In July/August of 2013, Melissa and I did the 20 year-old thing to do and went to Europe for 6 weeks.
We had planned the trip for years, anticipating the feeling of what it truly meant to be free; to travel on our own.
Our itinerary was packed, but our goal was simple: See the world.
A lot of people in my life had mixed feelings about the 6 week summer adventure. My parents were worried, but excited. My friends were totally jealous. My boyfriend at the time was sad that we’d be apart for more than a month. My university pals were appalled that I was choosing to go travelling rather than working at a summer camp to boost my resume. Me? I. Was. PUMPED.
We started in London, chunneled to Paris, trained to Barcelona, tried to train to Switzerland (but then had to take a $500 one-way emergency flight), flew to Switzerland; and this is where this story starts. Switzerland.
Melissa and I both have a soft spot for Switzerland. We had previously travelled to Switzerland in 2009 with a marching band, and fell in love with the country. It was an easy decision to put Switzerland in our travel itinerary.
I feel like this story deserves to be split up into 3 parts. We need to give it that epic justice. So here we go;
PART ONE
We started in the city we had stayed with the band, Basel, with no immediate plans to see any other part of the country. Our plans soon changed when I realized that one of my university friends was in Switzerland at the exact same time as we were. She was only a 40 minute train ride away, and in a famous city that neither Melissa or I had ever been.
We decided we’d have a sunny lake day, while her dad was competing in the Iron Man competition. We brought a bag with a towel each, some sunscreen, our passports, a few Swiss franks, and our train passes. It was above 30 degrees celsius, so we didn’t bring a sweater or jacket- as it was just a quick day trip.
We arrived in Zurich, and then hopped on another train to take us to the suburb (Horgan) she was staying. It was beautiful. Zurich is pretty much a city located in a valley of mountains, over looking a crystal clear blue lake.
We had a great day. Exchanged travel stories, ate great food, swam in the lake, and just hung out. We even went to watch her dad cross the finish-line. By then, the clouds rolled in and it started to rain pretty hard, so we bought some ‘Iron Man’ ponchos to slip over our tank tops and short shorts. At the time, we didn’t know how valuable those ponchos would soon become.
Fast forward to later that evening, we started to make our way back to Basel. With a late night train available, we saw no reason not to stay with our friend as long as possible. We had two trains to take; one to Zurich from Horgan, and then one from Zurich to Basel. We were aiming to be back at our hostel no later than 1:30AM.
All was going to plan. We walked down to the train station, and right on time, the Horgan train arrived. We were literally the only people at the station, so it was easy just to get on the train car that stopped in front of us. I was ahead of Melissa, and instantly hesitated when I stepped foot into the train car. This was a nice train.
“Wow. Air conditionting? This is nice”
You have to understand that when taking trains in Europe, there are clearly marked cars. 1 and 2. First and second class. Every train, no matter the country, followed these rules.
Because we were literally at the back on the train (from the direction we were going), I didn’t even think for a second that we were in the wrong car. Nor did we notice a big “1” on the car.
As soon as we sat down, both Melissa and I read a sign that was bolted directly in front of us: “HEAVY FINES WILL BE GIVEN TO PASSENGERS WHO DO NOT HAVE APPROPRIATE DOCUMENTATION TO BE SITTING IN FIRST CLASS”
“Oh. We’re in first class. Let’s move at the next st-”
“Good evening ladies. Tickets please”
I’ll never forget that voice. That high-pitched Swiss-German accented male voice. The voice that would put us through hell for the next 40 minute train ride.
We turned around to find a train attendant and two other men hovering over us.
“Are you from America?”
“No we’re Canadian. We have train tickets, we just sat in the wrong class, we were planning to move at the next st-”
“I need your first-class tickets please”
We stared at each other in shock. Being Canadian, an explanation like the one we had just given would have been all you needed back home. I was honestly in disbelief. This guy knows we only have second-class tickets, what does he think is about to happen?
“We don’t have first-class tickets. We have a VIA Rail pass that works for this train. We made a mistake and plan on moving to second-class”
The next ten minutes would prove to be the most humiliating, degrading, and sexist 10 minutes Melissa and I would experience in our young-adult lives. In those 10 minutes, our passports were taken and copied, our wallets were emptied. We’d be asked our age, where our parents were, and why we were alone. Those 10 minutes were a blurr that ended in some choice language from me, and us storming out of first class, even though the men had offered for us to stay.
We sobbed.
PART TWO
It was a Sunday. The day we had spent with my friend, and then experienced the ugly side of Switzerland. Yeah, it was a Sunday.
Did you know? European trains run by a different schedule on Sundays. Makes sense- except when you’re travelling for 6 weeks and lose track of the day of the week in a heartbeat.
So we get off the our nightmare of a train, and head to platform S8. A train to Basel was scheduled to leave for 12:24AM. We were cutting it close, but we had time. We get on the train, only to be yelled at by another Swiss man, so we promptly hopped off.
Confused, we went back to the board with all the train times. To our horror, the board was empty. I started to look around. No staff, no ticket booths, no nothing. this station was closing. We finally found a nicer-looking Swiss man and asked him how to get to Basel. He kindly looked at his watch and said, “next train is in the morning. 5:08AM”.
