Basel, Dornach, and Caliente!

To cap off the next 5 days…

The trip to Basel was a lot of fun. I arrived at the train station in the middle of a storm, and had to run with no umbrella to the tram which took me across the river and over to the modern art museum (the exhibition I found out would not start for another 2 hours or so), and over to the convention center where the ArtBasel exhibition was taking place. Going there was like walking into a zoo for art. It was so different from my normal art experience, which normally takes place in the quiet and sophisticated haven of a museum, with only the hush of footsteps to accompany me. Instead, here, I walked into a profusion of noise and bustle. Everything seemed to be going on at once—I could overhear noise from films playing in screened in areas of the convention center, huge statues and sculptures poked their heads out of the temporary white walls erected all over the place, and paintings, sometimes ones that were so big that I could not even see from one end of them to the other without walking, interrupted the place. It was all a huge play of light and color and sound and I was completely immersed in the middle of it.

There were a few sections in the art exhibition—there was ArtUnlimited, which contained by far the most extreme of the arts—films displayed on multiple screens at once, sculptures that would fill an entire room, huge mobiles that dropped down from the ceiling above to hover over our heads. The other section, which was housed in a huge two story building next to the first one, contained all of the art for sale. This place was enormous—I managed to spend the entire day there and I still do not think that I saw everything—and the art ranged from Picasso to Warhol, and in style from very traditional works to photography to neon. And all of it was for sale—that’s the part that absolutely blew my mind. I saw works by artists that had found their way into my Art History textbook—and here was their stuff, being purchased for huge amounts by the people I found myself surrounded by. Many of the people there were just like me, art enthusiasts who wanted to see one of the biggest exhibitions in all of Europe. But others, and I could tell them apart by the fact that they wore outfits straight from Gucci or Louis Vuitton, were clearly there to purchase the works, and usually had a young woman tottering on high heels behind them with a clipboard suggesting that they look at this painting or that one. It was truly an amazing sight.

I spent all day there, and it took me until the last hour or so until I reached the true big guns of the exhibition—the lower floor which contained what looked to be some of the most prestigious galleries all over the world. Some of them were based in New York, London, and Berlin, and others from as far away as China. I could not believe my eyes. I recognized most of the artists before I ever got close enough to read the placard. It was insane.

I was really happy to see it all, and got back to my hotel that night in an incredibly good mood as I gushed to my roommates about all I had seen. They had spent the day shopping, but they seemed equally excited to hear about my adventures.

The next day was my last in Switzerland, and I decided to go to see the Goetheanum, the site of the original Waldorf School as designed by Rudolf Steiner in the early 20th century. The school itself is actually located in a suburb of Basel, in an area called Dornach, so I found myself on the same route that I had before, and resolved that should I have any free time I would go to see more of Basel itself. The day was clear and without the rain it looked like it would be a very interesting place to walk around.

The Waldorf school was located on the crest of a brilliant green hill, and I could hear the birds chirping and the blow of the wind in the branches as I worked my way up to the huge hexagonal building. All of the buildings around seemed to take on the same appearance as this one landmark—a building that is shaped like a hexagon but additionally has tons of projections in rounded-off-rectangles, so that the whole thing looks like some kind of 20th century conception of a lunar house. It was superbly placed, with a driveway lined in a beautiful purple flower leading up to it, and left a lasting impression on me as I made my way up to it. The sky was a wonderful shade of blue, the brightest of all blue shades, with puffs of cottonball clouds scattered across it. I walked up to the massive and not-exactly-rectangular doors and pulled on the rustic brass handles to enter the building, coming into an oblong lobby with a high ceiling painted in variations of watercolors.

I was a Waldorf kid myself, having gone there until first grade, when I transferred to a “normal” school. But many of the Waldorf’s lessons still reverberated—I remembered doing all of these little rituals to transition my days—songs to blow out candles, songs to clean up, and playing in these huge tents made of gauzy cotton. My teachers, like the women here, all wore longs skirts and seemed kind of bohemian. Being here brought back happy memories of playgrounds and candle-making.

I entered the lobby and asked if there were any tours being given in English, and while there were not, I was encouraged to walk around. So I started out, exploring the wide watercolor washed hallways with their sturdy doors and wood furniture, and making my way outside, where I saw a garden for a self-sustained school, a number of livestock, and some other houses, built either to emulate the Waldorf’s design or in a rustic, unfinished wood style that was very similar. The day was warm and I enjoyed just walking around to the numerous little buildings that clustered around the hill, and walked to where I could see the little suburb of Dornach with its variety of roofs—oddly truncated close to the Waldorf area, and then regressing to the little brightly colored peaked roofs that I always found so charming. In the distance, the lightly rolling hills faded into paler green mountains which merged with the bright blue sky. It was so peaceful.

