Swiss Oberland Untour, Fall of 1988

by Fay & Len Reisfelt, Walnut Creek, CA

Thursday, September 22, 1988

We were up bright and early today. Len climbed over the side of the tall bathtub and turned on the shower. I heard a crashing noise which I later found was the sound of Len falling out of the tub. He took the whole shower curtain and rod with him. Fortunately, the rod was expandable and went back up quite easily, but one of the curtain loops was broken. We would have to find a replacement. Len was fine - just a little bruised. He's irreplaceable.

After breakfasting on the supplies in the refrigerator - light yogurt for me, bread and cheese for Len - we walked down the hill to the tourist agency and turned in a form that the landlord had given us to sign. In turn, we were given a discount card for many of the local attractions and a lovely certificate stating that a tree would be planted in our honor. This is done for all tourists who stay in the area for more than six days.

We stepped outside and boarded the bus for Thun. A flash of our Swiss Holiday cards was all that was necessary to take care of the fare. What a lovely system.

Who would think we would need a camera on orientation day? We felt utter frustration at not having one with us. Thun is a quaint and beautiful town situated on both sides of the Aare river and on an island in the middle. Arcaded shops of all descriptions line the river banks, and their windows provide enticing displays of sparkling Swiss merchandise. One street consists of tiered shops, the top tier elevated 5 steps above the cobbled pavement. We had a little time before we were to meet for orientation, so we went looking for shower curtain rings, a subject not covered in "German in Ten Minutes a Day." Len kept showing startled Swiss our broken curtain ring, and someone finally understood and directed us to Kyburg, a department store near the river. There, helpful, friendly clerks directed us to the right department, and we were finally able to purchase a package of rings.

It was fun to window shop on our way to the Casa Barbra for orientation. Purses and leather goods appeared to be cheaper than at home, but children's clothing was unbelievably expensive.

We arrived at the restaurant and found our way upstairs to the meeting room. Hal Taussig introduced three members of the staff, and we were shown slides of places we might enjoy visiting. How could you choose? Each one seemed better than the last. Then we tackled the timetables for trains, boats, lifts, and busses. These were contained in two 2" thick paperback books, and the discussion left Len and me feeling very confused.

There was a break for lunch on the wide terrace overlooking the river. The meal was a hearty one, consisting of rolled beef, a root vegetable we'd never seen before, and potatoes. Then we were turned loose to sightsee until our appointment for individual orientation.

We decided to visit the castle of Thun, a fortress built on the highest point in the city. Getting there involved climbing up over 250 uneven stone steps, and it took a lot of motivation. The castle, built around 1180, was celebrating its one-hundredth anniversary as a museum with a special exhibit of Majolica pottery. This pottery is one of Thun's claims to fame and was first made in the town in 1870.

Enclosed by the thick walls and huge ceiling beams, the first floor housed an extensive exhibit of armor including helmets, halberds, longbows, and other weaponry. Then, after we climbed a narrow winding stairway above this "knights' Hall," we found rooms with military exhibits tracing the Swiss armed services as far back as 1800. Hats, uniforms, and weapons were chronologically arranged and interesting to see. Then, it was up another narrow flight to an aerie, the turret, which offered a complete view of the city and surrounding countryside. It was a breathtaking sight - the river rushing through town, homes clustered along its shores graduating to smaller numbers and wider distances apart as they climbed the mountainsides. Terra cotta rooftops stretched on for several miles, lending a feeling of warmth, permanence, and antiquity to the scene. Across the way, modern apartments, terraced up a hillside, were a marked contrast to the ancient buildings.

We made our way down the stairs to the Knights' Hall and continued our descent to the Majolica exhibit, an exhibit that occupied 3 floors. Each floor displayed a different period of the pottery. We first at the early stylized leaves and flowers, and next at the veduta plates. These were distinguished by edges of Majolica design and the centers were oil painted landscapes. Majolica even had an Art Deco period when nature was idealized and romanticized. It was fun to see the changes in styles.

We left the museum and passed a small enclosure that contained two adult goats. Right outside the enclosure, grazing on the plants that bordered the street, a baby goat attracted our attention and that of a Swiss woman passer by. The three of us were quite concerned as the goat seemed to have escaped from the yard and was in danger of wandering away. Len, after unsuccessfully trying to open the locked gate, lifted the goat bodily over the fence and put it in the yard. There, it kicked up its heels and ran excitedly from side to side. We couldn't tell if it was expressing ecstasy or anger. One of the older goats gave us a baleful stare, and the other one chose to ignore the whole scene. The Swiss woman solemnly thanked Len, and we went our separate ways.

Back at the cafe, we met with Hans, a kind and helpful Swiss gentleman, who suggested several wonderful hikes for us to take. He worked out bus and train schedules for a few of them, and we were very grateful. Remembering how easily we always seem to get lost, Len remarked, "I hope they'll send the Boy Scouts after us if we're not back for Sunday's excursion."

We rushed from the meeting to the grocery across the river. It was 15 minutes before closing, and we had to buy ground decaf and cereal as well as paper towels and toilet paper. I could only find coffee beans, and I tried to explain to a non English speaking clerk that I needed ground coffee. After trying valiantly to understand me, she went in search of an English speaking clerk and proudly dragged a woman out of the warehouse. This woman found our coffee for me and told us that the paper goods were upstairs. Len dashed upstairs while I paid for the items in my basket. After paying, one bags his own purchases in Switzerland.

