THE FASTER LANE / TYLER BRÛLÉ
Sledge fund
Happy new year, dear reader. Did you vault out of 2020 in your finest attire, speeding past midnight at full tilt? Or did you tiptoe gently into 2021 sporting something comfier and more low-key, saving your energy for what might still lie ahead? I decided that the first day of 2021 called for a new tradition involving a few friends, high-velocity transport and plenty of fresh air. The fun started with a glass of Apfelpunsch with my friend Carla at 16.00 in the village square and soon shifted to the 17.02 train from St Moritz – destination Preda. We set off as a group of four, were joined by another three at Samedan and, at Preda, met up with a pair of clued-up locals who would help us navigate the little adventure we’d set ourselves.
After Mario took charge of the sledge rental, all nine of us were set for the snowy, six-kilometre run down the track to Bergün. With floodlights punctuating only part of the journey, the Preda-Bergün demands that you keep your eyes peeled for those that might have ricocheted off a snowbank or spun out on a sharp turn. It’s also one of those activities that requires your complete concentration, so there’s no time to think about what you’re going to be doing at the same time next week or what the first month back at the office might look like.
Six kilometers zipped past faster than expected and as everyone collected themselves there was a discussion about doing another run, before Linard’s offer of Glühwein at his family’s hotel won out and we made our way through the ancient village with its candlelit windows, snow-covered streets and silence. As I peered into houses with metre-thick walls and Speck hanging from hooks, I started coming down from the adrenaline rush and cosy Bergün had me thinking about my 2021 wishlist. While it’s still a work in progress, it goes something like this.
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Village life is vital, now more than ever. If the past year has taught us one sound lesson about good urbanism and mental health it’s that we need to nurture our villages – be they pockets within sprawling suburbs or real villages like Bergün and thousands of other communities nestled on mountain slopes or along wild coasts. It’s essential that we have places where we can connect with familiar faces, where local products and ideas can find a market and where there’s room for independent commerce rather than predictable assortments and signage. I would like to see more mayors, landowners and developers take this seriously. It’s no good complaining about the disappearance of the local bookshop when you buy all of your books from a mass retailer online.
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On 30 December I had technical trouble with my TV and wireless setup. I called the number for our service provider (in this case Swisscom) and after pushing a few keys was connected to a lovely woman who attempted to solve the problem. We exchanged notes on how things were functioning at her end of the country with various pandemic measures, whether people were watching more or less TV and how she’d become closer to her neighbours thanks to her ample supply of cigarettes. Indeed, she had one of those great voices you rarely hear on a customer support line these days. We weren’t able to conquer the problem on the phone and will have to settle it over the coming days, but who cares? It was a wonderful human exchange and it made me feel better about Swisscom. Wouldn’t it be great if more companies took simple steps to boost human engagement rather than trying to delete it?
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On the following day I met with my banker. He tried to sell me on online banking, yet again. I like speaking with him and have told him before – no passwords, no codes, no nonsense. Would it be more convenient? Maybe. Would it be cheaper for me? For sure, the service charges are significant. Would it make me feel more attached and loyal to my bank? Or would operating on just another platform make the experience the same as any other bank? Here’s wish three: if I’m happy to pay for a service then why not provide it? Newspaper proprietors might want to consider this one too. Don’t assume that people won’t pay for a print edition – they will.
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Meanwhile, back in Bergün, we walk past a little red rail wagon in the middle of the village that’s stuffed full of local farm produce. It’s a self-serve, honour-style setup. No one is manning this little shop, you just take what you like from the fridge and leave your francs. It’s a relationship built on trust within the community. You can still glimpse snapshots of this type of social capital in various corners of the world but I wonder if we’ve given up on this as a quality ingredient in civil society? I hope not but its scarcity suggests that trust has been eroded and the contract broken. How wonderful it would be if forces were put in place to turn the tide.
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And finally, we’re on the train back up the mountain and in the carriage a family has decided that fellow passengers would like to hear the playlist blasting out of their phone. They’re wrong. When this happens, I often wonder what would happen if everyone was equally discourteous and decided to crank up their device to max volume. Would this be the official start of our final undoing? At this point the conductor comes through the carriage and gives the family a concerned glance but keeps moving. Is it his job to maintain order? Or does the responsibility belong to Samsung or Apple or Huawei to remind their customers to use their devices with respect? Monocle has been calling for a code of digital decency for a while now, could 2021 be the year that such a charter comes to life?