Smoking in Switzerland

When I came to Switzerland almost ten years ago, I was a smoker. I had given up for two years prior to our move, but what with the winding up of the little business I had and then almost three months of nothing to do before coming over to Europe, I had too much free time on my hands and took up smoking again. This was at a time when the new laws regarding smoking in public places had just been put into effect in SA. Everybody (that smoked) was up in arms and there was much declaring of war going on. My favourite local watering hole, a place that was done in the style of an old western saloon and was as dirty if not worse than the real thing, was owned by a German. He, like most European expats living in SA, thought that he was above the local law, and insisted that such nonsense didn’t apply to him. I remember shortly before I left the country sitting in the bar and seeing everyone happily puffing away, led by the Teutonic fellow himself, defiantly serving drinks with a fag jammed between his lips. In earlier days, as a policeman, I would have taken great pleasure in hauling his arrogant ass before the judge, but then, as a working stiff out to have a quiet beer on a Friday afternoon, I was only too glad to be able to have a smoke myself. I didn’t give much thought to the whole thing, ‘cause I knew I was leaving the country soon and wouldn’t be concerned with the local laws anymore. I planned to stop smoking once I hit Switzerland anyway. I had heard that cigarettes and alcohol cost a fortune over here and wanted to stop for health reasons, so I never bothered to find out what the law in Switzerland had to say about smoking.
Imagine my surprise when I arrived here and saw that people smoked on trains, in bars and restaurants, in fact virtually everywhere. Aside from the fact that building and road crews were all-white, this was the most poignant first impression. Of course, you can imagine how hard it was to give up now! The two hundred and twenty Rand (a princely sum in those days) bottle of Chivas Regal that I had brought for a family friend of my father-in-law who had assisted my wife to get acquainted with the country was accepted with puzzlement, as the same thing over here cost forty francs, which was at that time about R160. Not only was the alcohol much cheaper than back home, the cigarettes were too. So with the liberal smoking laws and the cheap cigarettes, I simply carried on where I left off. It was quite amazing to sit in a restaurant and puff away happily with almost all the other patrons. Most of the places I patronized were the sort of small, cosy little country pubs that litter each town, and the ventilation was almost always non-existent. In winter it was even worse, for every window and door was sealed tightly shut (they have an absolute phobia about draughts in this place). After an hour or two you could barely see the guys at the table across the room, so thick was the smoke. It amazed me how non-smokers (few that they were) could even enter such a place, but enter they did.
This went on for many years, and when I occasionally mentioned the smoking laws in SA I would be greeted with incredulous looks of disbelief and comments such as “What! Not here that won’t happen!” or “Over my dead body!” etc. When it happened in Ireland there was much laughter at the “dumb Irish” for their idiotic laws and more threats of rebellion if anyone ever got it into his head to try that “nonsense” here in good old Switzerland. “If they ever do that they may as well take our guns away too!” I heard often. How ironic, when you consider the discussions taking place at political levels today.
Anyway, after nine idyllic years in the jam packed local “restaurants” (a Swiss country bar/eatery) with the after-work crowd of artisans, their leathery faces, muscled arms and incredibly thick, strong fingers obscured by clouds of pipe, cigar and cigarette smoke, The Day finally arrived. I must just mention that I had spent four of these years as a non-smoker, and though the stink of cigarette smoke drove me nutty with distaste and curbed my desire to frequent the stuffy little pubs, I still went for the occasional drink or twenty with friends. I saw a bar as a place in which tobacco belonged, and realized that if I wanted to go there and ruin my health with alcohol then I would have to put up with the hazards of secondary smoke inhalation too. As is usual in Switzerland, when there is a proposal for a new law the populace has to vote on it. I think in this case none of the smokers really believed that such a law would ever be taken seriously enough to actually be voted into place, because when the results of the referendum came out, it was obvious that the anti-smoking lobby had done their background work. The vote was overwhelmingly in favour of banning smoking in public places. The smokers had been caught napping! A deadline was set for October 2009, after which there was to be no more smoking in public houses in the Canton of Zürich. Other Cantons brought in the law at different times, but as I live in Zürich, I will discuss our own situation. Still the smokers went on smoking in the restaurants and when the time approached an extension of the deadline was announced for the end of the year. This new deadline approached and was once again extended. The regulars in my favourite watering hole laughed off all discussion of the dreaded new law. “Look how they keep on extending it! Never happen here, I tell you!” was the kind of thing one heard all the time. Then the new deadline was announced. 1st of May, 2010. As the day approached, no one was brave enough to comment on the lack of any talk concerning further extensions.
On the last night before the ban was to come into effect, most places threw a bash for their regulars, where smoking was almost “celebrated”. The next morning arrived and everyone went about their business. Contrary to popular opinion, the world hadn’t ended. Of course, the authorities were very, very clever with all their extensions of the deadlines. By the end of March, the weather was warming up again dramatically. By the end of April people had been sitting on the garden terraces of their favourite pubs for nearly a month. When the ban took effect, nobody even noticed. Living in cold, grey climates such as this, one learns to treasure every possible moment that can be spent outdoors, and smokers are no different. Things just went on as normal. The particular crowd that I like to join on a Friday afternoon (workers from the construction firm that was my previous employer) would still all be congregated around a long table under a sun umbrella, beers and cigarette packets littering the table wherever one looked, like they were every spring. This continued through the lovely hot months of summer and life seemed so normal that nobody worried about the new law, or protested overly much. After all, even a seasoned smoker understands and can live with going to a good restaurant for what he hopes is a good meal and not having to put up with ashtrays and the stink of cigarettes. It’s the cosy, grubby little place where you go to drink that would never be the same without a smoke!
