Sunshine and Snow in Switzerland…

London, a yellow-grey, clammy cold. Cloud, like heavy piles of damp, seeping cardboard. But the holiday week I had booked last November was coming around and Switzerland beckoned. I searched in the back of the cupboard for our walking boots. John’s finally came to light and looked still serviceable. Annoyingly, mine seemed to have disappeared, so I ended up having to buy another pair in Kensington High Street, along with some very comfortable socks, padded in all the right places. The latter were on offer, two for one. I found our ‘nordic’ walking poles lurking somewhat dustily behind the hot tank. Mine just fitted into my case diagonally – for some unknown reason, John’s didn’t, so he put them in his knapsack.

I don’t know Gatwick very well but was geared up to loathe the time I spent in it. Things started badly. John was told that he couldn’t take his walking ‘poles’ on the plane and petulantly offered to donate them there and then to whoever wanted them. ‘I will sort it out’, I said authoritatively, putting on my neutral, no worries, pleased to see you face. The man at the desk smiled back, looking relieved to be shot of ‘grumpy man’, reluctantly going on holiday. Later, I pointed out the sealed rubber stops on the ends at the x-ray – no sharp points whatsoever to skewer people with. Eventually, they were accepted. Much later, in Switzerland, the local sports shop showed me how to unscrew them in half for the journey.

For the record, Gatwick South Terminal was distinctly uncrowded and we got on to our ‘flybe’ propellor plane without hassle. These planes are like buses and work really well for a smaller number of passengers not going very far. And the staff were well organised and pleasant. So no complaints about Gatwick this time round!

I brought three books with me, two by Paul Theroux. I realise I am a big fan of travel writing from an individual’s point of view. But not every individual. I like Paul Theroux’s insatiable curiosity which must be linked to his perseverance plus love of a challenge in the often dire situations that come his way. Given that, he never seems to take the easy route but he does justify this by saying he prefers to travel alone, so he doesn’t have to think about the other person’s needs that he’s with. I understand that so well but I would get lonely at times – he does too – I would also need a better class of bed for peace of mind. He doesn’t mind flea ridden, flyblown lodging houses. He even revels in them. But I’m happy to experience them only as a voyeur through the pages of his books, as he is both good at description and conveying atmosphere. And there are one or two luxury sojourns too, especially on boats. He’s very good at fitting into whatever the circumstances offer – no stars to five stars – low life to high life – and there’s no holding back on the frustrations of travel in general, whatever the level. All that is grimy and wretched is held up to the light and described in joyous detail. This last trait of Theroux travel tales definitely put me off ever visiting some places that I might have considered before but also made me appreciate the good times I’ve had. It’s sobering to see the reality of your dream even though you might have guessed about the rubbish on the beach, the no go areas, etc.

I also like his general knowledge of history, coupled with his perceptively ironic descriptions of how people manage, or mainly don’t manage, their daily existence. He doesn’t have the mind of a historian but fitting in both historical and up to date facts around seedy tales of the underbelly of life in various countries adds a piquant taste for learning why we are as we are and why history explains quite a lot of it. Life is not the utopia of the travel brochures, even though we might long for it to be so and Paul Theroux bursts that bubble, somehow without casting us into eternal gloom and doom.

I like his general take on things, even though I sometimes find myself quite at odds with him. He can be arrogant and infuriating but he has the supreme advantage of not being boring. By the time I got home again, I’d travelled round the coast of Britain and the Mediterranean, mostly enjoying his company, getting tetchy at times, as well as making off to have ‘time out’ in a ‘speakeasy’ Dashiell Hammett crime detective novel. I was minded to buy it partly because the author’s name appealed. Over the week, I also managed to acquire some fabulous photos and the forthcoming travel brochure tells no lies whatsoever!

Planes with propellors fly lower than jets and it was fun to look out over the miniature map of Europe. As I had a window seat, this kept me busy and content. Bern airport is tiny and onomatopoeically named Belp. There is one small glass walled café, so you can keep an eye on the comings and goings of the planes, which look like friendly hover flies buzzing good humouredly around the airfield.

Some kind of transport was meant to be meeting us outside and driving us the forty minutes to Kandersteg. Cases having arrived in double quick time, we walked expectantly out of the exit and there was a white minibus waiting. And that was where chaos began and my French and rusty German came to hand. Eight of us were all going to the same hotel but there was one too many for the minibus and to boot, as it were, the driver couldn’t fit in all the cases. He stood there, a crumpled figure, completely bamboozled.

Next, a taxi driver joined the fray and offered his services. I explained to him in German that we had already paid for the bus ride, it being included in our hotel reservation, so we didn’t want to pay again. The minibus driver spoke French. I translated between him and the taxi driver. Impasse. Finally, I asked the French driver to phone the hotel for instructions, which he should have done himself in the first place.

