Swiss Holidays: Zurich

We didn't come to Zurich with a checklist of things to see, so our itinerary was quite open for the day. We read in the guidebook that the Kunsthaus was good, so we decided to visit Switzerland's best art museum.

The city isn't big, so we got off the bus at the main station and continued on foot. We passed through charming cobblestone street shopping regions lined with big Swiss flags and teeming with tourists.

Along our path we crossed the Grossmunster, the legendary church founded by Charlemagne and the birth of the Reformation. We popped inside for a few minutes to check out the pretty agate windows and visit the crypt containing the 14th century statue of Charlemagne.

A few blocks from the museum we stopped in a sunny plaza to eat a packed lunch and enjoy the weather before committing the rest of the afternoon indoors.

At the museum ticketing reception the cashier handed us two tickets to the permanent collection, then eyed our bags warily. She finally decided that my oversized shoulder bag could stay, and David could keep the camera bag on his person as long as he carried it on the front of his body.

The museum was refreshingly peaceful, and we had plenty of space to enjoy the art at a leisurely pace and speak in whispered tones.

However, the problem with a quiet museum is that the security staff has no one else to watch.

We had just finished a room of Kandinsky and Picasso when a staff member stopped David, pointed to the camera bag, and said something in German. Once it was clear that we couldn't understand, he repeated himself in English: David was carrying his bag improperly.

"The front desk instructed me to carry like this" he argued.

"Well I don't know who told you this, but they are wrong. You cannot carry a bag on your back or front. On your side only. Only babies are allowed to be carried in the front."

With a sigh David adjusted the bag to his side and we carried on.

Not twenty minutes later an older gentleman with a name tag approached David and started ranting at him again in German. He was shaking his head and behaving like David had carried a wet, nervous dog into the gallery.

When it became obvious that we didn't understand German he became even more agitated. I came to David's side just as another gray-haired man with a name tag came to his colleague's rescue.

"You are not to carry a bag like that" he translated, pointing to the sack at David's side.

"Right. You are the third person to tell me this today. Could you please tell me exactly what the rule is?"

"Well," he said, rather patronizingly, "the rule is that the artwork must not be touched."

I started on an indignant sputter and he held up a bony finger.

"When your bag is held like that, it might bump into something."

Considering that our camera day pack is hardly bigger than large shoebox, not to mention the fact that David had enough space to comfortably admire the art from a distance of at least two meters in every room, I found this hardly plausible.

The first man continued to be disgusted with us while his colleague continued. "If you don't like the rules, one might suggest you put your bag in a storage locker". He said the word "might" with such an exaggerated shrug to set both of us off on an extended, two-person eye roll.

We walked away in lieu of continuing this pointless conversation, storm clouds gathering over our heads. Yes, we appreciate the fact that the Swiss have more rules, and that order is maintained by these rules, but couldn't they at least be consistent? If they'd decided from the beginning that we needed to stow the bag, we would have done it and saved ourselves the hassling. I have never felt so unwelcome in a museum before.

We passed the rest of the visit eying the museum staff defensively. How can one really enjoy art when they're nagged with paranoia?

Well, whatever. After the Kunsthaus we walked along the river again, through the tourist sections and the posh shopping district. We spotted a grocery store and picked up supplies to make dinner back at the house, then jumped on the tram to take us there.

After our simple dinner we walked to an island in the river behind the house for a free music festival. We arrived in time to see a German reggae band play and get our clothes fully infused with the smell of cigarette smoke.

Before the set was over we retired, walking back to the house in the dark and climbing into bed to the sounds of the festival carrying on below us.