We looked at each other in disbelief again. We were sunburnt and teary eyed. All of our money has just been confiscated. We were in tank tops and short shorts. It was midnight on the dot. We had nothing but our wits, and 5 hours to kill.
Did you know? Switzerland is a beautiful place, but a strict place. In Zurich, there is a very prominent noise curfew, and “being outside” curfew. Essentially, you are not allowed to be homeless. Don’t even think about sleeping in the train station- not an option. If they find you on the street past curfew (2:00AM), the police pick you up and take you to a shelter. Yes. A homeless shelter.
How did we know this? Frank. A man named Frank turned out to be the light at the end of what felt like a never ending tunnel.
You know how there are those times in your life where you’re not even sure it really happened? I mean, you know it happened, but you can’t explain it? That’s what happened with Frank.
Out of no where, like an angel, Frank strolled over to us in that train station. He had a duffle bag over his shoulder, and the friendliest smile.
“Hi there- are you travelling?”
Melissa and I could not handle another confrontation, never mind a confrontation with another Swiss man. We were immediately defensive. But, for the first time all night, he just listened to our situation with an open heart.
“Let’s get out of here before they kick us out. Common, walk with me”
In this kind of situation, my spidy-senses would usually start going off. A middle-aged man, from another country, is telling us to follow him. And it’s midnight. Red flag much?
But no, there were no red flags. Still to this day, Melissa and I can’t can’t explain it. We had no fear, no hesitation. We just followed him.
Frank explained to us that what had happened on the train that evening was probably a scam. He told us how Switzerland was having a train scam crisis. People dress up like train attendants, sit in first-class and try to ticket people. You can only imagine how angry this made us. But, it made total sense in the end; and put my faith back into the Swiss train system.
He then told us how he missed his train to the airport, and would have to re-book his flight. He wasn’t even from Zurich, so this put him in an awkward situation too. He was on his way to Africa (Kenya, if I recall correctly), to pick up his daughter who would be spending time with him that summer.
Frank took us to the only bar in town that was open until 1:00AM. He bought us a beer, and let us calm down. This was where he enlightened us about the homeless/curfew rules in Zurich, and that we’d have to lay low.
When the bar closed, we followed close behind Frank to a safe place on the streets. We sat on a bench and shared stories of our lives. Just like any good story, as soon as we had settled, the rain picked up again. When I say rain, I mean like RAIN. Someone had turned on the taps, and it was relentless.
Remember the ponchos? Those ponchos pretty much kept us alive that night. The rain brought a cold wind, and our sunburnt bodies were not ready for the temperature change. Frank found us a bakery’s overhang that had not been rolled up, which would prove to be the world’s best umbrella.
We sat, on the ground, frozen, for 3 hours. It honestly felt like I was in a movie. Hiding from the police, shivering under a piece of plastic that stuck to my 85% naked body. No money, no cellphone. Just me, Frank, and my best friend.
Around 4:30AM, we started to head back to the train station. Following Frank like ducklings, we weaved through Zurich’s streets, still in disbelief of the nights’ events.
Just as quickly as we had met Frank, he was gone. I don’t even remember really saying good-bye to him. All I remember was getting to the train station, and celebrating that we were finally about to get on our way, to a bed, a shower, and some sense.
PART 3
I’ll try and keep part 3 short. But no promises.
You’d think there would be nothing else to the story right? Well, so did we. But we were sadly mistaking.
We get on the 5:08AM train to Basel. We find our seats in SECOND class, and finally take off those stupid ponchos.
Just as I start to close my eyes, I hear this strangely seductive,
“Bonjour? Mademoiselle? Allo?”
This is not happening. I open my eyes to find a dirty man sitting across the aisle from me, staring directly at me. Examining every part of my body.
He asked if we spoke French. I should have lied, but I didn’t.
“Uhhmm.. Oui?”
He then went on to tell me how beautiful he thought we were and how he’d like my contact information. I shot a desperate look at Melissa. Is he serious? It’s 5 in the morning, we have been crying for hours, a mess from sitting on the wet ground for hours. This cannot be happening. We explained something about boyfriends, travelling, and no, we would not give him our information. Surprisingly, he shrugged his shoulders, put on his hood, and informed us he’d be going to sleep.
Okay then..
The next hour would prove to be the cherry on top of our Zurich experience.
During the following hour, this French guy would pretend to be so deeply asleep, that a train attendant would shake him until his eyes were forcibly opened. This guy would swing fists, scream the equivalent of “you smell like poop” to everyone in a uniform, prepare a line of cocaine, snort the cocaine, and get chased by police. This would all happen, a meter away from Melissa and I.
I don’t know if it was fear, exhaustion, or just pure adrenaline, but when we reached Basel, we ran. We literally sprinted off that train, out of the station and headed for our hostel. We were laughing, crying, fully embracing what had just happened.
—
Although we haven’t told this story in awhile, for years it was a party favourite. We probably told this story 100 times, and we were equally invested and dramatic about it every time.
When it’s just us though, we talk about Frank. Still unsure if he was real or not. The mystery of his quick entrance and exit have made us question if he was truly an angel. It sounds crazy, but we like crazy.
Here is the only picture we have from that night in Zurich. A funny picture I took of Melissa for my boyfriend at the time (Tod, get it?). Little did I know, this would be the only evidence of the evening.
A sunburnt face, covered by a white plastic poncho.
