Moscow to Beijing， a Summer of 1973
　　MOSCOW


　　I was born in Bern–Switzerland. It was the mid-70’s， a time when cold war was at its height. New York City was still a mad city， with Star Wars on the screens and Apple in the garage. Unlike usual beliefs that Swiss were all born in golden cribs， my family was from a rather humble background； my grandfather was a train driver and my dad a self-made man. It was probably my mother’s side that infused me with an artistic nature. My father worked his entire career for Swissair （Swiss Airlines） and early on was sent abroad for management positions around the globe. This was how I became“un enfant du voyage” – a globetrotter’s kid. My favorite part is to believe that 1972 & 1973 played an essential role on my birth date （1rst of May） and destiny– while posted in Moscow - Russia， my parents visited Beijing - China.
　　GHANA 1976-1980
　　ACCRA
　　I guess most children don’t remember their toddler years， but for me Ghana imprinted vivid memories like a bed time fairytale. I remember the big old planes hanging in the halls of the Zurich airport and the airplanes hazy views from the windows in the hall of the airport vaccination departmenrt where oversized syringes awaited us for all kinds of vaccines we had to take every year. I remember the very cool moments on flight： the premium food plateaux， the then charming hostesses， Lego boxes and wooden toys！ Flying was then fun！ …but long … You could still feel the planet was a huge place to travel and to be discovered.
　　At the time west Africa was a great place to be. “The Golden Coast” was true to its meaning， Ghana was living a peaceful time and fairly harmonious relations with foreigners. I remember the many small villages and tribes– each with their dialect and proud colors. I remember my parents friends having a lot of cross cultural marriages. It seemed to me like a big friendly planet.
　　My years in Accra were fantastic. We lived in a compound made of two storage apartments， most surrounded by expats but also well-doing Ghanaian and Arabic indigenous. We had a big red dirt tennis court in its middle and a lush tropical park. The back of the compound had a local village where our parents advised us not to venture； Stories came from time to time such as family cat disappearing in the cooking pan of the local medicine man. 　　Africa was a land of tales， of adventure and anecdotes – I tried to choose a set of them to describe my path during those years， and the ones which touched me the most.












　　DOWNTOWN
　　I would rarely go downtown to visit my dad’s office. But still， we would sometimes go to the open markets with our cranky 504 Peugeot and I could glance at the city buzz – there were people， people and more people everywhere， attached to their daily routines： car fixer， fruit seller， butcher， ivory dealer， mahogany craftsmen， the red eyed bell pepper merchants， bicycle riders without rubber tubes …and legions of lorries， overloaded with goods and men – smoky， smelly and short of a wheel – all proudly stamped with a spiritual slogan on the top front. The summer heat was wet and the dusty red earth layered amidst the“urbanization” of the city - unfinished houses and shafts were painted over and over between “office buildings” and hand painted advertising slogan.
　　The airport was an old concrete flat building where you could always see late passengers running along the track to catch their flight with already closed doors！ The plane would halt， reopen the hatch and bring back the stairs truck. There was also a “goodbye”terrace on the roof for relatives to see the departing peoples， Cardboard boxes would suddenly fly off the roof to be caught by the passengers below who wanted to avoid the security check – a“chicken farm” like dance would then start between them and those escaping in all directions …
　　WEEK-ENDS
　　Beside the Sunday night scorching three hours church mass – when I usually fell quickly asleep， most of our time was spent outdoor. My first bottle of beer was at around five - when left alone at the beer club on the track of the bowling alley， and taking the nickname of bush kid - I was also frequently a“chair lemur， sofa panther and a carpet caterpillar” … a regular of precarious but comfortable places where we would be dropped to fall asleep till dawn； so much pool parties were thrown around. Week-end also meant beach time. We would squeeze as many families as possible in the few cars – kids and dogs would be in the car trunk or even on the floor of the front seat and still had to resist the 1：30h bush ride in the sandy dirt roads to the seashore. Many had installed simple bamboo huts. We unfolded the hammock， opened the colorful barbecue grill， rice salads and cutlery … While grown ups would go on for endless Bridge card games and naps， we would dig ourselves in sand holes and replay Treasure. African shores were wild. The strong waves produced fresh sprays of water in the wind. Lines of coconut palm tree bended their body towards the ocean， pounded by numerous years of sea erosion … they can also be traitorous： 　　THE BEACH
　　The area had serious under currents（called the sea bed blade） which made it sportive for fishermen to bring back their long rowing boats ashore and for swimmers to simply come back. One afternoon my brother and friends went out for play， but soon “the blade”was pulling them away at large. The wave made their desperate screams unaudible. I stayed on the beach， building sand， when my dog Cadi started barking loudly towards them. While I was still wondering what was going on， he already had ran towards the bamboo hut where the adults napped and motivated them to the rescue！ It took three strong guys attached to a rope to bring the kids back … “My dog had saved more than the day！” – If drown or eaten by sharks， they would have been fated to a certain death.
