Sleepless in Zurich

The Alarm Clock of the Gods

Our flight from Seattle to Zurich took 17 hours, including a brief layover in Istanbul. A Lufthansa flight connecting in Frankfurt would have been more time-efficient, but Turkish Airlines offered compelling prices compared with the added length of the trip. I slept two hours in-flight, Cass maybe four.

We picked up our car from Avis, drove the short distance, and checked into the quaint Hotel Scheuble around 3 pm. We knew we wouldn't have enough gas in our tanks to make the 5-hour drive to Combloux, France (pun intended), and an evening in Old Town Zurich would give us time to refresh.

To wind down, we set out to explore and took a few photos during our riverside walk; the parks, cafes, and grand gabled buildings were soothing, and by 6 pm Zurich time, we could no longer resist the pull of our hotel bed. I knew it was a mistake.

Our five-sided room on the fourth floor overlooked a small park. Steeples pierced the sky in every direction. As I drifted off, I felt my faint smile as the adjacent church bell tolled six, a mollifying knell that signaled our European arrival.

I awoke rested and ready to hit the road, and pleased I was awake in time to watch the sun rise over the city rooftops. Making my way to the Nespresso machine, I stopped to check my phone for the time. 11:27 pm (curse.) The room felt stuffy, so I opened two windows. The church tower chimed 11:30. With the windows open, the toll was much louder. I folded my pillows like origami, hoping to create a cradle that would return me to slumber when the local bells sounded at 11:45. Three loud rings. I heard papers rustling on our coffee table and debated whether it was the wind or the bell reverberation. Then came midnight, and I worried that the TV would fall off the wall and the chairs would topple.

I lay awake for four hours transfixed by the gongs. I could have closed the windows and sacrificed the cool breeze, but I was determined to ignore the bells and return to sleep (otherwise known as "nocturnal logic" or the narratives of a semi-conscious mind). Somewhere after 4 am, exhaustion overtook my Don Quixote impulse to joust the obnoxious time reminder, and I fell asleep.

At 7 am all hell broke loose. Awakened by the bells, I gave up counting at thirty. This was the Alarm Clock of the Gods. Not to be confused with waking in Paris, where the distant chime gracefully whispers, "Would you wish to make love before your morning coffee?" No. This city’s Germanic roots are embedded deeply in the Protestant Reformation that bellows, "Get out of bed, don't be late for work or risk burning in Hell!"

Somewhere, my father is smiling.