11/02/2026
TravelOops!
Escape from Zurich with a happy ending 😀
Not the kind of happy ending you’re thinking of but read on.
‘On the day of the monkey's death, all the trees are slippery’ that African proverb was so true as that day my cup was empty despite being rich on paper; I couldn't even afford a smile.
On a saturday early summer I was coming from Lyon enroute to Berlin when my wanderlust instincts asked me to pass by Zurich and connect via train to the German capital. All my inter-countries connections were perfect until I landed at Zurich airport. The era was when a certain local bank had introduced prepaid cards that were marketed travel friendly. So I thought.
Being a tech enthusiast and ready to be a guinea pig for innovation, I had trusted them and foolishly believed I could travel cashless so as to appear bourgeois. The journey was predominantly in the Euro zone so the card was loaded in euros.
But the moment I landed in Zurich, my troubles started as Switzerland uses Swiss francs instead of the euro meaning all systems are linked to the franc. The cards being early innovation didn’t have interchangeable technology and so I was outright a pauper but paper rich. I could neither withdraw nor transact on the counter. I was definitely on the periphery of commerce.
I had zero cash with me so I could not even hail a cab to the train station. It was pre- free wifi networks so communication was limited as I stared at a long and cold night ahead. Being on a saturday evening also meant banks were closed back home and I couldn’t even call anyone to bail me out. My goose was already cooked and my onward journey was in less than 24 hours.
You know other places are not like Africa where you could walk to a stranger and start stories. I tried one lady manning a forex shop promising her heaven but she was ‘Nimezishika nyingi tangu shule ya msingi’ - she had seen thousands like me there and couldn’t trust me. So I retracted not to attract any wrath and went on to prepare for hard sleeping.
It was getting dark pretty fast and the airport became silent so I had to look for a bench to lay down. You know why most airports have benches with separation arms? It is to prevent guys like me. What an ingenious idea to inhibit hard sleeping!. As an architect I appreciate such ideas but this time the thorn was on my end.
Two hours after dusk and most arrivals already done, the terminal became eerily silent and the roaming guards ‘ body language towards me was also indifferent so I needed to find a cosy spot and sleep away my troubles. I even thought of tearing the bank card but recollected my now bruised ego.
As I was gazing around, an idea struck me. You know most airport hotels have free transfers to the hotels. A cheeky smile invaded my poker face as I grabbed my luggage towards the transfer desk. In the lobby were a myriad of hotels to choose from. ‘I would rather be at the hotel lobby than the airport, at least they have free sweets at the reception to wet my beak.’ I whispered to myself. Without wasting time I hopped onto the last transfer van anticipating more misery at the hotel reception. At least I had escaped the cold airport.
After a brief drive, we arrived at the airport hotel lobby where a sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee aroused my spirits. I had figured out that if the hotel would call the police for me, at least they would offer free transport to the train station. At the reception was a guy of Indian origin who went, ‘How are you sir?’ Fine , ‘Welcome sir.’. You want to pay with a card? Yes. I gave him the card and prayed for liberation.
‘Sir! Sir! your card is not working!’ I’m very sorry you cannot continue staying here’ I told him the card had failed while at the airport and he said. ‘I’m sorry sir, you have to go’ as he pointed to the door. By that time transfers were over and I had to hail a cab. I even thought of walking all the way to the train station or hitchhiking but it would take the whole night.
Realising I couldn’t lobby any more, I went to humbly gather my luggage when the reception back door opened and out came another receptionist of African descent. Our eyes locked momentarily as she glanced at my passport. She went ‘uko sawa? I jolted with millions of words. ‘Siko sawa…Unajua….nimekuwa…ni..ni. ‘Utakuwa sawa’ she retorted while grabbing the passport from her colleague.
I couldn’t not hide my joy. It was my Saul-Paul moment in front of the Asian guy. With excitement, she requested her workmate to lay low and proceeded to book a room for me and a meal voucher as she asked, ‘Unafanya nini hapa?’ ‘It’s hard kupatana na Wakenya hapa’
Ndanu was her name as she served me with the best hot chocolate I ever had. We chatted for some time and later checked on me. Did I say I slept soundly that night?
Of all the hotels, the one I picked had my saviour. I learned never to leave a Kenyan behind out there in trouble if you can help. The card was functional as soon as I excited Switzerland.
Ndanu and I are good friends till date.
Humphrey Mumita travel diary