　　THE ZOO
　　Africa is an animal kingdom – to eat or to be eaten. My sister loved to eat ants； red ants loved to eat big chunk of meat we gave them at the horse farm. Snakes would kill people down the shower drain； our gardener would chop their head and skin them so we could collect reptilian trophies. My personal favorite was Accra’s zoo， where a big old Gorilla kept the entrance while begging for bananas and gave you a hand shake if you rewarded him. We could touch and feed almost all the animals – the giraffes fences were so low that they could bend over for a big hug and ate your T-shirt at the same time. Chills ran all over our body each time we wandered around the snakes and spiders vivarium rotunda – it had so many cracks on the walls and glass that you hoped they wouldn’t escape. The crocodile pond was particularly spooky.You had to cross over with a run down brick bridge to continue the visit， and thus it later produced terrible nightmares： I would scream for my parents help to save me from those crawling under my bed， or the fruit bats feeling the indoor lights and smashing unexpectingly on the windows.
　　BROTHERHOOD
　　Not far from the American compound was an old carcass of a Russian helicopter， which served now as a fantastic playground for kids - such places served our childhood. We had to be adventurous and inventive， and we enjoyed every moments under the sun or a tropical storm. I was half naked most of the time. My ultra blond look mixed with a sun-tanned skin amazed the local kids - they always wanted to touch our hairs.
　　I was the last in my family and I learned the hard way to live brotherhood. All kids of mixed ages hung out as a band. Of course the little ones where the one to be blamed， hurt or put to the test. My knees used to bleed at least once a week， either while riding a big yellow plastic truck or a fat tire trotinette at high speed over big bumps formed by the massive roots of trees …and bam …another one … My nanny would spend sometimes an hour to take the pebbles out of our wounds. 　　Quickly my brother discovered I would turn hysterical when he made me cry on purpose. He found that rather funny. Once we were playing in a large mahogany tree. We usually had a small machete and whistle to warn of eventual snakes or nasty wild birds. Somehow my brother picked on me. Infuriated， I brandished the machete and swing it in his direction. Being on the branches he hadn’t much mobility and the blade tore his T-shirt open at height of his stomach. In a blink of an eye， his survival instinct kicked me off the tree and I fell， smack in the middle of a flat leaf cactus， with part of my arms， side and leg covered with spines. We both never started again.
　　Living the “bush” life， we became relatively danger-conscious and alert …We were living like Crusoe， free and wild.
　　QUEBEC， 1980 - 1981
　　MONTREAL


　　A year that will seal a destiny.
　　Imagine： a +35oC mostly topless blond headed “bush” boy， parachuted in 1FREEZING cold Montreal！ Montreal became my first “conscious” moving out/moving in destination.
