We’ve kept our windows thrown open to Florence’s night air and awakened surprised by the relative quiet. After dressing, we join the crowd in the breakfast nook. The custard croissants are delicious but we’re disappointed by the espresso & juice machine. Nescafe? Nein.
After settling the bill, we’re right on time at the train station. We’ve discovered though that Owen has misplaced a gift we bought for someone yesterday at one of the stalls in the street market. I decide if I go alone, I have a chance of finding a replacement in time to make it back for the train. Grabbing a 50 Euro note, I sprint through the early morning streets of Florence and down a back alley. The market is just beginning to open at this hour and vendors are pulling open their awnings and placing their goods. I’m lucky enough to find the exact same stall and the same leather bound journal in an identical color. I make it back to the station in plenty of time, just as our platform is being assigned and the train is rolling in.
Although we’re in first class and have seats facing each other at a table, there is someone else sharing our section. It’s not long before Owen’s fidgeting and boisterousness drives him away. This high speed train from Florence to Milan is not as difficult or irregular a journey as the one we took from Rome.We relax in relative comfort and Owen works on puzzles, listens to music, and eats as many complimentary cookies as he can manage to get his hands on.
The plan was to have as much as an hour in Milano to grab lunch and then make the train to Brig, Switzerland. This doesn’t happen as the train from Florence ends up being nearly 45 minutes late. We end up sprinting to make it on board, hungry and displeased with our reservations which place us in a packed first class compartment. We quickly identify another empty one and move so Owen can stretch out.We all end up napping off and on and the train arrives just a few minutes late to Brig.
The train we board to Zermatt is startling clean and modern, with enormous windows to compliment the Alpine view. We’re alone in first class until after the first stop, when the conductor arrives to inform us that though the Swiss rail website identifies this as a regional line, it is a private one and our Eurail passes aren’t valid here. We end up paying for tickets but move to second class, where the fare is cheaper and the views just as lovely.
This is a winding journey through alpine meadows, dotted with Swiss farming chalets that seem to have stepped right out of the pages of “Heidi.” The mountains here are rugged, high and densely forested with lush green firs. There’s a river gushing through the valley that crisscrosses the tracks several times and seems the most unusual, opalescent shade of aqua.
As we approach closer, the peaks become topped in icy white and wreathed in clouds. Glacier waterfalls tumble down the mountainside. The train chugs slowly up the valley to Zermatt, which lies crouched at the feet of the fabled Matterhorn.
During the train ride we never catch a very clear glimpse of that famed peak, but later we can see it clearly from Zermatt, rising like a jagged thumb. It’s not just the shape that makes it so unusual, but the fact that it towers over every other visible peak. You can ski year round here and many do, making Zermatt one of the most expensive places we’ll visit.
We have a short walk of a block or two on the cobblestone streets to reach the hotel. The receptionist speaks perfect English, and after dropping our bags, she recommends some places to eat. We stroll through town despite the fact that we’re famished. The village is very small, but extremely cosmopolitan with shiek resorts and expensive, swanky restaurants. After several attempts, we finally find a hat and pullover for Owen that doesn’t cost several hundred dollars from a kid’s boutique sale bin. We also hit the grocery store for more travel snacks and to replenish some depleted toiletries. Everything appears to be incredibly expensive, but we’re confused by prices quoted in Swiss Francs (CHF). They take the Euro here but give change in francs as that is the official currency. This is the first country we’ve visited that isn’t based on Euros, so we’re at a loss.
We settle on eating at a restaurant that was recommended as serving traditional “Swiss” food. I’ve got my heart set on having fondue and soup, so that’s what we do. It’s a beef and lamb fondue, served with dipping sauces and pickled vegetables. I was a bit disappointed as I had been hoping for a more traditional cheese fondue or at least some fresh vegetables. Owen, of course, seems quite content with his pizza and some small cars and coloring pencils the waiter gives him.
After our meal, we walk for a bit as twilight falls. We attempt to get crepes at a place we scouted out earlier, but it’s closed. In lieu of crepes, we decide to visit a “chocolate” bar, where we sip homemade dark and white hot chocolates by candlelight. Owen has vanilla ice cream atop chocolate cake, shiny with a thick layer of sweet, cocoa ganache.
The air here in Zermatt is chill and brisk, but sweetly laced with the smells of hickory fires and firs. We leave our windows open once again to get our fill of the mountain air.
