Springtime for Zürich. A charming reach of broad cobbled alleyways: antiques, restaurants, jewellers, galleries, rare books, bespoke furniture. The spring sun extracts a smiling confession of beige from the rainy grisaille which normally crosses the face of the city’s stones. Tourists from even more stratospherically costly locations saunter towards a late breakfast or their second cappuccino.
Across a steep slope two foundations face off: the city-owned seminar house named after Carl der Große (Charlemagne, who founded a church over the grave of the city’s martyrs), and the home of the less-than-papist 16th.C reformer Zwingli.
Zwingli’s house is just a step from his former church, the mighty Grossmünster. Suppertime on Saturday evening, we emerged after the dBang (Tantric empowerment) of Dorje Tröllö (the most violently wrathful visionary manifestation of Padmasambhava) and every bell-tower in the city was scrubbing the air with vibration; shivering every being’s rTsa-rLung system too. From the panorama point by the Grossmünster one could see almost every wanderer in the city come to a standstill for the ‘twilight barking’. Standing in front of the glorious west front of Wells cathedral many years ago, I got the impression that church bells must be good for health. Orchestral conductors tend to live to a great age. Maybe they benefit in similar ways from standing out front of such a Donner und Blitzen of harmonics. Being drenched in harmonious rhythmic bonging always feels good, even when the coiling aerial complexities of rival towers are smashing inseparably into each other with the enthusiasm of dragons mating.
