Your experience of culture shock in Switzerland

My biggest shock was - that even in 3000 USD a month expensive apartments, people use "shared washing machines" in the basement. If you miss your time slot for washing your cloths, you may have to wait for a full week

The second shock was that they don't have a sophisticated public transport payment system.
Some emerging markets like Thailand are ahead of Zürich.
There is no electronic pay as you go system around.

I'm not sure there is enough time in the day nor enough diplomacy within me to answer this important question without doing an injustice to the country I've grown to respect (though not LOVE) over the past six years.  Living in Switzerland brings me face to face with culture shock almost every day.  I have never lived anywhere where people love to LECTURE as much as here.  In the course of a single day I'm lectured about biking on the sidewalk (yes, it's dangerous biking along a section of road where the buses take up more than even the entire lane given to them, thereby effectively wiping me off the road if I didn't get off the street ... and I'm told that I'm in the wrong line when I'm at a check out counter.  Last Saturday, which happened to also be my birthday, I went to Aigle by train and rented a bike and happily biked up a hill to visit the local chateau.  When I got there I realized there was a lovely restaurant and I asked whether I could have lunch. The manager declined me and said that they were "complet";  I asked if there was any way they could possibly fit me in, and he said no.  When leaving I went to use the WC, but the same manager came out of the kitchen to inform me that it was FOR CLIENTS only.  This was flabbergasting!  To have biked up from the station (I'm almost 60 years old) and to be told after having been disappointed and turned down for a single place for lunch that I couldn't use their facilities was pretty much the "nail in the coffin."  I hope that no Swiss ever has to endure this kind of humiliation or experience when they visit my country.  I could go on and on.  I would be interested in knowing what you do with these posts.  Thank you.

Geneva is more advanced. You can pay by smart phone seconds before boarding a bus, tram or mouette (boat shuttle).

One of the things that take getting use to when it comes to living in a new country is the food. Forget that you don’t speak much of the language. Forget that some of the rules of the road are different. Forget those looks you get when the nationals find out you are a foreigner. It’s the food. Sure, some of the ingredients that you are use to buying in stores back home are available here, once you figure out what that label is saying but some things just are not readily available. So you try substituting other things in the hopes they work. I remember the first time I tried to buy what is called Swiss cheese back in the states. I walked into the Migros store in my neighborhood and was immediately lost when I tried to find it. Who know there could be so many types of cheese crammed in one location? I looked and looked for Swiss cheese only to finally give up and see if I could find someone that spoke English. That in itself is a task. Okay…I know I’m big…well…bigger than most Swiss people…and that I tend to look a bit intimidating to some, but I’m really a nice guy. Honest! Is that any reason to avoid talking to me when I’m in your shop wanting to buy something?! Anyway, after the usual “No, I do not speak English” replies, (funny how they can always say that in clear and very understandable English) I was finally given over to a young man who looked like he was wishing he had stayed in the stockroom. We were back in front of the cheese section and I told him I was looking for Swiss cheese. The look on his face as he ingested my request and started fighting the battle in his head on what to say became my defining moment of living in Switzerland. “Monsieur,” he said, apparently deciding that I was a mental deficient. “They are all Swiss cheese. ”Yes, cheese became my enemy that day. It was inevitable that something should...but cheese? I have a number of recipes that involve cheese…cheese that cannot be, or maybe it would be better to say have not been, found here in Switzerland. One is extra sharp cheddar cheese. Without it, my mother’s macaroni and cheese recipe just isn’t the same. I’ve tried a number of different cheeses in the attempt to find one that is a good substitute. First thing I learned is that goat cheese will never work…for anything. After some trial and error…mostly error…I found that Gruyere seemed to work best. I just have to cut out the salt and it’s almost as good as if there was cheddar being used.The next time cheese came to battle me was when some friends took me for my first fondue experience in Switzerland. I have come to understand that for most Swiss, tradition is very important. One of my friends here seems to always start any discourse on Swiss things with a phrase I’ve come to dread. “Oh! Now this is very traditional Swiss…” and off he goes. Naturally he was in attendance when we went to Chalet Suisse here in Lausanne for my initiation to fondue, Swiss style. A number of air dried meat platters were ordered for starters and the conversation was focused on me and my fondue experiences from the past. I was given the choice of going with the cheese fondue or with something called Raclette which was served with potatoes. Being that I was there for the “traditional” Swiss fondue I chose that. This choice was met with swift assurances that it was a wise choice and that I would be able to sample the Raclette being ordered by others. I sat back, safe in the knowledge that I was being accepted by these people. Seeing the warmth shining in their eyes as they switched into French to, as I could only guess, comment and heap praise on me for my wonderful selection. Finally! I was no longer the outsider, the foreigner, the one brought to this country to destroy it! Time to order drinks. “Un Coca avec glaçon, s’il vous plaît.” Is it actually possible for time to stop? In any disaster situations I’ve ever seen on the news, survivors always seem to say how at the moment the tornado stuck, the train left the tracks or the plane slammed into the ground, time stopped for them. Everything slows down. Seconds ticking by seem like hours. That’s the way it was for me after ordering a Coke with ice. All the goodwill that had been generated by my ordering of the fondue evaporated as quickly as I imagine the alcohol in kirsch does when it hits the bubbling cheese in the fondue. Conversation came to a halt not only at our table but at the ones immediately surrounding us. I watched as the waiter clutched at his chest trying to fight off an emanate heart attack. The elderly lady seated at the table next to me did a graceful slide from her chair as she fainted. I’m not sure if it was my imagination but I seem to remember that two Swiss dogs at a neighbouring table started to howl in despair. Finally the flow of time returned to normal and I was faced with shocked faces laced with extreme concern. Didn’t I know that one should never drink cold beverages with fondue? Did I have a death wish? Why, the cheese will turn to stone and block all of my bodily functions!! I would face a horrific and extremely painful stomach ache at the bare minimum. I started to explain that back in the states that is what I always had to drink with fondue…well Pepsi anyway…and it had never bothered me…nor anyone else I knew. Then I stopped. What would be the point of trying to explain all of that to them? I was the foreigner here. Tradition held that I drink hot tea or white wine. There were no other options in the minds of my table mates. Yielding to peer pressure is something that I had never done, even as a child. Yet now it was necessary if I was to leave the restaurant alive. I made my apologies to the entire restaurant; made sure the waiter was okay, helped revive the elderly lady at the next table and rolled onto my back in a submissive attitude to the Swiss dogs…then ordered hot tea.

I hoofed back from California two blocks of sharp cheddar just for my cooking. ..my cheese search here was similar to yours when I first moved here.

Oh dear, I have to laugh reading of the culture shocks experiences.   I lived in Switzerland for four years and swear I was on a 'hit list' for deportation for my many inadvertent transgressions!    Putting the wash line in the 'wrong' hole outside on washing day and every movement being monitored.  I remained an outsider/foreigner for the duration of my stay and especially missed the laid back life style and easy friendships was used to back home. I return to Switzerland on the odd occasion to visit my daughter who lives there and though I appreciate that the "system" works, I could never live there again with must-do and can't-do and the whole verboten lifestyle.