These are for sale outside Bogen33, Hardbrucke. Tempted, me? Naaaa.
Amor
9 years ago
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Freitag shop
This place is incredible; a fantastic shop made from old shipping containers. The business idea is also pretty faultless; taking tarpaulin from old trucks, a few bike tyres and turning it all into trendy bags that have almost replaced the gnomes of Zurich as the city's symbol.
They're basically taking pretty cheap stuff, and selling for a hefty price on a very cheap piece of land next to the railway. Only in Zurich.
Romanian hospitals
Wild camping carries some element of risk. Wild camping in Dracula’s stomping ground is particularly risky. After a particularly wild storm (during which we sought shelter of the car so to avoid being struck by lightening), I was viciously bitten by a spider, insect or a snake. Well the bite itself was not s vicious; I didn’t feel it happen, or see the guilty party, (and I guess actually had it been a snake I would have seen it), but the aftermath was a nasty combination of throbbing and shooting pain, meaning that I could not put any weight onto my left leg. A trip to the pharmacy, about 50euro cents later I am applying antibiotic cream… unsurprisingly for a cheap cream, it has little effect. Luckily my hosts have a contact in the local hospital who speaks French; an appointment is made.
We arrive in the hospital, my Romanian-speaking guide enquires as to where we can find our contact… we get a little lost in the dark corridors of the basic hospital. In one corridor, a crowd of unhealthy people pushing towards a closed door; gypsies, a man with one leg, an old man on a hospital trolley, a young boy clutching a swollen wrist. It is noisy, musty and dusty. We locate the stairs we need. A surly-looking ‘security’ man informs us that we must pay a ‘taxa intrare’ to go up the stairs. Oh, and we must pay for a pair of shoe-protectors. We pay the small but nonetheless ridiculous amount, put on the shoe covers (noticing too that no-one else is wearing them), and climb the stairs. We eventually find the man we are looking for; he invites us into his room (the door of which is leather-clad).
The doctor is very amicable, very helpful. I show him my bite, he tells me in French that it has passed the level ‘simple’ and is now looking a little more ‘compliqué’ and prescribes me some drugs. The doctor refused any money (which is odd in a country where bribes and gifts are common currency), stating that it was a pleasure to meet people like us!
We leave the hospital via the back door since we simply cannot find the front door, and we are greeted by a couple of stray dogs in the grounds. It is surreal; the whole scene was as if taken from a Blue Peter charity appeal film in the early 1990s; which is how I learnt about Romania in the first instance; during orphanage appeals.
Sitting in the doctor’s office, away from the hoards awaiting much needed treatment, surrounded by his certificates from international conferences all over the world, what struck me about the hospital was that the knowledge is there; the expertise to treat people. What is missing are the resources. I hope that EU membership will bring such resources and that they will be channelled into the places they are needed; the hospitals for sure.
We arrive in the hospital, my Romanian-speaking guide enquires as to where we can find our contact… we get a little lost in the dark corridors of the basic hospital. In one corridor, a crowd of unhealthy people pushing towards a closed door; gypsies, a man with one leg, an old man on a hospital trolley, a young boy clutching a swollen wrist. It is noisy, musty and dusty. We locate the stairs we need. A surly-looking ‘security’ man informs us that we must pay a ‘taxa intrare’ to go up the stairs. Oh, and we must pay for a pair of shoe-protectors. We pay the small but nonetheless ridiculous amount, put on the shoe covers (noticing too that no-one else is wearing them), and climb the stairs. We eventually find the man we are looking for; he invites us into his room (the door of which is leather-clad).
The doctor is very amicable, very helpful. I show him my bite, he tells me in French that it has passed the level ‘simple’ and is now looking a little more ‘compliqué’ and prescribes me some drugs. The doctor refused any money (which is odd in a country where bribes and gifts are common currency), stating that it was a pleasure to meet people like us!
We leave the hospital via the back door since we simply cannot find the front door, and we are greeted by a couple of stray dogs in the grounds. It is surreal; the whole scene was as if taken from a Blue Peter charity appeal film in the early 1990s; which is how I learnt about Romania in the first instance; during orphanage appeals.
Sitting in the doctor’s office, away from the hoards awaiting much needed treatment, surrounded by his certificates from international conferences all over the world, what struck me about the hospital was that the knowledge is there; the expertise to treat people. What is missing are the resources. I hope that EU membership will bring such resources and that they will be channelled into the places they are needed; the hospitals for sure.
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
Cultural conditioning and swimming pools
Walking from the changing rooms to the swimming pool, I realised that living in Britain for the first 19 or so years of my life actually really affected the way I think. Maybe it is obvious, but I have never been consciously aware of this fact. And it was a window that made me realise.
I was shocked and uncomfortable because the route from the changing rooms to the pool involves walking past a huge, unfrosted, streetside window, past the reception area and then down to the pool, all, of course, in your swimming costume. Although obviously I am not that bothered about that level of undress, my mind instantly wondered about perverts and paedophiles sitting all day on the beautiful fountain just outside the window, having free access to children and human bodies all day every day, even on public holidays.
I then got over the shock, had a great swim and went home, without seeing a pedo or a perv. I discussed my reaction with a Swiss person who instantly burst out laughing and told me not to be so ridiculous. Not being a particularly ridiculous person in general I then linked my reaction to the British media-hype over free-range paedophiles and perverts, and our obsession with protecting children from real life. We Brits (particularly those that only read the Sun and watch Jeremy Kyle) are conditioned to believe subconsciously that the world is jam packed with evil, and I think the Swiss (and perhaps many more), have a more sensible approach. Of course paedophilia and perversion do get some media attention, but less.
Why shouldn't it be normal to walk past a window in your swimming cozzie?
I was shocked and uncomfortable because the route from the changing rooms to the pool involves walking past a huge, unfrosted, streetside window, past the reception area and then down to the pool, all, of course, in your swimming costume. Although obviously I am not that bothered about that level of undress, my mind instantly wondered about perverts and paedophiles sitting all day on the beautiful fountain just outside the window, having free access to children and human bodies all day every day, even on public holidays.
I then got over the shock, had a great swim and went home, without seeing a pedo or a perv. I discussed my reaction with a Swiss person who instantly burst out laughing and told me not to be so ridiculous. Not being a particularly ridiculous person in general I then linked my reaction to the British media-hype over free-range paedophiles and perverts, and our obsession with protecting children from real life. We Brits (particularly those that only read the Sun and watch Jeremy Kyle) are conditioned to believe subconsciously that the world is jam packed with evil, and I think the Swiss (and perhaps many more), have a more sensible approach. Of course paedophilia and perversion do get some media attention, but less.
Why shouldn't it be normal to walk past a window in your swimming cozzie?
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