Meanwhile, a typical tiresome, pipe smoking, middle Englander had managed to leap on the minibus like lightning and was now waving his ticket around, grumbling ‘not good enough’ and insisting on his rights. I ignored him. The French driver, not filling one with any confidence, suddenly began to order the Englishman off the bus. John and I decided enough was enough. We would rather wait for forty minutes for a replacement car than continue with this farce. We then watched with relief as the jalopy and its inmates juggered off into the far distance. Best decision we thought, as we sat in the café with a warming cup of hot chocolate. Forty minutes later, Vorsprung durch Technik came through the door to our five star rescue! It was the owner of the hotel himself who had turned up and we purred off in the luxurious comfort of a large Mercedes to The Victoria Ritter hotel. Things were looking up again!

This personal service inevitably cheered John’s blue mood. The hotel was an old Post House. The whole place had a hospitable and welcoming feel as you walked through the front entrance out of the snow and into comfort and warmth. I felt I had made a good choice as I looked out of our window at the immensely high, snow covered mountains close at hand. And dinner was yet to come…

The Swiss are very good at preparing crisp, fresh, mixed salads. And that was what we started off with, helping ourselves to a mix of green leaves, radicchio, rocket, mange-touts, tomatoes, cucumber pickle, sweet corn, grated celeriac in mayonnaise, sweet carrots, grated onion, beetroot, beans, pumpkin seeds and sultanas. While John was helping himself to a few croutons I sneaked in some tiny morsels of bacon… and chose one of the three dressings.

This was followed by roasted salmon, balanced on an onion confit with steamed fennel and boiled new potatoes. An Argentinian Malbec wine turned out to be a great choice and dessert was various cheeses accompanied by grapes and figs, a juicy tangerine and walnuts.

Exceptionally plump, light coloured and juicy walnuts, it must be said!I noticed that the waiters seemed to be able to speak in German, French, English and Italian. Our waiter hailed from Portugal. He said it was important to speak lots of languages here and I noticed that the owner of the hotel was fluent in English but as well as Swiss, he spoke in Italian and French, switching back and forth as smoothly as skiing down a mountain piste. Why are we as a nation so reluctant to learn to speak other languages? I can’t help but feel that it puts us in a bad light with other countries. Even if you think that there’s no need to learn anything but English because it’s the dominant universal language, that could change. I also read that learning another language could stave off dementia . I wonder if a study has been done on the EU countries? Or people who do/don’t speak more than one language? Pause for thought! The dinner was very good…

Replete, I began to feel waves of weariness surging through me but had to go and check out the heated indoor pool on the way upstairs. It looked deliciously enormous, inviting and tranquil. Not a soul to be seen. There was an old fashioned glass cabinet by the door, full of freshly laundered, lavender coloured towels and I thought I would be up first thing in the morning to try it out.

At supper, John suddenly noticed the unpleasant man who had insisted on his rights at Bern airport. He was sitting with his back to us. Perhaps we will have an Agatha Christie type murder in the hotel in which he gets his comeuppance, skewered on a ski stick! I go to sleep, dreaming of giant snowflakes falling upon me as light as the feather duvet I am snuggled under for the night. I am so seduced by comfort!

I woke early. The swimming pool was open at 7am, so I tiptoed down in the white towelling dressing gown I found in the wardrobe. Joy – I had it all to myself. Snow was falling outside and I found it very therapeutic to swim in a warm pool with glass walls giving views onto the mountain peaks. John was still asleep when I got back but on waking his ‘black dog’ had lifted and we enjoyed breakfast of birchermuesli and fresh fruit salad with black coffee, juice, and rolls with homemade marmlade and blackberry jam.

It was snowing quite heavily as we set off on a walk towards the end of the valley. Kandersteg is surrounded on all sides by high mountains and the end of the valley is impassable except for the train, which carries both cars and people through the Lôtschberg tunnel. That is, unless you take the cable car up the mountain and walk over the Gemmi Pass, then take another cable car down to Leukerbad, which would take almost the whole day. The air was fresh and the deep snow everywhere lent a muted silence to the landscape. I liked being here and felt in my element.

We passed people ‘landlaufing’ silently through the trees – like watching an old-fashioned, silent film. Somebody came by on a horse, its hoofs muffled. A snow plough came up behind us and left a path which we just followed. John came upon two tiny igloos on a hummock. The cable car at Sunnbuehl takes you right up over the mountains and you can walk on to the Gemmi Pass and take another cable car down to the spa town of Leukerbad on the other side of the mountains. It’s an all day walk, for us at least, and we needed better weather to attempt even a part of it.

Although the sun had been trying to peer through the clouds, heavy mist now came rolling in, the sky darkenened and the snow started again in earnest. So we turned tail back to the village in the hopes of lunch in the cosy Ritter bistro.