　　I started to realize what the loss of friends and the gain of new ones really meant. At it would go on like this for years， like a sand castle being buildt up and a few years later washed out. But good things always happen when you pay attention to them. Firstly I discovered Television and a rampage on animations； Secondly the craze of BMX street strolling and “almost every one has one in the backyard” private pool ； and thirdly， the avent of Star Wars and Atari games， which made visiting friends places just more fun！ The school was huge to my standard， it had everything - aircon， indoor and outdoor sport fields， a cantine， a big library and an amazing cinema venue. They would show a movie or two per week. One particular afternoon during movie session would seal my love destiny. They played “The Kite” from 1956 in which two French kids went to China. I immediately fell in love with the Chinese girl hero and would dream about her for weeks. That very fall came an event – rather a flick of a moment -that would be the tipping point of my live’s leitmotiv： I knew – one day I would marry a Chinese lady .
　　（It was then I also opened for the first time a large and heavy book with beautiful pictures of China that my parents had on their bookshelf.）



　　Switzerland， 1981 - 1988
　　BERN
　　When you are ugly you have to be fun. When you are not bright you have to be smart and clever.
　　During these years my father travelled a lot and most of the time wasn’t home. My mother was also kept busy most of the day. It gave me a feeling of growing like a wild grass. Some people would be more than happy with this situation– but years later I analysed that their“relaxed” presence created a lack of confidence in me. An education to manhood is essentia， especially from a father to a son. It made me very shy and had to fight twice for things in life.
　　For a time I was called the frog at my school but luckily I was fun and goofy– a powerful weapon not to be pushed around but be cool. And still， my brother and his band of buddies were top on the respect line – who dared to hit me， was hit double in turn.
　　Bern is called a bilingual city. The truth is – it’s still Swiss German. You had to make yourself respected on the way back home from school. My dad was French taught and had to fist fight his everyday at German school until he mastered his second language. Likewise I used to walk home or sometimes hop on a bus that would stop 500m from my home. That last stretch of walk seemed like a boot camp and the only way through was crossing the gardens of a private – manor like building -association for youngsters misfits. It was like a mission： first crossing the victorian style entrance， hiding behind one of the gate columns to wait and spot if the “way was free”. Then walk， never run， which was too suspicious， in the hope of not crossing the “enemy”. Once， my nightmare came true， with no way back. Mid way to my path ， the bell rang and out came the hive of my doom. One particular punk looking kid looked me up， stopped me by the shoulder and stared （my legs shacked， my fist all sweaty， ready to take a beating） with the killer question：
　　“Where you think you are going？” in a strong Swiss German … I posed and replied the only thing going straight in my head – “home … right up there”… “oh， yeah … sure， see ya” – he replied and let me pass safely. I learned that： Not everything is what it seems， there is always two sides to a story， learn your languages – it’s a life saver in many senses.
　　School， friends， brother fights， boyscouts， lake summers and mountain winters – these were the regulars of a young swiss kid. Good education， good air， and boredom … boredom？ I loved the city vivacity and hated the lonely， long lapses of time. During my parents“off” weekends they would drop us separately at my grand-parents places； my sister & brother in one and me in another （in turns）. 　　My mothers’ parents where fervent catholics， with straight education， imposed etiquette and simply cooked food. Not ideal for a kid like me – but my grandpa had nice old toys like Russian meccanos，woode Napoleonian soldiers， stone constructions cubes and lots to do in the garden … until night arrived. On Sunday nights the happy factor would vanish and my loneliness would grow impatient： my grandpa had a lounge chair with a paper stack desk in front of a large carrel window facing up the hill - from which you could see the road afar coming down from the countryside upfront. After dinner I would sit there for hours （if necessary）； the master clock in the corridor would go forth and back， precise and everlasting “tang – tong –tang – tong” ， with a big “dong” every quarter of an hour. Desperately waiting to spot two little round headlights – the ones of my parents mini-cooper – the sure sign of them picking me up and the certainty of not being abandoned. I never felt the sorrow of the passage of time so deeply in my heart. Still now， I hate clocks.
　　FRANCE， 1988 - 1993
　　PARIS
　　The last few days of schools before summer came with a big surprise： my dad was to be promoted in Paris– “PARIS！” jealously screamed some girls in my class. I was listening to New Wave & MTV， electronic devices were starting to pop up all over and the Wall was about to fall. In my head I was very excited – I thought Paris was like New York – and still anxious to move school again.
