joyceistyping

When I spent a month in Switzerland, I thought I was prepared. I had my winter coat, a list of must-try foods, and a plan to impress my Swiss boyfriend’s family with my (very basic) German skills. What I wasn’t prepared for, however, were the small cultural shocks that made me feel like I had just landed on another planet.

Here’s a look at my month-long cultural education, filled with confusion, self-reflection, and an unsettling amount of cheese and chocolate.

First thing is the silence on the train. From where I’m coming from Myanmar, silence in public places is rare, actually, it’s suspicious. If a group of people is quiet, it usually means something sketchy is happening. In Switzerland, however, silence is not only normal but expected. On my first train ride, I made the grave mistake of laughing at something my boyfriend said. Instantly, heads turned. Eyes narrowed. A woman looked at me like I had just announced I was starting a drum circle in the middle of first class. I whispered the rest of the conversation in shame, feeling like a disruptive toddler. I soon learned that the Swiss take their peaceful public spaces very seriously. Meanwhile, I spent the whole month fighting my Burmese instincts to fill awkward silences with unnecessary small talk. (Apparently, “Nice weather today, huh?” is not a social requirement in Switzerland.) But what surprised me even more? Some people completely ignore this unspoken rule and act like they’re in their own private karaoke room. Every now and then, I’d see someone talking loudly on the phone, blasting music on a speaker, or eating snacks with the enthusiasm of a mukbang YouTuber. I was so confused. Are they Swiss? Are they outsiders like me? Are they just rebels who refuse to be silenced? The contrast was fascinating; half the train sitting in monk-like serenity while one person yelled into their phone like they were negotiating a hostage situation.

Time is not a Concept, it’s a religion.In Myanmar, when we say we’ll meet at 5 PM, we mean “somewhere between 5 and 5:30, depending on traffic, tea breaks, and whether the universe allows it.” In Switzerland, 5 PM means 5:00:00 PM. One day, I took an extra five minutes to get ready before meeting my boyfriend’s family. Big mistake. I came out from the bathroom and saw him looking at his phone like I had personally betrayed his ancestors. “We’re late,” he said, with the gravitas of someone announcing a national crisis. Swiss people don’t just respect time, they worship it. Buses arrive at the exact second they are scheduled to, people plan their grocery runs with military precision, and I’m pretty sure even Swiss cows chew their cud on a strict schedule. Meanwhile, I spent most of my trip sprinting to catch trams like I was an action hero trying to defuse a bomb.

Swiss Sunday Rule!!! Back home, Sundays are just another day—shops are open, markets are lively, and life goes on. In Switzerland, Sundays are sacred. And by sacred, I mean everything shuts down. I learned this the hard way when I went out looking for food on a Sunday and found… nothing. No supermarkets. No restaurants. Just an eerie silence. It was like Switzerland had collectively decided to play a prank on me. “Where is everyone?” I asked my boyfriend. “At home,” he said. “It’s Sunday.” Oh. Right. Of course. Silly me for assuming that a country that runs on extreme efficiency would allow people to buy bread more than six days a week. Apparently, Sundays are for family, relaxation, and contemplating your life choices as you slowly starve because you forgot to buy groceries on Saturday.

Swiss people love cheese. No, really—love it. Fondue, raclette, cheese-stuffed everything. It’s practically a national identity. Meanwhile, in Myanmar, we believe that food should contain at least one chili pepper capable of causing mild emotional trauma. So, when I ate the first meal at my boyfriend’s home, I politely took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then whispered, “Do you have chili flakes?” Silence. My boyfriend’s family looked at me like I had just insulted their entire bloodline. “Spicy?” they repeated, as if I had suggested setting the cheese on fire. Just as I started panicking about surviving a whole month on mild Swiss food, thank God, my boyfriend’s mom came to the rescue. Turns out, they love spicy food. (A miracle, honestly.) They even had a little collection of Asian spices in their kitchen and were kind enough to let me add my own seasonings to their food. I nearly cried tears of joy when they handed me a bottle of chili sauce. This was it, this was my lifeline. Swiss food was good, but Swiss food with chili? Perfection.

Eating out? Nah. Back home, if you’re too lazy to cook, you just go to a street food stall and grab some noodles or rice dish for less than a dollar. In Switzerland, eating out is like a once-a-month event unless you’re secretly a millionaire. People actually cook every day. And not just simple meals; full, well-balanced, home-cooked dishes. At first, I was impressed. Then, I was overwhelmed. Then, I was just tired. But I adapted. I started cooking at home, meal-planning like a responsible adult, and finally understanding why Swiss people don’t eat out often. (It’s because a restaurant bill can personally hurt your soul.)

Train tickets almost make me bankrupt. In my country, public transport is chaotic but cheap. In Switzerland, public transport is organized, punctual, and costs as much as a small kidney.I nearly fainted when I saw the price of a train ticket. “Are we buying the whole train?” I whispered. But no, that was just the standard fare. Even buses cost enough to make you reconsider whether your destination is really worth it. By the end of the month, I was budgeting my trips like a financial analyst. I had never felt so wealthy and so broke at the same time.
But the real plot twist? You have to buy your ticket beforehand. There’s no paying on the train, no helpful conductor selling you a last-minute ride. You just must have your ticket before stepping on board, or you risk meeting the Swiss ticket inspectors. One day, we were on a train, peacefully watching instagram reels, when suddenly, a man in uniform appeared out of nowhere. “Tickets, please.” Turns out, if you don’t have a valid ticket? Boom—100 CHF fine. No excuses, no mercy. Just a straight-up financial punishment that could fund my entire grocery budget back home.

Despite my struggles (my bank account and my chili deprivation), I actually fell in love with Switzerland. The breathtaking views, the efficiency, the peaceful Sundays; it all grew on me. I even started enjoying the quiet train rides (though I still whispered out of habit). But next time, I’m bringing my own spice rack.