My nose was an unbecoming red but it was worth it striding back, enormous snowflakes battering our faces and the mountains all around blanked out by curtains of grey mist.

Lunch was followed by a snooze. Then some reading. Paul Theroux paints a rather devastating but amusing picture of the country by the sea. He lists a selection of names he comes across. Here are a few of them. Cockpole, Mould, Witherslack, Trubshaw, Gussage, Doggett, Puttock, Spackle (call me Ida), Wheeker, Custis, Shottery and Crapstone. A delightfully motley crew showing how mongreloid the English language is. There was just time for a swim before dinner to trounce that delicious but hip enhancing Swiss rösti. We are sleeping well here.

We woke up to brilliant sunshine and looked forward to seeing some friends who were coming over from Basel for the day. John has managed to get a ‘Guardian’ newspaper, which waits invitingly for him at the breakfast table. I had the pool all to myself again at 7.00 am but have yet to introduce John to its delights! The sun was shining on the snow, which twinkled like a million diamonds. I could feel the clear air like icicles crackling through my veins.

With a Japanese friend, we took the cable car up to the frozen lake, the Oeschinensee. We had lunch sitting outside at the small café overlooking the lake, while watching a fisherman, who had dug a hole through the thick snow and ice and was intent on catching what I would imagine to be very cold trout! I don’t usually drink beer but it’s just the thing to have in a tall glass while breathing in mountain air and capturing that pétillant feeling. I feel I have the eyes of a hunter with twenty twenty vision and the spring of youth in my step. Being high up in the mountains gives me a buzz of high octane energy. I know what it feels like to get a ‘second wind’. I like it and I want more!

At dinner we talked with Makiko about her life in Switzerland and her family in Japan. As ever, the Blackberry made up the party of four but passed on dinner. There is Wifi in our room, which it obviously prefers as nourishment and is generally advantageous in keeping the status quo in equilibrium… I keep my personal feelings to myself! At some future point technology will be able to read our minds – but not yet!

The next morning was hopeful – a blue bowl of sky – and after breakfast we got on our walking gear and complete with nordic walking poles, sunglasses and hats we set off towards the Sunnbuehl cable car – a twenty minute walk – passing an enormous ginger cat on the way. We arrived to find there were other walkers and a few skiers and some excited dogs waiting to be transported up the mountain.

It was near there, some summers ago, that we climbed the Lötschenpass with a small group. It’s 2,690 metres high. At one point we had to cross part of a glacier and pull ourselves up over some rocks with iron rings sunk into the mountain. At the top is a small hut, which offers refreshment. I remember being so exhausted when we reached it that I had to lie on my back on the ground for half an hour.

There’s a fabulous view of the Santa Rosa mountains in Italy from there. They look like turrets on a castle, covered with pinkish icing. But reality overtook my dreams and it was a mad scramble to get down the other side of the mountain in time to catch the last train going through the tunnel back to Kandersteg. We just made it and I felt like a monstrous wobbling jelly all evening.

The tunnel is 14.6km long, connecting Spiez and Brig at the northern end of the Simplon tunnel. Its ends are at Kandersteg and Goppenstein. The journey time is approximately twenty minutes and people can travel inside their cars on open carriages. It’s strange to see them for the first time as the train comes out of the tunnel, with the cars and people in full view. I saw a man eating a banana. There is also, opened in 2007, a (second) Lötschberg base tunnel which is 34.57km long. The Swiss rail system is a really amazing feat of engineering.

As the cable car got higher and higher the sun came out and at the top, by the small café, I could hardly believe the beauty of the landscape.

The sun was dazzling and hot on our heads and the sky a deep azure as we started off towards the Gemmi Pass. The path starts on a downward trail for a while before crossing the ski slopes and then evens out into a flat plain. You are always told to beware weather in the mountains as it can change very quickly and dramatically. And so it was. After about an hour, the mist, which had been clustered romantically around the mountain peaks began to swirl down slowly into the valley, which held it like an overflowing jug and within about twenty minutes we could hardly see in front of us. Luckily, the path was well marked and there were a few other walkers. They seemed unperturbed by the enveloping mist. But the temperature was falling fast and we decided to make our way back. I suspect the Gemmi Pass will survive until next time and long after I have gone!

Trying to find your way back without familiar landmarks along a route is quite difficult. However, it was easy to keep to the path here. If you had strayed to either side you would have found yourself flailing in deep drifts. I can imagine the danger of snow blindness and the panic that follows when you believe yourself lost. We trudged on doggedly, watching ghostly figures disappear and reappear from time to time until finally, at the top of the hill, the café hove into view. And a hot glass of glühwein was quickly followed by another. And I felt a warm sensation of satisfaction and love of my fellow companions, including the big dogs sitting under the tables.