　　Paris was not New York. The city had not been changed that much by cultural revolutions. My first encounter with my new classmate made me look like a “provincial”. Most of them were“blasé” youngsters - a definition for the nonchalant and uninteresting because of frequent exposure or indulgence. A lot of them were out of post 69 remarried families and either rightist bourgeois or caviar socialists. It took me a while to“assimilate” the French culture， Moliere and Céline and at times the over intellectualised educational model.
　　But Paris is probably the most beautiful city in the world and a gem of architecture and culture； and for the first time my “urbanity” was satisfied and I enjoyed a good deal of my late youth. Paris is also the night rain washing away my first broken heart tears， where I day dreamed of fame and fortune Place Saint-Sulpice and among Orsay’s masterpieces and got mid night champagne dazed with friends after a home party at the foot of Louvre’s Pyramid. 　　Paris was always my muse， the one who whispered to me “don’t go” when I decided to wrote my most serious letter to my parents to tell them I would study here and not follow them in New York； the one who pushed me away from the famed industrial design school“Ateliers St-Sabin” and guided me that morning in the narrow street of rue Bourg Tibourg … the first day of the rest of my life， there she stood， my Chinese girl， luminous， captivating.
　　Never， NEVER （I was so shy） had I talked to a girl first - especially the first day and the first person to be there. I was being pulled towards her like a beam of an alien spaceship， looked straight at her and said：
