I awake groggy from a late night of too much internet. But Owen is his usual cheerful self as he crawls into bed with a smile. George and Owen shower while I pack and then we go downstairs to partake of breakfast.
It appears that the only difference between a German breakfast and a Swiss one is the soft, spreadable cheese assortment., The coffee is pretty terrible but we manage to drink quite a bit, then check out. The porter, much to Owen’s delight, zips us to the train station in a little mini electric taxi. The journey today to Gimmelwald, high in the Swiss Alps, will be a complicated one. We’ll ride four different trains, a bus and then a cable car to reach our destination. We start though riding the same train we rode yesterday, this time heading back down the valley to Visp.
Our train is late and we end up having to hustle to reach the next one. We’re pros by now though, even Owen, and we sprint through the station. Down the stairs, then up the stairs. I continue to be frustrated by the frequent inconvenience of long staircases leading up to each platform, accessed by a lower level corridor. It seems to make little sense for the purposes of rail travel, especially since most people carrying heavy luggage and wheeled bags. This practice is common though in Europe, even in major rail stations. Everytime I heft a bag up 20 or 30 steps with 2 minutes left to catch the next train, you can bet I’m muttering something about ramps under my breath.
From Visp, we ride a train to Spiezl and then catch a very nice, modern IC train to Interlaken. This leg of the trip is beautiful as the route winds along the lake. We inadvertently sit in the 1st class quiet area though and Owen ends up feeling discouraged by our frequent admonishments.
The next train, our last, is a small private line that runs up to Lauderbrunnen from Interlaken. We’ve begun the journey form the lakeshore and are now moving inland to the Alps, where the low country becomes lushly green and quaint villages quickly give way to farms. The mountains rise up so abruptly in this valley that it’s difficult to see their tops without laying on the floor and craning upward.
In Lauterbrunnen we take a bus that will bring us to the cable car up to Gimmelwald. This is where the view gets fantastic. Huge waterfalls cascade down the mountain cliffs and the valley closes into a narrow wedge. Before we know it, we’ve arrived and need to purchase tickets for the cable car. We’re the last to board the huge car, perhaps 40 or more people crammed in like sardines. It;s a short ride and when we step from the platform, I quickly realize I’m in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen or imagined.
I remember watching Rick Steves show on the Alps and Gimmelwald, where everything looked so picturesque and perfectly charming that it inspired us to come despite the cost. But I will say frankly that I had no idea it would look like this.
Gimmelwald is nothing but a hamlet, a few clustered farms, that have the luck of being situated halfway up the mountainside in the Alps or Jungfrau region. It has three or four B&Bs, one restaurant, and one hostel. Gimmelwald is traversed by hiking trails and most people prefer the nearby village of Murren for its conveniences. But for beauty it’s no contest. It’s Gimmelwald. When we scan the view, it’s initially hidden by clouds. A few minutes later I look again and am dumfounded by the enormity of the mountains. There’s not alot of sky here in Gimmelwald. It’s all green pastureland and towering, snowy peaked Alps. The tumbling glacier waterfalls are so near, they seem to touch your face with mist. The quiet of the place is disturbed only occasionally by a cow bell or helicopter flying overhead. Beyond some farm equipment, there are no cars in Gimmelwald.
We prepare for a long, uphill walk down the only street the place boasts, but find our guesthouse is actually within spitting distance of the cable car platform. While reception seems to be closed, there’s a note on the door addressed to me that says where our room is and that we can check in later, as we like. We ascend the stairs, leaving our shoes and donning slippers as instructed by signs on the second level. When we reach our assigned room, the key is in the lock.
We have the “loft” of the house and likely the largest room. Sloped, exposed beam ceilings, windows facing that tremendous mountain view edged by country curtains and three little beds in a row under the eaves, like Goldilocks and The Three Bears, thick with down comforters. This is a modern place though with wifi and a flat panel TV that has satellite. Downstairs is a large communal kitchen and dining area, and a porch filled with comfortable chairs, tables and thick blankets to ward off the chill night air.
After unpacking a bit, we take a stroll around the village. Almost every place sells Alp Cheese, or “AlpenKase” and we see several cows and goats. Owen is eager to get back to a playground he saw when he first got off the cable car, with one of those long, twisty slide like the one in Salzburg. We take him back to it and he plays vigorously, climbing up, sliding down and then doing it all over again.
He’s disappointed when we insist on leaving to go get some late lunch. We find though that the restaurant is closed and instead snack and then sit on the porch, reading and writing. Owen and George go back to the playground after awhile and soon enough, it’s dinner and check in time.
We discover that Esther of Esther’s guesthouse is actually away for the weekend. The check in process is very informal and is done by a woman who helps around the house. She leads us down to the shop, where we buy eggs, cheese, sausage and butter as well as some yogurt for Owen. The “shop” consists of two mini fridges and a couple of half shelves in a room the size of our bathroom.
We out our food in the communal fridge, then cross the street to the bar/ restaurant. The menu is limited but has some variety. Owen opts for french fries while George and I have more adult fare. We start with a mushroom soup in thick stock, with several types of shrooms and onions. I follow the soup with a vegetable penne & spinach regata, while George has a pork sandwich that’s juicy and layered with tomato, lettuce, pickles and sauce. Owen, during the meal, has gotten quieter and quieter and complains of being tired. Before dessert, which is plum cake and hot chocolate, he’s dropped off to sleep in my lap.
I carry Owen to bed where he sleeps fitfully until 9, then wakes up briefly. George and I make tea, post pictures and play scrabble, then hunker down under the warmth of our comforters.
