Yesterday, I participated in a panel discussion where Swiss German was being discussed. I speak standard German and, if necessary, dialect as well. I learned Bernese German in the canton of Zurich, so my Swiss German is a mix of both. Experts find it amusing, but for me, it’s frustrating. Older individuals immediately switch to poor standard German as soon as they hear my Swiss German, which initially demotivated me greatly. However, I’ve since learned to take it in stride.

I recall how my close friend, who studied Germanic studies at Charles University in Prague, expressed doubts about whether my Swiss friend was truly Swiss after meeting him. In her eyes, his standard German was extremely poor, and he seemed like an impostor. But he wasn’t. What can you expect from a “Büezer Bueb” from a remote valley who spent more time on sports than books (if at all)?

During my maternity leave (which was unpaid at the time), I worked for a market research institute. That meant long evenings in our kitchen, where I made calls throughout Switzerland according to specifications and asked predetermined questions. I received long lists of names and phone numbers and called these people with the same questions. In a time when market research institutes were rare and such surveys were scarce, people were very talkative. Getting them to give a simple answer—yes, no, I don’t know—was almost impossible. Phone conversations without responses didn’t exist back then. The called individuals felt honored that someone wanted to hear their opinion, so I listened to long explanations about the quality of yesterday’s TV programs. Initially, I understood nothing, especially when I ended up in one of those small mountain villages. Maybe my results back then, whether they said “yes” or “no,” were distorted. But over time, my understanding improved. I’m not a language genius. I remember a note from my language teacher on one of my dictations – “Dear Michaela, I think even a monkey could have written this better” – and below it, an unsatisfactory grade. Nonetheless, I love languages and their melody. Swiss German sounds very melodic to me, and my evenings in the kitchen during the surveys helped me understand various dialects. The spoken dialects seemed like secret languages, inaccessible to outsiders, and there were hardly any textbooks.

I entered the Hall for the discussion round with my “little fellow”, and the hall was almost full. There were still seats available next to an older man. I politely asked in Swiss German if the seat was still available, and he nodded. Then I asked if it was okay for him if I were his neighbor for the evening. There was no response, just an undefinable silence. The seats weren’t numbered, and there was open seating. I just wanted to be polite. Then he very deliberately said that he could answer my question after the event. Small talk looks different. He also responded in Swiss German. I told him I was sure to be a good neighbor. However, he did recognize not a pure Swiss German in my speech and began speaking awkward standard German. His change in language and the lack of ease in his responses slightly annoyed me, but I didn’t show it. He wanted to know how I knew I would be a good neighbor. I replied that I could predict the future. Finally, he loosened up and engaged in conversation. Then he suggested going to the casino with me. I asked why, and he replied, to win money. I wanted to know what he would do with the money. He immediately stiffened and honestly replied that it was a private matter he wouldn’t disclose to me. I gave up.

Swiss German is a wonderful thing, but one must be careful. Many, if not the majority, of Swiss people are incapable of engaging in casual small talk. Unlike in the USA, where everyone engages in casual conversation with everyone else, such behavior in Switzerland is suspicious. This reminds me of a story from last week. When I came home, a blonde, slim middle-aged woman was standing in front of our house calling out loudly, “Honza.” That’s a typical Czech name, but in the wrong form. She should have called him “Honzo.” As a Swiss person who wasn’t familiar with the Czech language couldn’t have known that. I turned around and looked for Honza. A friendly gentleman on the other side of the street hurried over. I told her I was pleased that there was a Honza, and she looked at me with wide eyes. Just then, Honza came to us, and I greeted him in Czech. Her response shocked me. She said, “Ahoj Honza” (here “Honzo” would be correct in Czech), “I don’t know that woman” and pointed at me with a disdainful look. I turned around and went home. Spontaneous conversations with Swiss people, even in Swiss German, are difficult.