　　“Hello， are you from China？”


　　从莫斯科到北京1973 夏
　　我出生在瑞士伯尔尼。当时正值20世纪70年代中期，冷战正处于最紧张的时刻。那时的纽约还是一座疯狂的城市，大银幕上放映的是《星球大战》，苹果公司还在车库里创业维艰。和大家通常所认为的瑞士人都是含着金钥匙出生的想法不同，我的家庭背景并无亮眼之处。我的爷爷是名火车司机，我的父亲则是白手起家凭着自己的辛劳自力更生。或许我是从母亲这边遗传到了一些艺术特质。父亲一辈子都在为瑞士航空公司工作，早年间还曾被派往国外担任全球业务的管理职位。这也是为什么我会成为一名“un enfant du voyage”—“环球旅行家的儿子”。我觉得这其中最美妙的事情是，我相信1972年和1973年这两年不仅决定了我的生日（5月1日），还极大地影响了我之后的命运。当时我的父母正在俄罗斯莫斯科任职，那时他们还曾去过北京。
　　加纳 阿克拉1976-1980
　　我估计大多数孩子都不会记得自己蹒跚学步那几年的事情；但对我来说，生活在加纳那段时间的记忆栩栩如生，就好像是睡前父母讲的童话故事一样。我还记得挂在苏黎世机场大厅里那架巨大的旧飞机，还有从机场大厅检疫部门的窗户望出去时雾蒙蒙的景色。检疫窗口里巨大的针管在等着我们去接种每年所需要的各种疫苗；我还记得飞机上那些令人愉悦的时光：美味的飞机餐、当时来说十分迷人的女空乘、乐高积木和木质玩具！那时坐飞机是多么让人高兴的一件事啊，只不过飞行时间太长了。那时你还觉得世界是如此之大，等待你去探索和发现。
　　那时的西非是一片人间乐土，“黄金海岸”地如其名，加纳人民当时还生活在一片祥和之中，与外国人的关系也相对和谐。在我的记忆里，那里聚集了大量的村庄和部落，每个地方都有自己的语言和代表颜色。我还记得我父母的朋友们有许多是跨种族婚姻，那时的世界对我来说还是个充满友爱的地方。
　　在阿克拉生活的那些年非常令人难忘。我们住在一个有栋两层小楼的大院里，那里大多是国外的外派人员，也住着一些当地的富裕阶层和阿拉伯土著。院子中间有一个很大的红土网球场和一个植被茂盛的热带花园，大院的后面是一个当地的村庄，父母常常告诫我们不要到那里去看热闹。我们常常会听到一些骇人听闻的传言，比如院子里住户养的猫变成了当地居民的盘中餐。
　　非洲大地充满了各种故事、传奇和趣闻，我试图摘录其中一些来讲述我在这里的心路历程，以及那些带给我感动的瞬间。
　　城区
　　-
　　我很少会去市中心我父亲的办公室里，但是有时候我们还是会开着那辆老掉牙的标致504到城里的露天市场逛一逛。路上从车窗往外看，你就能领略到这座城市的喧嚣—到处除了人还是人。人们按部就班从事着自己日常的营生，有修车的，有卖水果的，还有屠户、象牙商、红木木匠、两眼通红的青椒贩子、骑着没有橡胶胎只剩铁轮圈的自行车的人等。货车成群结队，上面载满了货物和人，喷着浓烟、散发着各种味道、有的甚至还少个轮子，每个车头上方都骄傲地贴着一张跟信仰有关的标语。
　　夏天闷热潮湿，正在经历“城市化”的城区到处堆满了红土。在那些“写字楼”中间夹杂着未完工的房子和脚手架，上面画满了手绘的广告标语。
　　机场的候机楼是一座老旧的平房，在那里你经常会看到晚点的乘客在跑道上追赶自己的航班，即使航班舱门已经关闭，飞机还是会停下来，重新打开舱门，舷梯重新被拉过来，捎上晚点的乘客后才重新起跑。送客的人们会在候机楼的房顶上，和自己的乘飞机的亲友挥手告别。为了躲避安检，人们会突然从楼顶把各种纸箱子扔下来给乘飞机的亲友，然后一出“老鹰捉小鸡”的闹剧就上演了：警察冲着来抓人，而抱着箱子的乘客则四散而逃……
　　周末
　　-
