Surely a rose by any other price smells just as sweet. Q: Why is shopping in Germany so awesome ?!!!
Dear Auntie SAM: I’ve read a lot about how expensive it is to live in Basel. What is the cost of living there ?
On the peninsula where I lived in a woodsy neighbourhood of Seattle, a curious man with a devoted heart traversed half the world to win France’s Coupe du Monde de Boulangerie. Newly crowned, the King return to our kingdom & opened a pâtisserie that sold the most delightful twice baked chocolate croissants. A classic chocolate croissant soaked in simple syrup and filled with delicious almond cream. Then, topped with sliced almonds, more almond cream, & just because – why stop at amazing ? – divinely decorated with a bullion of decadent dark chocolate.
This, plus an endless cup of freshly roasted black coffee, could be mine for less than $10. Here, that same treat could cost upwards of $1600 – depending upon flight prices round-trip to Seattle. Because, irrespective of its own virtues, Dear Reader: a Schoggigipfeli is still no chocolate croissant. Any Schoggigipfeli will never be that chocolate croissant.
In the States, your Auntie held seasons tickets to several theatre companies & would see a play almost every week. Basel theatre companies produce a tremendous amount of great plays. Every season several attract me. But, I end up buying a partially obstructed side view seat to the ballet for Sfr 100; or, attending what I had previously thought was outrageously boring: an opportunity to sit on uncomfortable chairs in an airless old building bemused by old men sleeping around me as I watch people dressed in black try to please a maniacal man in a suit.
And, although the English-speaking theatre crowd in Basel produces lovely plays each year, by comparison to what was norm there are few.
But, what was norm hardly matters. All that matters: what is.
Oh, it’s expensive to live in Basel. Everyone will tell you. “But all you need to do,” they say, “is shop in France or Germany.” France & Germany has everything you need at a third of the price – which makes living in Basel akin to living next door to Crazy Eddie’s discount everything store. Oh, that Crazy Eddie .. has he gone mad & slashed prices again ?!???
Even restaurants suffer. Now dating, I often ask men, “If we met, where would you take me ?” “France” is the number one contender. “Germany”, number two. The creepiest dudes always say things like, “St. Tropez” — but that doesn’t enter into a story about Basel, except to say that I have yet to discover anyone who has invited me to a restaurant or cafe they adore here.
Which is a shame because Basel has lovely places to take a date. But people balk at the price. „In France or Germany“, they say, “two can eat for the price of one.” As if seduction equates to a Blue Plate Special at your grandma’s local pancake chain.
Some of the most boring days of my childhood were spent walking into & out of an auto dealership with my Grandma. Her husband, a frugal farm boy who in the 90+ years of his life never financed anything that would not pay a dividend larger than its interest, would happily spend his day off hassling salesmen into giving him the Cadillac of his dreams at the price my Grandpa wanted.
Holding Grandma’s hand, we’d leave Grandpa to his dealings & enjoy an ice cream. Returning to the dealership to find him examining the car or it’s associated paperwork, Grandma would send him her approval & she & I would leave again for our next errand. Inevitably, 6 PM occurred. She & I would return to the salesman’s office. The previously confident man: a wrecked shell. Tousled hair. Sweating before an irate boss who cannot understand how he has yet to close the deal with my Grandpa. They always had the same look in their eyes that game gets before it dies. But my Grandpa & their bosses seemed to see eye-to-eye.
Grandpa always drove away with a new Caddy. But, often, especially after she got sick & no longer had enough patience to endure the tug-of-war negotiations my Grandpa enjoyed, Grandma & I walked home. Because they always bought locally. From people who knew them & how Grandpa liked to play the game — so that, even if an underling sweated, both sides won.
The cost of living in Basel has nothing to do with the price of a Schoggigipfeli. The cost of living in Basel is a tug-of-war between accounting & economics. Between people who value cost more than value. And, no matter if you are an expat or local — because each of you tell me the same sorry saga of sweet shopping abroad — the cost is one right now, in which, accountants win.
Death to the Salesman.
XO
AS
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It’s Christmas, Darling. Do something meaningful.