Junfraujoch (elevation 3450 feet)
The 90-minute ascent from Interlaken up to the Jungfrau took three trains of constantly narrowing gage to penetrate many tunnels, but it took only a 20-minute gondola ride to descend into Grindelwald on the return journey. Even in this, the off-season, the lookout at the peak was packed with tourists – the smells of noodles and curry dominated and the ever-present shops with their chocolate, watches, and handicraft offerings surrounded us on every level of the spanking new lookout building. Tourists sprawled everywhere, some dizzy in the high altitude. The peaks stared back at us through the ceiling-to-floor glass on all sides—snow-covered, forbidding, even in this early fall. There was not much more to do but stare back, take some pictures, and head downhill. The gondola ride down was marred by rain, and for the first few minutes, we saw nothing as we were above the cloud. As we got through the white stuff, land appeared, aslant. If I do this again, I would ride both ways by gondola, on a clear day.
Bern
As our train to Geneva had to transfer via Bern, we decided to stop there for a few hours to sample the capital city of the country. Finding a left luggage office was a challenge as there was no signage, and automation, especially with Swiss-German instructions, was even more challenging. Finally, a uniformed railway worker directed us to a massive office on the other side of the station where you had to take a number to get service.
Bern is a showcase city, national capital, and canton capital all rolled into one. The old city burned down in a fire in the 14th century, so everything was rebuilt to a plan, in stone – unusual for medieval cities that evolve haphazardly. Here, there are long straight streets with standardized housing. Great care has been taken to document the evolution of the city and place it within the history of Switzerland in showcases and exhibits all over. And the Neo-Renaissance Federal Palace (parliament) building has a commanding presence – take lots of pictures of it.
Geneva
Train PA announcements switched from German to French as we neared Geneva, and on our side of the track, terraced vineyards rolled down to Lake Geneva that ran parallel to us until we arrived in the city that sits at the head of this fabled lake of the rich and (in)famous.
The order and method of the German side of Switzerland gave way to a more casual, laissez-faire look. And there were beggars here, like in most global cities today. The population is also more heterogeneous. Then I realized that Geneva is the home of the UNHCRA, which I later visited, where the refugee is welcome to knock at the front door and enter if seeking protection.
The waterfront is a grander one than Lucerne’s, though similar in shape, and seems to be overrun by advertising. All the mansions bordering the narrow lake mouth sport luxury brand neon signs. I guess, street addresses are unnecessary. “I live in the Hermès building” should suffice, for it glares back at you from wherever you are on the waterfront, as do its neighbours with their competing logos.
Judging from the tale of the Duke of Brunswick who donated his whole fortune (SFR 24 million) to the city if they would build him a monument in a prominent place on the waterfront after he died (the city obliged with one next to the Beau Rivage Hotel where the duke spent his last days, but for only SFR 2 million), this city must have been (and probably still is) the hideout of many dissolute millionaires with secrets.
I took the tram to the Nation stop to see the UN building but never did. It was Sunday and raining. And even though I saw Mont Blanc in the distance and the UNHRC headquarters, there was no one around to ask for directions, and my phone had lost its WiFi. The place was a ghost town on the weekend. Miserable and wet, I caught the tram back and looked up the UN building on my phone back at the hotel – I had walked the wrong way!
Lausanne
We took a ferry ride down Lake Geneva to its other end and the picturesque hill town of Lausanne. En route we passed other little towns and villages hugging the shores, surrounded by vineyards, with an occasional chateau on the hill. And always, Mont Blanc looked down benignly at us from afar. Cell phones kept jumping back and forth between French and Swiss providers with every veer of the ferry because the other shore was in France.
Getting bored with the slow ferry, we jumped off in the medieval town of Nyon and took a train to our destination – there was nothing to worry about – that magical Swiss Pass could get us on any form of transport. I didn’t push my luck with taxis, though.
Lausanne is one big hill, even a mountain, with streets ringing it. Check your heart and knees before climbing, and if in doubt, there are elevators at strategic places to take you up to various levels. At the summit is the famed Cathedral Notre Dame offering a commanding view of the city and the lake. But before you begin your climb make sure to visit the Museums Beaux Art, Design, and Photography (not all three may be open at one time – we got to visit only the latter two) – also accessible with that magical Swiss Travel Pass, located at lake level. One exhibition – The End of the World – where an organization known as “The Preparers” are gearing up for the end of the world—was chilling. This fringe group, numbering 23 million today, have on display all the items you need for survival should civilization collapse.
The “Cathedral” was gothic Catholic, built in the 12th century, and was another acquisition by those wily Protestants – this one too pricy to be returned. Thus there are no candles, no statues, and an open altar where tourists traipse around. Its world-beating feature is the massive pipe organ that hangs over the entrance and which was being played during our visit. I noticed that certain pews were reversed so that the faithful could turn and watch the organ performance while the priest offered mass behind their backs.
On our last morning in Switzerland, as we sat in the hotel lobby, waiting for a break in the rain to dash across the street to the station for our train to Paris, I reflected on our trip and observed the denizens passing through: millennials checking in for a conference, worried and chattering about changes of clothing for the grand opening, their presentations, who they were sharing rooms with – inane things that I worried about eons ago during my corporate life that are now inconsequential; the journeymen consultants sitting with their solitary coffee cups, staring into laptops—a more recent occupation of mine—also inconsequential now. Travelling in retirement is fun, all I had to do was worry about the rain and getting to our train on time. Then a crazy flower-power woman in her sixties breezed in off the street, wet but brassy, and asked my wife for a light for her cigarette, and got affronted when told that we didn’t smoke. She breezed out again looking for a fellow smoker. Ah, this was more my type, I thought, even though I don’t smoke. Eccentric, unfashionable, irrelevant, but sassy, and with a lifetime of stories stored in our heads. This trip had just added a pile more to the load.
