The Hunt.

Two weeks into Zürich and the lines in front of number twenty-one Wibichstrasse are fifty persons deep. When the man in charge belatedly shows up with his black canvas planner in hand the mob was confused-some had turned to their mobile phones, others to their cigarettes-we were about to leave. Just two minutes more.

This man then let us into the end building on a row of yellow apartment homes. Flanked on one side by a major highway artery and another by major road construction site, I find it once again hard to believe the turnout. With no pictures of the inside of the apartment on the listing none of us know what we are walking into.

We are led up a narrow, circular flight of stairs in what seems like an old church. Blue laminate covers the renovated staircase, but the banister remains of beautiful jointed wood construction. Our parade stops on the stairs to wait as the man in charge meters the entry.

So hurried is the view of the apartment that almost immediately we are shuffled into it. We soon realize waiting 20 minutes for the man in charge doesn't mean no one is home. A man in his study seems disdained to the belched inspection. Our glimpse of this one seems nice-so we grab an application and file down the narrow stairway past the prospective renters. The lights go out for a moment while we are returning to ground level-Why is it I laugh the hardest at this?

Until next time. Auf Wiedersehen.