Swiss Chocolate
by Jocelyn Weiss

It was winter break and I was traveling with my friend Karen, backpacking through Europe the way only 20-year-olds can do: spending very little money, getting very little sleep, staying very little time in any one place for fear of not getting to see EVERYTHING.

We were about half way through our one-month trek.  Both of us were sick, we definitely had bronchitis, we might have had walking pneumonia.  But nothing was going to slow us down.

We had spent most of the trek sleeping on trains or in train stations so we wouldn't have to spend money or take extra time to find hostels.  Showers were a rare luxury, never mind a warm bed.

One cold December night in a Swiss train station, where we had planned to sleep the night away in warmth if not comfort, we were rudely awakened around midnight.  Apparently the train station was closing for its evening cleaning.  So Karen and I, along with a couple of bums (I know in America we have been trained to call them "homeless", but these guys seemed more like traditional "bums", so please forgive my lack of political correctness), got kicked out onto the cold, dark street. 

Luckily, nearby there was an underground shopping mall.  Of course all the stores were shut, but the hallways were open, and more importantly they were heated.  We huddled together near the vending machines, trying to figure out what to spend our last Swiss Francs on.  Our bronchitis caused us to cough uncontrollably every few minutes.

There was a bum in the hallway with us.  He too had come from the train station to get some sleep in the warmth of the shopping mall. I'd guess he was in his 50's, although who knows how much his lifestyle had aged his face.  He reeked of alcohol.

As Karen and I searched the vending machines for chocolate (when in Switzerland one simply must have chocolate for every meal, especially midnight snacks) the bum approached us.  Now, Karen and I had been traveling long enough to know that he was harmless, but that it was also much better to avoid contact lest we encourage him to attach himself to us for the rest of the night.  So we tried to ignore him.  We kept our gaze fixed on the goodies trapped inside the vending machines.

But he was determined to get our attention.  He tapped his chest and in broken English said "for your cough".  In his outstretched hand were coins. 

This bum was offering us, two spoiled middle-class kids from America, money so we could buy cough syrup. What must we have looked like to him?  Two poorly dressed young women, desperately needing showers, coughing horribly with every breath, lurking in underground shopping mall hallways to protect ourselves from the cold night.

We tried so hard to explain to him that we didn't need his money, we had money of our own.  But he kept insisting that we take it and eventually we did.  We thanked him and he went away, down one of the many arms of hallways that extended beyond the room of vending machines.

I have never felt so guilty in my life. This person, who had no place to go, who was sleeping in train stations, gave us some of the little money he had so we could buy medicine for our coughs.

But Karen and I didn't want medicine…we wanted chocolate.  We spent the bum's money on chocolate pudding.  I have to say, that was some of the best damn chocolate pudding I've ever had.

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Revised: September 07, 2003