　　除了每个星期天难熬的三个小时教堂礼拜时间—通常礼拜开始没多久我就开始呼呼大睡，周末大部分时间我们都是在户外度过的。我在5岁时喝下了人生中第一瓶啤酒，那时我一个人被留在了保龄球场里的啤酒俱乐部里，那时通常父母会把我们留在这种暗藏诱惑却又十分舒适的地方，让我们一觉睡到天黑。周末时到处都在举办泳池派对。那时我还被起了一个新的外号—灌木丛男孩—而之前人们经常会叫我“椅子上的狐猴”“沙发上的猎豹”和“地毯上的毛毛虫”等稀奇古怪的名字。 　　周末还意味着享受海滩游玩的时间到了。我们会在车里塞进尽可能多的人—小孩和小狗会被打发到后备厢甚至前排座位的地板上，然后沿着长满灌木坑洼不平的沙土路开上一个半小时去到海边。很多人用竹子在海滩上搭了临时的小屋。我们搭起吊床，摆上各式各样的烤肉架、米饭沙拉和餐具，当大人们没完没了地玩着桥牌或者打盹时，我们小孩子们则在沙滩上尽情地挖沙子和玩寻宝游戏。非洲的海岸线充满了野性气息，巨大的海浪打起的水花随着海风四处飘散，成排的椰子树高大的躯干倒向了大海的一边，一年又一年地承受着海浪的冲刷。
　　海滩
　　-
　　这个区域的海滩附近有汹涌的暗流（被称作海床刀锋），因此渔民在把渔船靠岸时不得不大费周折，而游泳的人则都是知难而退。一天下午我哥哥和他的朋友们在海滩上玩耍，没多久他们就遇见了“海床刀锋”，强劲的暗流一下子就把他们冲散了，而巨大的海浪声盖住了他们的呼救声。我那时在海岸上盖沙子城堡，后来我的宠物狗Cadi开始朝着他们大声叫了起来，在我还没弄明白发生了什么的时候，Cadi就冲向竹子小屋向大人们求助，大人们闻讯赶来，三个强壮的成年人下水用绳子绑住落水的孩子们才将他们救了上来。这一天小狗Cadi真是立了大功，没有它的话，我哥哥和它的朋友们很可能就会面临溺水而亡或者成为鲨鱼的猎物的悲惨命运。
　　动物园
　　-
　　非洲是一个动物王国—要么你把它们吃掉，要么你被它们吃掉。我姐姐喜欢吃蚂蚁，而红蚁喜欢吃我们在养马场喂它们的大块肉块；蛇会从洗澡间的下水道里爬出来要了人的性命，而我们家的园丁又会把蛇的脑袋砍下来，把蛇皮扒掉给我们做成爬行动物的战利品。我个人最喜欢的地方是阿克拉的动物园：一只身材魁梧的老猩猩守在大门口，但同时又向出入的游客讨要香蕉，如果你把香蕉给它吃了，它就会友好地和你握握手。我们可以随意饲喂和抚摸几乎所有的动物—长颈鹿的围栏实在是太低了，它可以弯下头来让你抱一抱，同时把你的T恤当成食物咬上两口。每次我们从蛇类和蜘蛛馆旁边走过的时候，就会感到全身汗毛倒立—这个馆的墙壁和玻璃上有许多裂缝，让人十分担心里面的蛇和蜘蛛会不会跑出来。最让人感到毛骨悚然的是鳄鱼池，而你必须要经过池上的一座桥才能继续到动物园的其他地方参观。因此这个地方给我带来许多噩梦，很多夜里我都在睡梦里呼喊着父母，让他们来救我，不要让床底下的鳄鱼伤害我，而那些因为屋里的灯光不断拍打着窗户玻璃的果蝠则让这些夜晚变得更加恐怖。
　　兄弟情义
　　-
　　离我们住的美国大院不远有一架苏联直升飞机的残骸，如今这里成了孩子们玩耍的乐园，这些场所也成了我们童年最美妙的回忆。我们必须要发挥自己的创造力和探索精神，而在热带的烈日之下和暴风之中的时光又是如此难忘。那时候绝大多数时间我都是光着上身，我的金发搭配被烈日晒得黝黑的皮肤让许多当地小孩颇为困惑，以至于他们一看见我就想摸一摸我的头发。
　　我在家中排行老幺，那时我也体会到了和哥哥们相处的艰难。那时候我们总是一群各种年龄段的小孩混在一起疯玩。当然年龄小的总是要背黑锅、被欺负或者被人随意使唤。那时候我的膝盖每周最少都要流一次血，通常都是因为骑塑料玩具卡车或者是轮胎没气的三轮脚踏车在颠簸不平、树根盘绕的道路上疾驰时摔破的。有几次我们的保姆不得不花一个小时的时间把我们膝盖擦破时留在里面的碎石子挑出来。