We are over half way through the week already. I wish I had this swimming pool at home. Swimming every day makes such a difference to my flexibility and energy levels. Of course, it’s utter luxury to have this beautiful pool to myself every morning. John has come once to date. He doesn’t seem to be very rapturous about it though. Afterwards, I stretch out on one of the loungers and relax in the warm air for a few minutes. Complete bliss!

John wanted to do some work the next day, so I decided to do a walk on my own. I passed some outlying farms, trying to ignore the large hounds that snarled through the railings. It was a slightly overcast, damp day but I was in no hurry.

This last photo is of a small stream running through a field but it very much reminded me of an installation at the Tate Modern some years ago called ‘Shibboleth’. A huge crack, wide enough to fall into, stretched the length of the Turbine Hall and was very dramatic.

On my way back I came upon this cat. Her name is Hausfrau. She is not amused and would not like to be my friend on Facebook. Miaow. Well, you can’t win them all.

I found such a pretty path by the river that I had to go back with John the next day. And there was one more long walk before we left – to the Blausee.

And then it really was the last day and we crossed the railway line and went to the Blausee through the forest.

Many years ago, huge rocks bounced down the mountainside and the one behind John is wedged into the bank but many fell even further into the river below. They are an awesome sight. The path through the forest was very picturesque but it was easy to slip on the ice. Later on, we had to pick our way along a frozen muddy track, walking in the deep ruts. We came upon an enormous ant heap which was very active. I remember finding lots of them by the side of the path walking up from Grütschalp to Mürren in the Berner Oberland, which is only a mountain range or two from here.

My feet had started to hurt because of my new boots rubbing a bit but the walking poles came to my rescue. They also take a lot of pressure of the knees, especially when going downhill. And that means you can walk for longer! But we did sit down and have a welcome bar of chocolate too and I was very relieved when we finally got to the Blausee. It is a small lake, hidden like a crystal blue turquoise jewel glinting deep in the forest. It apparently never freezes and is packed with trout, who are no doubt delighted by its magical properties – until they are eaten in the picturesque restaurant overlooking the clear water.

We followed a winding path through the woods, ever onwards, stumbling over vast tree roots and then suddenly the lake was there in front of us.

If the above photo was a painting, it would probably have been done by a travelling artist in the 1800s. It has that old fashioned feel about it. Yet look below at the photos of the trout and the water. I just thought that if I was a painter they would make stunning abstract paintings! I owe the phrase ‘crystalline streams’ to Shelley’s poem ‘Ode to the West Wind’ and Coleridge’s poem Kubla Khan also came to mind as I looked into the clear depths of the Blausee.

There’s a story of a beautiful girl who died of a broken heart here and her memory is kept alive by a submerged statue in the lake.

We explored a bit further and then sat on a large striated boulder for a while, watching the trout who cleaved through the water, looking like mini submarines. In the light they shone red gold and in the shadows they lurked, sinister black silhouettes. It made me think of biomimicry and how fascinating that whole field of science is.

At one end of the lake there was an old wooden hut which seemed to be full of gardeners’ tools but on one side of it there was a big window and this is what it held. It was an extraordinary sight.

I looked across at the restaurant and wondered if it was open and whether we could become trout eating monsters. We could and we did and they were delicious.

It would have been a long walk back through the forest and so I decided that taking the bus back to Kandersteg was a better bet. As this was our last day I used up the last of our Swiss francs paying for lunch. On arrival, we had been given ‘free’ bus passes at the hotel and I thought we could use them now. I felt I had done well, choreographing the last day to perfection, with the help of the weather.

The bus arrived on time (naturally) and I presented our ‘passes’. Disaster! They were not for this bus apparently and I didn’t have quite enough money left for our fares. John, in proper English mode, got off the bus immediately, somewhat horrified and dismayed that I hadn’t the wherewithal to pay and moreover, we were holding up the bus. ‘Verwünscht’! ‘Was für Unglück’, I managed to say. The driver looked at me. I looked crestfallen. He smiled. “Special price, six francs”, he said in English, looking at the meagre coins in my hand. John was persuaded to get back on the bus. It wheeled its way up the hairpin bends, climbing the mountain with familiar ease, while I sat in comfort, thinking how dreadful it would have been to walk all the way back. The bus stopped right outside the hotel.

It’s good to record and remember small kindnesses. That is the sort of thing that stretches across cultures and is the clue and glue to getting on with one’s fellow human beings. And Kandersteg will have many happy memories for me, rounded off by this one, which will make me want to go back. ‘Thank you, driver’, as all the old ladies of Barnes say, when they get off the 209 at Hammersmith. And it probably brightens the driver’s day!

It was a good week, just relaxing in a beautiful landscape and in the comfort of a welcoming and hospitable hotel. It’s true that exercise lifts your energy levels. Next morning we were transported back to Belp and the transition to home was seamless. All had gone to plan. And what hadn’t, was satisfactorily sorted!

END ENDE FIN FINE