I spent a good part of the afternoon there, reading, walking around, and spending some time in the archives area of the buildings, which displayed drawings by Rudolf Steiner and surprisingly enough, another artist from my Art History class, a German artist named Josef Beuys who was famous for some of his performance pieces. Little known to me, both of them drew quite a bit, and many of these were displayed in the basement of a smaller Goetheanum-looking building.

When I was done there, I took the train back to Basel, and deciding not to waste any of the precious beautiful sunshine, I took a walk around the town, to the older part of the city where the buildings clustered together and pointed their steep roofs with their timbering up into the sky. This looked to be a pretty posh shopping district, and as I wandered I found my way to the Opera House, a modern looking block of concrete fronted by another artist from my classes—Richard Serra. He had placed two huge wings of slightly rusted metal out in front of the opera house, like two giant commas. Kids were scrambling on and over them as I watched and in front of the commas, using them as a sort of backdrop, were a group of children playing all manner of musical instruments and pouring rain sticks and blowing bubbles. They all had identical shirts on, so I assumed that they must have been part of some kind of music festival taking place in the area. Turns out I was right. I walked past another sculpture—this one made of what looked like rusted out bike parts and assorted scrap metal, but one which moved and squirted water from a low reflecting pool below it and was made by Jean Tinguely, a famous Swiss artist.

The old part of town was dominated by a huge red brick cathedral with its Gothic spindles lacing their way up to nothingness. And in the square in front of the huge pointed arch doors was another set-up for some open air music. A band was playing, and I got some ice cream before moving to the other side of the cathedral where I could see the Rhine river meandering along far below me. In the distance, I could see the huge skyscraper which rose above all of the others in the Basel cityscape. I had read somewhere that it was supposed to be the tallest building in all of Switzerland, and compared to many of the other small buildings that surrounded it it certainly did look enormous.

Basel was quite charming, and I was sad to go, but I needed to head back to Zurich and reserve my train for Munich on the following day, pack up, and take care of a few errands. Plus, I also wanted to treat myself to some nice dinner—I had been eating nothing but scraps and PBJ for a week or so and was sick of it.

On my train back I ran into a very nice Swiss girl with the typical blond hair blue eye complexion who had just gotten back from London on a vacation. She and I both talked about our travels—she had been in London the previous year, after school ended, just on whim, and I proceeded to tell her about all of my crazy adventures with my school trip and my travels in Germany. We compared school systems. Switzerland seemed to be much more professionally oriented than the US, allowing students to take a low course load in conjunction with an internship, and the classes were supposed to connect to the internship in some way. I found it to be interesting.

Upon returning home, I showered and tried to look as European as possible, putting on my skinniest jeans, tightly tucking in my button down shirt, and donning my pair of hot red heels. I strutted over to the tram and stopped off at a restaurant I had seen previously on one of my jaunts, a romantic little place in an old nineteenth century house set into the middle of the park. I took a seat underneath the arching trees and the waiter, a young man with a dark tanned complexion, came and gave me my menu, which was completely in German. So I just asked him what to order, and in a few minutes I was happily munching on a great salad and some baked fish. It was the best meal I had had in weeks, and I was very happy. I took my time eating—it was one of the first times that I had eaten alone without the benefit of a “prop” and I felt kind of exposed. With no books to bury my head in or no notes to take I was left people watching and watching the light play on the trees until my waiter came to refill my water (thank goodness) or to offer me coffee or dessert. I actually found myself to be surprisingly comfortable on my own, sitting and enjoying my food and ruminating in my thoughts.

When the waiter brought the check he leaned down to me in a conspiratorial fashion and asked me if I was in town for the festival. I looked totally confused, so he continued by explaining that Zurich was putting on a salsa and latin festival that night in a certain district of the city. It was to be a huge open air party, he said, with music and dancing, and artists brought in from all Brazil to entertain. I was interested, and having nothing better to do that night, I pulled out my map (which never leaves my pocket) and he pulled out a pen and marked the appropriate area on the map. I was pleased. Thanks to this nice waiter I now had a nighttime activity, and I was grateful once again for the friendliness of everyone that I had met.

So that night, I changed out of my nice shoes, put on a jacket, and ventured out into the Zurichian night, stopping a few blocks before the street that my waiter had indicated, and followed the crowds of people to the festival, which was called “Caliente!” I stepped into a huge bustle of noise and commotion. Reggaeton was blasting from the speakers, beer stands and margaritas were being sold everywhere, and the crush of young well dressed Europeans was so great that I really had to shove to get anywhere in the crowd. I had a lot of fun there, walking around and people watching, and stayed until as late as the trams would stay open, hopping on one of them right around midnight and turning in. I had to get up early to catch the train and I did not want to miss it.