I came to Switzerland for the paragliding. I liked the big mountains, the complications of their local weather, the convenience of the roads, railways, much uphill transport, and the practical approach to this sport. No macho tough guy posturing here, no ageism, and a genuine licensing system. This last feature might appear to go against the grain of free flight, for that is what the French ‘Vol Libre’ means. Free of external equipment, airfields, runways, with the big Swiss advantage, free of any compulsory supervision or permissions - once you have the Swiss licence.

Unlike anywhere else, the Swiss Hangglider licence (and hangglider here includes paragliders for the purpose of the act) is a statutory requirement, like a PPL. The licence, like its powered aircraft equivalent, is basic, but the examining system is fair and quite independent (of your helpful instructor), and thereafter you can fly as, when and where you choose. Swiss tradition promotes the principle that every individual is responsible for their actions, and this freedom of choice for a novice pilot who owns one of these devices usually encourages caution and the seeking of advice from those who know better. This is an excellent attitude for venturing forth amidst monumental mountains and the vigorous micro climates that inhabit every nook and cranny. To end this paragraph I can state that flying this floppy toy-in-a-bag is much more difficult than flying a light aircraft. That’s why it is such a rewarding and absorbing way to continue a lifelong challenge of flying (anything), if you are so inclined.

But there’s more to Switzerland, and I was reminded of this only yesterday. Braving the Corona terror I had visited our local supermarket, and after geriatric fumbling with purchases and payment, things in pockets, backpack reassembly and so on went to an adjacent shop (cheap booze). But before entering, an elderly couple (my age?) accosted me, the man gesturing a blue 100 note. They had clearly followed me, and I had clearly dropped it. I checked my RH trouser pocket. 100 short. Definitely mine (these modern plastic notes like to jump), and I assumed a look of gratitude, but their demeanour remained unified and confrontational.

They reminded me of the couple in Grant Wood’s iconic ‘American Gothic’ picture, farmers in hard times, but there was a difference. Despite the serious look of the Gothics their faces show intellect and the suggestion of empathy; the models were real normal people. This man with my 100 note looked more confused than this, and his wife had a fixed stony look. It was obvious that we had no vestige of common language and my bad tourist German seemed incomprehensible to them, and not a welcome feature to those who have sworn the oath. “Yes it’s mine, thank you very much” only seemed to cause more agitation in the holder of my cash: the stony blankness in his lady wife. They were definitely a team. “Galt!” said the man.

Galt? Gilt? The verb gelten? I thought. Something to do with validity, value, refers to, with reference to? What is he getting at?

With that they turned on their heel and marched away together, with my cash. The encounter was over.

The truth dawned seconds later. The Swiss language turns E’s into A’s (to us). In fact it is entirely phonetic - no writing, no academia. When they make up Swiss writing, ää is their way of writing our e sound. Don’t ask.

Of course! Galt is the same as the German Geld, pronounced gelt: money. He demanded money to give me my 100 back: perhaps ten would have done it.

This is an ancient custom - family feud territory. If you do someone a favour he is obliged to repay you, otherwise he will be forever in your debt, an uncomfortable feeling. I remember two occasions when I returned found property, once a valueless cap blown away in the mountains, and then a pair of prescription glasses I found at a landing field. The owner of the cap came round the corner and recognised his one-size-fits marketing give-away. ‘What can I give you? 5, 10?’ I insisted he take it for nothing, explaining I was not Swiss. That seemed a good enough excuse. I took the glasses to the opticians printed on the case. The optician was overjoyed; “He has telephoned, how much? 50, 100?” “No, nothing,” I said. I’m not Swiss. I’m English, and a fellow paraglider.”

I’ve no idea what they thought of this unconventional behaviour, but I’m no enthusiast for the hard mountain protestant ethic. ‘Humanist charity’? Not always, especially if you don’t belong to the looser’s tribe. There are plenty of good Samaritans here, but I was unlucky yesterday.

Swiss paragliding notes for foreigners:

‘Ah-bramsen’ means apply some brake. The German equivalent is anbremsen (brakes on). ‘Seckler, seckler!’ means run down the hill, you lazy bastard (as for taking off). The German ‘Sack’ as in rucksack, does mean bag, but säckler is Swiss only. It refers to the swinging scrotum of a running bull, as seen from astern. Some Swiss ladies think it’s rude.

A phonetic English guide to useful Swiss-German terms and phrases.

Lesson 1

‘Chow sammer’ Greetings, one and all. (Informal/Aus/NZ.)

‘Chow mitternant’ Greetings (to small group, also informal)

‘Groosser mitternant’ Greetings, (general).

(from supermarket staff stacking shelves = ‘Move aside, I’m busy stacking.)’

‘Zitza good’ If you would be so kind (formal old world but ironic, mocking checkout/customer status gap).

‘Shock say’ Seen it already

‘Shock see’ Done it already; already happened etc

‘Ah-bremsen (see above). . . . .(followed by . .

nockly mare, nockly mare’ a bit more . . .brake etc. This is typical training patter for encouraging the approach to a stall or spin, or the entry to the quite exciting spiral dive mode ( a vertical downward roll).

‘Handy hock, Handy hock’ Hands up! . . “Release brakes fully, right now”. In the paragliding field this traditional introduction to ‘For you the war is over’ is also an emergency instruction to students who may be about to stall or spin unintentionally. More later, perhaps.

‘Note-sheerm!!’ (reserve parachute) You’re out of control, Bale out (eject - modern).

These are everyday phrases, and indicate the simplicity of mastering the language of this friendly mountain culture.

Caution: do not say ‘Grootzi’ in a mountainous region. It is the Zurich equivalent of Groosser, but will not be well received. Southern visitors to Yorkshire will understand.

‘Gar loowerger’ Go and have a look. This is an example of a Celtic (or Nordic?) word that has no connection to German. It seems to be associated with ‘look’ in English. Note: Swiss pronounce German-type diphthongs separately, where such things are written. The verb to look, luegen, is therefore pronounced loowerge (they leave the n’s off, ending with a vowel sound like neighbouring Italy - ‘Whada mistaka to maka’.

‘Cookie-kestly’ (Sounds like costly with an e) Kitchen cupboard

This is a special Swiss test of Swiss understanding - will get you off to a good start.