By Thursday morning in Switzerland, I was feeling ready to get back to Germany. I missed Noyzi and Charlie, and there were people in the apartment above us who were driving me nuts. In the early mornings, I’d hear a baby squalling. I’m not sure if it was in the above apartment, or a different place, but it was pretty loud.

Then, within an hour, the “wrestling matches” commenced. I call them “wrestling matches”, because that’s pretty much what they sounded like. I’d hear the pitter patter of little feet, then a big “BOOM” as something hit the floor or thudded, HARD. It happened over and over again.

It was nervewracking, because I couldn’t predict when the noises would happen, and they would startle me. Then, I would get annoyed until the cycle repeated. And it would go on for hours. I thought about saying something, but I didn’t know where the people were from, or if they spoke English.

So, I slathered on more sunscreen, gathered up my stuff, and headed back to beautiful Lake Zürich, for some peace and quiet. Well, at least I thought it was more peaceful… and honestly, it probably was quieter, even though there was construction going on in the lake and near it. There were also cool breezes.

I don’t actually recall much about what I did during the day on Thursday. Nothing sticks out in my mind. I do remember coming back in the afternoon, trying to read, and once again falling asleep, as I waited for Bill. But something DID happen on Thursday night at dinner.

When Bill got back to the apartment, we decided to go to the Greek restaurant again, Le Beaujolais. The same friendly guy waited on us. He asked us where we wanted to sit, and I chose a table next to the building. It was dirty, so he had to bus it for us. We sat down and Bill ordered some white wine. I ordered gyros, and he chose souvlaki.

We hadn’t been sitting there long before a group of young Swiss folks showed up. They sat at the table right behind us. Within the group, there was one woman, in particular, whom I found very annoying. She spoke in rapid fire Swiss style German, in a voice that grated.

Under normal circumstances, I probably wouldn’t have been as irritated as I was, but I’d been listening to dull, sudden thuds all day in the apartment. I was hot, and recovering from boredom, missing my own space, and the peace and quiet I have in my home. I also missed my desktop computer, because that’s the best place for me to write and make music.

So, the woman kept yammering in her Swiss dialectical German, and then she switched to English, when another person joined their group. I was trying to keep a straight face and get through dinner. And then, it happened…

In front of the restaurant, there was a very busy main drag. Trams go up and down that street every few minutes. There were also many cars coming and going, and people walking past. But, all of a sudden, the street seemed to empty out, and this man in a luxury sedan stopped right by where we were eating. There were no cars near him at all. His window was down, and he was playing loud music. It sounded like Louis Armstrong (Satchmo). The guy either lip synched perfectly, or sang along, complete with facial expressions and hand movements. It was like he was performing “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South” especially for us!

We all kind of stopped what we were doing and stared in amazement as this random guy in his car was singing to us… with loud Louis Armstrong blaring from his windows. It lasted for about one surreal minute, and he wasn’t interrupted by traffic of any kind. Some pedestrians gave him a quizzical look as they passed.

I heard the people sitting behind us murmuring, and suddenly I felt like we were all experiencing this weird, bizarre moment in time. Then I heard the annoying woman behind me say in English, “Now he’s going to want money.”

But just as suddenly as it started, it was then over. The guy rolled up his window and drove away, and traffic returned to normal. It was as if it had never happened. I wish I’d thought to take a picture or a video. He didn’t seem to want money. In fact, the whole thing seemed like a spontaneous act. For all I know, he does this every summer day, serenading random al fresco diners as he drives through Zürich. Maybe he just does it for his own amusement, to break up the monotony of life in such an orderly country. I did look on YouTube to see if anyone had caught him on video. Apparently no one has, yet. Or maybe I’m just using the wrong search terms.

Then, just as we were about to have a round of ouzo, the woman sitting behind us started telling a story in English about her brother, when he went into the Swiss Army. He’d forgotten his toothbrush, so his mother had to bring it to him. As she was telling the story, a man with a dog was passing. He came over and, although he was obviously a stranger to them, started a conversation. He’d heard the woman talking about her brother in the Swiss Army, and decided to tell the group about how he’d joined the Israeli Army and everything was provided, including toothbrushes.

The guy’s dog, a sweet, older, female, plopped down next to the talkative woman, and he told them (and us) about how he’d been a performer in the Israeli Army, and it had led him to Switzerland. He met his Swiss wife in Zürich, and worked in the arts there for many years. He said he’d been working as a clown, at one point. And he said his dog’s name was Gille (if I recall correctly). He said the name meant “comfort” in Hebrew, and added that she is a comfort to him.

Bill and I sat there quietly, not actively involved in the conversation, yet passively involved in that we were hearing it. Bill could have piped up, too, as a 30 year Army veteran from the United States. I could have spoken up and talked about how I have my own performances as a singer. But nowadays, it’s hard to tell how people will react to the revelation that Americans are near. I’m sure they knew we were Americans, anyway. Bill has told me that it’s easy to work with soldiers from other countries because, when it comes down to it, they’re all mostly cut from the same cloth, doing the same job.

Still, it was a very weird evening… surreal, even. As annoyed as I had been with that woman sitting behind us, I suddenly felt like she’d given us a gift. Because she was engaging the guy from Israel, and allowing us to hear his story.

Stay tuned for the next installment, when I describe visiting the C.G. Jung Institute and seeing where Bill might soon be a student.