Rouge
October 4 2006
A few weeks ago, on a night someone gave me an itch to attend a live music performance by abruptly signing off an e-mail to rush to a Pearl Jam concert, I had a look at what was happening around and was absolutely, positively overjoyed to find out Xavier Rudd was soon coming to Switzerland.
I first heard "The letter" on Triple J, an Australian alternative radio station, last winter. I still remember how my captivation started with the very first few notes I heard then.
I arrived late last night at the Rohstofflager for the loveliest concert I've ever been to, the one where I've seen people enjoy themselves the most, singer included.
Since I hadn't wanted to spend any money for a place to sleep, I walked around the quiet streets of Zürich, and was as soon smitten. I'm incredibly lucky too it didn't get to pour rain that night.
I hadn't seen the first time I came how it was beautiful.
I'm fond of the medieval houses that still populate the old towns of Switzerland, and they are especially gemütlich and lovable in the streets of Zürich. Where Bern looks stern, sick and glum all clad in its green decrepit armour, Zürich is white, graceful, charming and prim as in her first youth.
Past the Amtshaus, I looked at the swans drifting in and out of view in the dark Limmat, their slim neck twisted in sleep. Once five, and then only one, and then two, as if they wanted to play tricks on me each time that I turned my head.
The pulse of the city began gently beating again with the tramways that trailed along the Banhofstrasse very early, like giant, hungry glow-worms, the first commuters already in their stomach.
After a hot chocolate before the crack of dawn, I climbed up a little higher with the funiculaire, and took glimpses of the city awakening, having breakfast and setting up to work under a sky that had only begun to whiten.
I <3 Zürich. And just all of Switzerland! And the Swiss, also. Sheesh, I've even gotten fond of the flag, too. It's funny to prefer other countries to one's own, and it still feels, despite my carelessness on the surface, even a little bit wrong and unnatural deep down. I don't know if it was a mistake from the storks' part, or if I'm so that I can only be at home away from home.
I first heard "The letter" on Triple J, an Australian alternative radio station, last winter. I still remember how my captivation started with the very first few notes I heard then.
I arrived late last night at the Rohstofflager for the loveliest concert I've ever been to, the one where I've seen people enjoy themselves the most, singer included.
Since I hadn't wanted to spend any money for a place to sleep, I walked around the quiet streets of Zürich, and was as soon smitten. I'm incredibly lucky too it didn't get to pour rain that night.
I hadn't seen the first time I came how it was beautiful.
I'm fond of the medieval houses that still populate the old towns of Switzerland, and they are especially gemütlich and lovable in the streets of Zürich. Where Bern looks stern, sick and glum all clad in its green decrepit armour, Zürich is white, graceful, charming and prim as in her first youth.
Past the Amtshaus, I looked at the swans drifting in and out of view in the dark Limmat, their slim neck twisted in sleep. Once five, and then only one, and then two, as if they wanted to play tricks on me each time that I turned my head.
The pulse of the city began gently beating again with the tramways that trailed along the Banhofstrasse very early, like giant, hungry glow-worms, the first commuters already in their stomach.
After a hot chocolate before the crack of dawn, I climbed up a little higher with the funiculaire, and took glimpses of the city awakening, having breakfast and setting up to work under a sky that had only begun to whiten.
I <3 Zürich. And just all of Switzerland! And the Swiss, also. Sheesh, I've even gotten fond of the flag, too. It's funny to prefer other countries to one's own, and it still feels, despite my carelessness on the surface, even a little bit wrong and unnatural deep down. I don't know if it was a mistake from the storks' part, or if I'm so that I can only be at home away from home.