Only in Switzerland.

IT'S TIME TO SLOWLY GO

The Swiss have a special, almost religious relationship to time, like medieval monks ritualistically adhering to a prayer schedule.

In the morning. I leave for work whenever I'm ready and amble down the block, ear cocked of the grinding of steel wheels on rails. Invariably the tram approaches the stop when I'm halfway there, making me break into a gallop. Just as I reach to press that Illuminated button which opens the door, out goes the light. The driver sometimes waits another minute, ignoring my pleading gesticulations, while the passengers regard me from their seats as a pitiful specimen of inadequate humanity. Then the traffic light changes to green and off rumbles the tram. In rare moments when I'm early, the stop is deserted, except for the stray foreigner. One minute before the tram arrives, the Swiss mysteriously appear from behind bushes and buildings. Do they have some mystical insight, or even Extra Sensory Perception? No, it is because they know the schedule by heart.

Dinner invitations are generally set for 7:30 p.m., and he guests usually arrive punctually (however, the trend in the last few years is to arrive five minutes before or after to show you have loosened up a bit and are not so "typical"). The meal is simmering on the stove and after preliminary greetings, with a quick aperitif, everyone sits down to eat at 8:00. About 11:00 p.m., the guests look at their watches and announce, "es isch Zyt langsam z'goh" ("it's time to slowly go"), planning their departure well ahead. Shortly before midnight, they suddenly stand up and leave, as if afraid their car will turn into a pumpkin, their clothes to rags. The rebelious young, wanting to break with tradition, are the exception, but as they grow older they too snap into ancient genetic patterns. And, of course, there are those Swiss anomalies who are routinely late, but they are undergoing psychoanalysis.

I also never bother to check the official city Abfallkalender (garbage calendar) which states when to put out old newspapers because I know that on that day the whole blocks will be dotted with nearly bundled packets. I then hastily tie up my lopsided pile and plunk it on the sidewalk just as the collectors come. This also applies to old metal, which is picked up three times a year. Can you imagine knowing ahead what's going to happen three times a year? I'm not sure the world will exist that long.

On trains, which are actually not that accurate anymore (sometimes arriving or leaving a minute or two late) you invariably hear conversations centering on time. Many Swiss buy the Kurbuch (train timetable) or a short local version and study it assiduously. When the conductor comes the check the tickets, they ask him or her when the train arrives and what platform number, if there is a connection, etc. Such questions often invite active participation from fellow passengers, with personal anecdotes about past schedules that go as follows:

"I remember once in 1953 the train from Basel to Zurich was half an hour late."

"Yes, that was in October. I had to take the train via Olten and change trains on Platform 3."

"That's not right. The train to Zurich arrives on Platform 2!"

When going with Swiss friends on a vacation by car, they tell you long ahead exactly how many kilometers are to be covered on what day with the precise time of arrival. Barring a pile-up or crash, you will be in Laguardia, Spain, on 5 June, at exactly 18:00 hours.

Maybe there is still hope for me. Maybe one day I will become a true Swiss and learn to count, mark, beat, check, fix and keep time, until I too am finally dead on time.