　　很快我哥哥就发现当他故意把我逗哭时我会变得歇斯底里。他觉得这很好笑。有一次我们在一棵巨大的桃花心木上玩耍，通常为了防止蛇或者猛禽的攻击，我们都会随身带着一把小刀和一个哨子。而那时我哥哥又开始故意向我挑衅。我被激怒后开始拿着小刀向他挥去，刀子在他肚子上方把T恤划出一道大口子，因为我们当时骑在树枝上，他并没有什么地方可躲，出于逃生的本能，一眨眼间他一脚就把我踢下树去。而我不偏不倚落在了一棵仙人掌上，我的胳膊、身上和腿上扎满了仙人掌的刺。从那以后我们再也没有这样闹了。
　　这种“灌木丛中的生活”让我们变得更加机警，也更善于处理各种险境。那时的我们就像罗滨孙一样，自由且狂野。
　　魁北克 蒙特利尔1980-1981
　　这一年决定了我一生的命运。
　　想象一下，一个在常年35oC高温地区生活，几乎从不穿上衣的“灌木丛男孩”，突然一下来到冰天雪地的蒙特利尔，会是什么样的感受！
　　蒙特利尔是我第一次对搬家产生了明确的意识，让我明白了失去一些老朋友，认识一些新朋友对我来说到底意味着什么。这种状态将会持续很多年，就像是沙滩上的城堡，你耗费心思将它搭建起来，没过多久就又会被海浪冲刷干净。但当你用心去观察、去发现，好的事情总会发生。首先我发现了电视是个好东西，并开始疯狂地观看卡通片；然后我发现了街头小轮车的魔力，以及每家后院都会有的私人泳池；最后就是《星球大战》的上映和雅达利（Atari）电子游戏机的上市，让小伙伴们相处的时间变得更加有趣！
　　对我来说，学校称得上是巨大，里面什么都有，空调、室内和户外运动场、餐厅、巨大的图书馆，以及一个很棒的电影放映厅。
　　每个礼拜学校会放映一到两部电影。其中一个下午放映的电影影响了我一生的爱情观。当时银幕上播放的是1956年的《风筝》，这部电影讲的是两个法国小孩去中国的故事。我一下子就爱上了电影里的中国女主角，在那之后几个星期的时间里我经常梦到这个女孩。而正是在那个秋天，发生了一件对我一生都会产生重大影响的事件—我的脑海里突然出现了一个想法，就是将来我一定要娶一个中国女孩为妻。同样是那一年，我第一次打开父母书架上一本厚重的书，书里面有许多关于中国的美丽的照片。
　　瑞士 伯尔尼1981-1988
　　如果你长得丑的话，那你一定要风趣；如果你智商不够高的话，那你一定要足够机灵。
　　那些年我的父亲经常在外出差，大部分时间都不在家，而我母亲每天很多时间也都是忙忙碌碌。因此那时候我感觉自己就像是一棵自由疯狂生长的野草。有些人可能会比较喜欢这种状态，但是多年以后我再仔细回顾这些年月的时候，发现父母的缺席一定程度上造成了我缺乏自信的性格，尤其是父亲与儿子之间关系的疏离影响更是巨大，因为父子间关于如何成为一个“男人”的教育是十分必要的。这使得我变得非常害羞，在面对生活中的难题时不得不比别人付出更多的努力。 　　我在学校里曾经一度被人叫作“法国佬”，但好在我还算是风趣幽默，这是消解其他同学欺凌的有力武器之一，当然我哥哥和他的一票朋友们在学校的地位很高，如果有人来欺负我的话，他们则会让对方加倍奉还。
　　尽管伯尔尼被称作是一个双语城市，但实际上瑞士德国裔在这里还是占据了绝对的优势地位。在从学校回家的路上，你必须要保持尊严，不能让别人小瞧你。我父亲的母语是法语，他在德语为主的学校每天都过得非常艰辛，直到自己完全掌握了这门语言。同样，我要面临相同的处境。我通常都是走路或者搭公共汽车回家，汽车站离我家还有五百米的距离，而这短短五百米的路程就像是要穿越战区一样让人紧张。我必须要经过一个大宅子门口的私家花园，而这里平时经常聚集着一群看起来吊儿郎当的不良少年。每天我都要面对这项艰巨的任务：首先要穿过那座维多利亚风格的花园大门，然后藏在一根门柱的后面观察一下前面的道路是不是“绝对安全”，然后再故作镇定地走回去，心里期盼着千万不要和“敌人”狭路相逢。注意，这个时候一定不能跑，不然就会显得过于可疑了。有一次，我的噩梦还是成真了，在半路我遇到了那群小混混，这时我已经没有回头路，只好硬着头皮迎接命运的挑战。其中一个看起来非常混不吝的小孩拽住我的肩膀，两眼死死盯着我—这时我两腿直颤，手心出汗，做好了挨打的准备—然后用浓重的瑞士德语口音抛出了那个让人心惊肉跳的问题：“喂！你这是去哪儿呢？”我强作镇定，脑海里唯一的一句话脱口而出：“回家。我家就在前面不远。”“哦，是吗？走吧，再见。”他说完就让我走了。这件事让我意识到，很多事情并非表面看上去那样，所有事情都有两面。另外就是要学好语言，在很多情况下甚至可以是你的救命稻草。
