We did. Not to worry. The stereotype that Americans are fat and eat copious amounts of food has been upheld another day.
On Saturday, my friend, Jordan, and I set out for Bellinzona. Nestled in the Alps, Bellinzona is a large town in west of Ticino, the Italian-speaking canton of Switzerland. Although Bellinzona is the capitol of Ticino, it is actually best known for its three castles (Castelgrande, Montebello, Sasso Corbaro) which were recently named UNESCO World Heritage sites. Because of its prime location, Bellinzona acted as an important trading center during the Middle Ages. So although Jordan and I did plan our visit with the intention of taking our mouths on an Italian food tour, seeing the castles was our main reason for choosing Bellinzona.After touring the Saturday market and stuffing ourselves with too much pizza, we began to waddle up to the first castle. (Perhaps eating a huge pizza before hiking the Alps was a bad idea?) In any case, we reached the first castle without getting too exhausted; although, at least on my side, all the chocolate and hours sitting in libraries certainly have done on a number on my stamina. We explored then hiked back down and headed towards another little mountain with the second castle perched on top. About halfway up, both of us, huffing and puffing, plopped down on a stoop with some gelato to watch more fit Swiss tourists hike jovially up the steep ancient steps. Finally, we reached the top, and looked around a bit. After about an hour, we peered up at the third and final castle. To hike or not to hike? The answer turned out to be a tiny voice, true to the Italian spirit of the region, saying, "Siesta, take a siesta." So we moseyed down towards the ramparts around the castle, laid down in the grass, and fell asleep in the sunshine.
A little while later, we met up with a fellow couch surfer from Bellinzona to find out about the town from a local. Sheepishly, we admitted that we had only climbed to the second castle, not being able to fathom another hike and more panting. However, he placated our embarrassment by explaining the difference between Swiss Germans and Swiss Italians through this little story. (I entreat you to add in the Italian accent while you read this; it'll make it that much better).We leave the Alps to the Swiss Germans. They can climb and hike them all they want. What we Swiss Italians do is drive up as far as we can into the mountains. Then, with backpacks full of meat and food, we walk about thirty meters to a cabin and stay there until our food runs out. Then, we drive back down the mountain. Oh yes, we leave the work to the Swiss Germans.
There is definitely a bit of a cultural divide between the different cantons and regions of Switzerland. The more I travel around, the more pronounced it becomes. However, there is also a specific cultural difference between most of Switzerland and my small town American upbringing that was one of the hardest things for me to handle when first arriving in Basel. At stores, when I smile apologetically for my high German (not the same as Swiss German and you better bet this is a problem), I am stared down. When I laugh at a little mistake I make, someone else will roll their eyes. If I accidentally catch someone's eye on the tram, I better look elsewhere as quickly as possible. If I ask for help from someone on the street, I'll get an answer, but one given grudgingly.
You see, I'm used to waving at random people as I walk through my neighborhood. One time in Gettysburg during the snow-pocalypse of 2009/2010, a friend and I stopped to help an older lady shovel the walkway in front of her house. At grocery stores in PA, I have full-out conversations with the check-out clerks. I was even told by one of my Swiss friends that I am not like Swiss girls; I am more open, cheerful, and friendly. Unfortunately for the Swiss, this is saying something seeing as a few of my friends from high school used to call me an emotionless robot.
There is a little bit of a stiffness in most social interaction in Switzerland that is hard for me to acclimate to and at the beginning, affected all my actions in public. During my time in Uganda, I learned how to get over myself. I stood out constantly, fell down on a regular basis because of the pot holes, and just made a general idiot out of myself because of cultural differences. But it didn't bother me, because when I laughed at my follies, others would laugh with me. However, here, it felt like I was in a panopticon. I look like everyone else, but when I open my mouth, wear sweatpants, or smile a little too much, people know and disapprove of my deviation. Perhaps this is unfair of me to say, but I feel like conformity to social rules is rampant here. At first, I tried my hardest to comply. My "bitch, back off face" got so much better here than it ever was in Uganda, I made sure to constantly look tip-top, and I stayed out of peoples' ways in stores and the libraries saying as little as possible and not asking for help when I needed it.
But after this weekend, I give up. The Swiss Italians taught me something by displaying a little more warmth than up here in Basel. The divide between the first languages and their attached cultures is something along the lines of 63% are German-speaking, 20% are French-speaking, 6.5% are Italian speaking, and .5% speak Romanisch. (Other languages from immigrants make up the remaining balance). Anyways, the Italian speaking portion of Switzerland is small, but they are still proud of their culture and language. So why shouldn't I be proud of mine as well? If I want to walk out of the house in sweatpants, I will. If I catch someone's eye, I'm going to smile. If I run into a pole, I am going to laugh at myself. When I try to speak German, I won't apologize for not being a native speaker; I am trying my best.
This is my resolution for the week. Time to stop disciplining myself so I fit in a little better here because, you know what, people probably care a lot less than I think they do.