Evidence of the discomfort that would come showed itself on the occasional rainy day. The regulars would all be crowded under a small marquee at the “Stammtisch” (directly translated to “tribal table”, but meaning more “regulars table”) outside that was set up for them every summer, bravely ignoring the chilly rain and miserable weather around them. On a day like that, there would be no strangers or casual visitors at the pub, so the actual pub remained empty while the locals swapped stories and hooted with laughter out on the terrace. In a country of people that have a hernia at the slightest bit of wind or chill, this was a stark reminder of the presence of the forbidding new law for me. I happily sit out in the elements and always have. Here, at the first hint of a darkening sky, the Swiss run for cover and warmth, even if it’s 20°C outside. The wonderful Spanish lady who runs my favourite pub had converted a tiny cubicle of a room (quite literally the size of a regular one-car garage) into a darts room some time before the change in the law, and with the onset of NO MORE SMOKING, SINNERS! she had been able to utilize this little room as a so-called fumoir, because it was only a tiny percentage in size of her already tiny little pub. The thing is, no one could bear to go in there. It is so small and crowded that one has to move ones chair to open or close the door or let someone else in, or continually duck your head to avoid flying darts. The darts players have to thread their way between drinkers and their chairs to retrieve their darts and, well… you get the picture. I remember one particular night in July when I was outside with a large crowd of friends and all our wives and partners. The locals table was going strong, loud roars of laughter and much merriment washing over our end of the terrace, where things weren’t much quieter. It was one of those Friday nights that just never seem to end. At around ten I realized that I needed to release some of the beer I’d been pouring down my gullet for the last few hours and made my way through the restaurant to the toilets. The evening had become chilly, and as I made my way past the entrance to the bar I peeped in to see who was making themselves comfortable in the warm, familiar surroundings of the little tavern while all the smokers caught colds outside. There was no-one in the pub. NO-ONE. The chairs were all upside down on the tables and the place was in darkness. I was horrified. Where were all the rabid anti-smokers who had been waiting all their lives to enjoy a beer in a non-smoking bar? Where were all the fitness fanatics and health freaks who had so relished their victory at the last vote? The Spanish lady was going out of business and the few non-smokers were all outside in the cold with their friends, enjoying the fun and intimacy that goes hand-in-hand with a visit to the pub. The little “fumoir” was empty aside from the two half-wits who spend every waking moment throwing plastic darts at a plastic, computerized dartboard that does the maths for you. As I stood before the ancient old urinal, contemplating the familiar old cracked green tiles from the late forties and listening to the faint shouts of merriment echoing through the building from the people out front on the terrace, I realized how this new law was going to change things for us.
Since then, the upbeat, modern little nightclub-cum-bar that opened a few years ago near the train station and has been a steady place of entertainment for the whole village and a lot of out-of-towners has also closed. In a chat one cold and rainy day under a sun umbrella on the terrace with the young female owner, I asked her if the rumours were true. She confirmed that she would be closing and gave me some figures. The losses she spoke about were shocking. She had considered other options, but realized that trying to move location or adding new enticements to her business weren’t going to change the basic fact that her regular clientele were no longer prepared to go out for a night on the town in a place where they couldn’t enjoy a cigarette with their drinks. And the sad fact is that all the non-smokers also find that when the place is at peak only populated by about three quiet, healthy and sober people, morbidly sitting and sipping at their beer, they don‘t have the desire to go out either. I looked around me at the stylish, expensive garden furniture the young lady had bought to doll up her pathetic little enclosure on the open terrace, complete with very expensive retractable, waterproof wall to try and block the wind that sweeps in over the farmers fields that surround her establishment, and mentally shook my head. What a waste of an enterprising, successful young person’s attempts to retain a thriving little business.
My local is closing now too. The Spanish lady is going to try her hand at another place in town that has recently closed down, due to over-investment by the last owners. It has a huge hall in the back, which used to be rented out for functions but was otherwise closed. The last owners exploited the loophole in the law about being allowed to use a small percentage of your premises for a fumoir if it was separate from the rest of the bar and had closed doors. They simply moved tables and chairs into the giant old hall in back and declared it their “bar”. It remained empty and silent while the real old bar, a typically quaint and dark place paneled in old wood and having a large ceramic stove in the middle for heating, became the fumoir. Life went on as normal for the locals there, and the last time I went it was so packed that I had nowhere to sit and had to leave again. People, non-smokers and smokers alike, had found one normal place they could still go to and find their friends.
Now that it has closed, there is nowhere to go anymore. The amount of guests and parties I have in my home has increased dramatically, while the pub owners stand wringing their hands on their front steps, in the forlorn hope that somebody, anybody, even some health freaks who want a glass of water or milk, will stop by for an hour or two. I’ll be sad to see my favourite pub go. All the others too. They’re all winding down their businesses now as we head into autumn. They know there’ll be no more custom once winter arrives. Even the toughest clientele aren’t going to sit around a table in the snow just so they can have a beer with their friends. The crowds of non-smokers have never materialized, and no-one can run a simple tavern without customers.
The free choice of people to frequent the place they want to has been ignored. The free choice of owners to ban smoking in their establishments has been ignored. The fact that people who frequent bars and spend a goodly portion of their time and income there (not the quick in-and-out, down-a-beer-between-business types) are generally smokers, has been ignored. The plight of small time bar owners has been ignored. And worst of all, the bloody non-smokers are nowhere to be seen.
It seems to me there are only losers in this situation…