　　对一个瑞士小孩来说，学校、朋友、兄弟之间的打斗、童子军、夏日湖畔假期和冬天的雪山是生活中的常规配置。虽然享受着良好的教育和清新的空气，但是我还是感觉无聊。因为我已经习惯了热闹的城市生活，这样孤独漫长的时间实在是难以忍受。周末时如果父母不在身边，他们会把我们分别放在祖父母家，通常会轮流把我放在一个地方，把我哥哥和姐姐放在另外一个地方。
　　我的父母是虔诚的天主教徒，受过良好的教育，强调生活中的礼节，平时家里的饭菜也很简单。对一个小孩子来说，这些没什么值得高兴的。好在我的祖父家里有些很棒的旧玩具，比如苏联的金属模型、木头做的拿破仑士兵、石头积木等，更别说花园里还有更多有意思的事情可以做了。到了星期天晚上，高兴的时光结束了，那种令人难以忍受的孤独感重新袭来。祖父有一张躺椅和一张堆满书的小桌子一起放在小阅览室里。阅览室宽大的窗户对着大山，通往城市的道路从山上延伸而来，在这里一览无余。如果父母没有来接我的话，晚饭后我就几个小时地坐在这里；走廊里的大钟表不疾不徐，不停重复着钟摆“嘀—嗒—嘀—嗒”的声音，每过十五分钟就会“咚”的一声报一次时。我就坐在那里，焦急地期待着看到两个圆圆的车大灯的出现—那是我父母那辆Mini Cooper的车灯，看到这两个灯就知道他们回来接我了，没有把我一个人扔在这里。时间的流逝从未让我感到如此伤感和沉重。直到现在，我依然对钟表心怀厌恶。
　　巴黎
　　1988-1993
　　暑假前的最后几天传来了一个让人惊喜的消息：我的父亲要升迁去巴黎任职了！“巴！黎！”我们班上的几个女孩子听到后羡慕地大声喊起来。当时我正在收听New Wave& MTV，那个时候电子设备刚刚开始流行起来，柏林墙也即将被推倒。我内心深处其实是非常兴奋的，当时我以为巴黎跟纽约是差不多的，但是我又对需要再次转学有一些焦虑。
　　然而事实证明，巴黎并不是纽约，文化革命并没有太多地影响或者改造这座城市。第一次跟新同学见面时，我显得非常“老土”。他们大多是一些“见怪不怪”的年轻人—或许是由于过早接触社会，或许是因为任性，他们对待世界的态度相当冷漠。许多人的父母是69年文化运动之后重新组建的家庭，还有些是右翼资产阶级或精英社会主义分子。我花了很长时间才“融入”这种法国文化，开始了解文学、时尚以及过度精英化的教育模式。
　　但是巴黎算得上是世界上最美丽的城市，一块建筑与文化的瑰宝。在这里，我对城市生活的渴望才第一次得到满足，在我青春期的尾声，我非常享受这里的时光。巴黎的夜雨也冲刷掉了我第一次心碎时的泪滴。白天我在圣叙尔比斯广场和奥尔赛博物馆的杰作中间幻想着名望与财富，夜里在午夜香槟派对之后，和朋友们在卢浮宫金字塔雕塑脚下迷离徜徉。
　　巴黎一直是给我灵感的缪斯，当我决定写一封最严肃的信，告诉我的父母我将留在这里学习，不会跟随他们前往纽约时，是她在我耳边细语：“不要走。”是她带我走出了久负盛名的工业设计学院Ateliers St-Sabin，又带我走进了狭窄的Bourg Tibourg街巷，在那里我的人生有了全新的开始。走进这条小巷时，前面站着将要改变我一生的中国女孩，神采奕奕，一下子就将我完全俘获。
　　在此之前，我从未，从未主动和女孩搭讪过，尤其是全新的一天中你第一次遇见的一个女孩。然而她身上有着一种魔力，就好像是外星飞船射下来那道光束一样，把我吸引到她的身边。
　　我鼓起勇气，直视着她的双眼，问道：“请问你是中国来的吗？”