From Fruit Market to Kornhaus

August 22-24

We went back to the old town for a stroll. It was a hot day, and the streets were crowded. 

More than a few tours lumbered by. These things always look the same. People with faces ranging from bored to bewildered are strung out in long lines following a guide with a flag or something else on a stick. 

You have to watch out for them. When they come to an intersection or a narrow passage, the tourists push to get through because they are terrified that they will lose sight of the guy with the stick and never get home.

To our surprise, we found the street market open on Barenplatz.

One stand had a section devoted to berries of different colors and a tray of purple figs. Joanna took a fig and the photo of the day right there. 

The empty spot in the front corner of the paper tray is where Joanna’s fig was.

We walked to the end of the arcade. Any farther from there would put us in the direct sun, and it was just too hot for that. We decided to have lunch at Treff, which is right on the corner where the shade runs out.

The menu has a selection of vegetarian sushi, and we wanted to try that, but it wasn’t available at that hour. Only salad, pizza, and pasta.

We chose what they called a Margherita pizza. But it has no basil, one of my favorite vegetables. Instead, it was seasoned with oregano, my overall favorite, which made the pie very good.

We took our time strolling the side streets and alleys. It was all very charming except for the bicyclists. They are arrogant everywhere.

Later we stopped at Chez Edy to share an order of moules-frites.

The hotel had given us passes to travel on the city trams and buses, so for a change on Thursday we took a bus—No. 12 to Zentrum Paul Klee.

It took us past the train station and through the old town, across the Aare on the bridge near the bear park. Then we started a steep climb into palatial suburbs. 

At a casual glance, it could almost be one of those tony, quaint places in the States, like those outside New Hope, Pa., or Charlottesville, Va., but the architecture isn’t quite the same. These were old houses, mostly stone, like the rest of the city, although some were part timber.

When we came to the end of the line and stepped out of the tram, we could see the tops of Alps in the distance.

The design of the Paul Klee Center is based on a wavy line that Klee once drew. The museum, conference center, and theater are housed under a series of undulating roofs covered with shiny metal panels and wild grass. 

The footprint of the building follows the same wavy line.

An apartment building next door is made of a similar metallic shell and has a series of slightly curved roofs. I don’t know if it’s affiliated in any way with the center. It may be someone’s effort to blend in. 

I didn't photograph it because there were people sitting on a balcony.

We passed it on the birch-lined walkway to the sculpture garden.

The sculpture park has iron pieces by Oscar Wiggli and bronzes by Alicia Penalba.

This stuff is hit or miss for me. Some of the structures were fun. One of the Penalba bronzes looked like two abstract grasshoppers whispering, maybe plotting to raid a garden.

One of the Wiggli pieces is a thick slab of iron with an occasional bend and a rip. It’s fun to walk around and peer through the open spaces.

The sloping meadow behind the main building undulates along with that wavy line.  The grounds and the building are intended to cooperate, and they do.

The field is full of wildflowers and butterflies.

As we walked the path that circles the meadow we came to a detour that led us to a large tumulus. You can climb it on a spiraling path bordered by a high hedge. From what I could gather from the signs, it is a design by Klee or one inspired by his work. 

We walked up and sat on a log bench under a spreading oak. Below the little hill is a large cemetery where Klee is buried.

Exploring cemeteries can be a rich cultural experience. But we didn’t go into this one. 

We were weary from the heat and thirsty by then. I didn’t say anything at the time, but was reluctant to go in for another reason.

One section directly below us had more than a dozen plots decorated with pinwheels and other lighthearted grave goods. I was afraid that it was a children’s cemetery and just didn’t want to go there.

We had lunch at the center’s restaurant, which is in an adjoining building that probably was at one time a private home.

We shared an OK ham sandwich dressed with slices of hard-boiled egg and pickle. And followed it with a terrific piece of cake—a delightfully tart lemon custard on gingerbread. That alone was worth the trip out there.

The wine was from Biel, not far away. The name on the label was Hinter den Kirche. (Please forgive me, those of you who know German, if I have the case forms wrong. I’m working from memory here.) The waiter said it means “behind the church.” It had a tiny bit of sharpness that woke me up after walking in the heat.

We took the bus back to the far end of its route and then went back to the hotel for a rest.

Joanna was craving the same dish of roast vegetables that she had at Molino in Geneva. Molino is a chain and has a branch in the restaurant row at Barenplatz.

So Joanna had her vegetable platter, while I had a tasty lasagne and a few glasses of the house Chianti. 

I was raised in New Jersey, a province of Italy. So this is my comfort food.

It rained like hell Thursday night and when Friday morning came, it was so cool that I was able to wear a necktie for the first time in weeks.

We also took another bus trip. We boarded the 101 outside the hotel and went the other way.

We passed through an interesting suburb called Bethlehem and decided to stop there on the way back. Several of the streets are lined with timber chalets straight out of “Heidi.” One side street is actually named Chaletweg. 

We had lunch at a local restaurant called Jager. We shared a plate of bratwurst with hash browns. Of course, the food was delicious. This place is blessed. It’s Jesus’s home town, right?

I had a short glass of a dark brown lager that was a little sweet. I followed that with a new standby, Feldschlosschen amber, which I have had several times on this trip. It’s hands-down one of the best lagers I have tasted.

We took the bus back to the hotel to get Joanna’s jacket.

Then we went downtown in search of something we had seen on the way home the day before: a cellar specializing in craft beer. We found that it has no bar service, and only sells bottles to go.

But the woman there gave us directions to On Tap, a craft beer bar in a cellar on Rathausstrasse, not far from the Rathaus, city hall.

The first I had was a Swiss amber with green tea in the mix, which was OK but a little sweet. Then there was a Belgian style Swiss blond, a little light for me, but Joanna liked it.

The best of the three was a wild ale from England. It was a little sour, as you’d expect of a wild yeast strain, but delicious and full of flavor.

We were walking up the street and, as luck would have it, it was the street to the  Kornhauskeller. We had peeked in a few days before. It’s a fancy interior in an ancient wine cellar that has been remodeled with murals and balconies, and all manner of fancy trimmings.

It looks like something out of the Gilded Age. Probably is. And I had a tie on. 

When I put the tie on in the morning, Joanna insisted on changing into her black dress. 

What for? Because I want to. The best reason for doing anything.

So here we were, all dressed up in costume and presented with a place to go.

As Swiss restaurants go, the Kornhauskeller isn’t too extravagant. Compared to New York, its prices are middle of the road.

We ordered two dishes to share. The wolfbarschfilets were very good. That’s sea bass, and it came with spinach, olives, and a side of roast potatoes with thyme. 

We also took “vegetable paella,” a rice dish with carrots, maybe turnips, and for a delightful twist, cashews.

The food was a wonderful mix of flavors and went perfectly with the surroundings.

The place gets its name because in the old days the Corn Market was in the square outside. The restaurant is in what was once a wine cellar, I believe. 

But it’s nothing like the dining room at Gordon’s in London. This one not only has electricity, but also paintings on the walls and ceilings. One motif seems to be owls vs. snakes. Another has dogs sniffing ducks.

Also unlike Gordon’s, you can stand all the way up in the dining room. In fact, it’s churchlike, maybe three stories high, with tables on balconies overlooking the action on the main cellar floor.

It was a fitting way to bid so long to Bern.

We’re back in Zurich now for a couple of days before we fly home.

Be well, all. 

It just occurred to me: I think I’ve been spending more time in the cellar than the Washington Senators did. Remember them?

Love and best wishes, gang.

Harry