.
{ This is Switzerland }
After spending the day in Interlaken a few of us went back to Bern for the night. At a cultural festival (Geneva would be shocked at the spectacle -- OUTDOOR noise, you say? And FREE? Preposterous!) on the city plaza we ran into a 59-year-old Peruvian man named César Miranda, and our night took a sharp turn. César spoke no English (French, German, Italian, Spanish, so I'll forgive him), so the next three hours were conducted exclusively in Spanish and muddled French. I feel incredibly guilty now for thinking César was trying to hustle us -- he just wanted to show us around one of the cities he calls his own. We talked about politics -- Swiss, international, American, pan-American -- haltingly, of course. I have no idea how he managed such patience at our understanding.
Two Swiss-Germans came and sat at the table next to ours. Speaking no Spanish (and César no English), they and César began a battle for our ideologies. "We're the real Switzerland," both sides insisted. Above all César was proud of his multiple citizenships -- Swiss, Peruvian and Italian. The Germans plead with us not to allow this "migrant" to color our interpretation of their country: "He is not the real Switzerland. It's truly a beautiful country." In turn, César begged us to ignore them entirely: "But for the racism, Switzerland is a beautiful country."
Switzerland, the boilerplate.