We were walking along the street looking for a restaurant when we met Hal who suggested that we walk along the wanderweg that follows the lake and have dinner at the Chartreuse restaurant at Hunibach. It was a gorgeous walk. The stone lined banks of the lake led past castles, homes, docks, and industrial facilities on the far side. On our side it was bordered by large homes and hotels, and expansive lawns with brilliantly colored flower beds alongside the wide promenade. Many boats were anchored near the shores. Ducks and graceful swans glided through the water, and the mist rising from the river gave the whole scene a dreamlike quality. People strolled along the shores enjoying the early evening air.

The restaurant was quite nice. The hostess thoughtfully seated us at a table in a section with an English speaking waitress. We feasted on green salad, spaghetti with garlic sauce, and beer. Then we walked home, and Len replaced the curtain ring. We sat in the living room and struggled with the timetables to plan tomorrow's trip before going to bed.

Friday, Sept. 23, 1988

We were up and ready early this morning and scurried down the hill to take the 9:00 bus to Beatenbuecht, our first stop on the way to the cheese festival at Justistal. As we passed the lovely villages on the hillsides and the homes on the lake, we were struck by the brilliance of color from flowers cascading from window boxes and massed in planting beds. Though the weather was misty and gray, the blooms imparted an atmosphere of gaiety and warmth and set just the right mood for our day's adventure. The bus was packed with Swiss in hiking clothes, and at Beatenbuecht we exited and followed the crowd to the funicular. Up we went, through a very steep forested gorge, past chalets and meadows to our stop at Beatenberg where a wanderweg sign directed us toward Justistal.

The trail was paved and also served as a narrow vehicle road though two small cars could hardly pass. Swiss people of all ages, walking sticks in hand, kept passing us on their way to the festival, but there was so much to see along the way that we couldn't bear to hurry. As the road gradually ascended we passed old farmhouses, immaculately groomed, with attached barns much as we attach garages to our houses. Chickens were fenced in the yards, and cows grazed in the misty meadows, their bells ringing softly. To our left we could look down the steep mountainside to a view of the far away lake and the towns that dotted its shores. The wake of a passenger boat made a tiny white line on the water.

On our right, steps, carved into the granite, led 3/4 of the way up the mountain where they seemed to dead end abruptly. When I laughed and commented to Len that it looked like the perfect place to say, "Open sesame," the man walking ahead of us turned to laugh and tell us that it was an army installation and that the mountain did in fact open at the top or the steps. At that moment, we heard planes, and we looked down to see 5 or 6 gray fighter planes flying through the fog and clouds that lay over the lake below.

A light drizzle was falling, but as we walked, the sun broke through. Down toward the lake, way below us, a rainbow formed, and we had the mystical experience of watching it from the top. What a reminder that this was the time in our lives where "The dreams that you dare to dream really do come true." The trail continued through three tunnels hewn in the rock, and we emerged just a short distance from the spot where hikers were turning off to the festival. This festival, called a Chasteilet, occurs at the end of summer after the cheese has been aging for as long as 6 months. Several stone and wood storehouses were nestled at the end of a valley entirely surrounded by steep meadowed hillsides. At one side of the little valley stood a row of tented wooden counters where wine, beer, thick slices of rye bread, cheese, wurst sausages, and pastries were offered for sale. The celebrants were seated at long wooden tables sharing food and drink. Yodelers stood in groups, harmonizing, and the music of alpenhorns, played by musicians on the hillsides, bounced off the mountainsides and echoed in delight. People in traditional costumes mingled with others in hiking clothes. There were women in long skirts and striped aprons. Children, laughing and playing, ran through the grass. What a happy healthy looking people. We looked into a storehouse to see the shelves and shelves of aging cheeses. The young woman who made the cheeses stood outside. Her summer was spent in the mountains. The cheese was brought down every day, but this day marked her return for the winter months. We bought lunch and had to try everything. The succulent wurst burst with flavor as we bit into it. The rye bread was fresh and delicious, and the cheese was buttery rich. The pastries resembled rolled turnovers and were filled with a hazelnut paste, and we were too relaxed to even worry about the calories.

We wandered through the crowd listening to the music and taking in the scene. Seedling evergreen trees decorated with artificial flowers of many hues graced tables and trucks alike, adding to the festive air. In one corner musicians with a base viol, 2 clarinets, and 2 accordions played lilting Swiss tunes.

And now it was time for the dividing of the cheese. At each storehouse 12 men formed a line. It stretched from inside the doorway straight out turning on a right angle past rows of boards on sawhorses made to hold the stacks of cheese. The man inside would hand a wheel of cheese to the next man, rolling it edgewise one half turn in the doing. Each man passed the cheese to his neighbor with the same rolling motion, and the last man in line stacked the cheeses in piles of 6 or 7. When all of the approximately 250 wheels of cheese in each shed were out, the man in charge, resplendent in his embroidered short sleeved black velvet jacket and long sleeved white shirt, marked each stack with a family name. Then families began to pick up their shares, carrying cheeses to horse drawn wagons, cars, or farm wagons, and the crowd began to disperse. We hiked back with Don and Jane Garrison, another Idyll couple who were as thrilled as we were to have been at the festival. The hike toward Beatenberg faced the magnificent Niederhorn mountain, towering above us, its peak covered with snow. Standing guard above the village, it lured us with the promise of another day's hike in the mountains of Switzerland.

We met the McCartys, an Idyll couple from New York State, at the funicular, and we rode to the bottom together and ran to get the boat. What a delightful way back as we crisscrossed back and forth to the schifstations at Merlingen, Spiez, and finally to Hilterfingen. The boat was filled with children returning from school and families who had been on excursions. Flowerpots were in the windows, and the ubiquitous geraniums spilled out wherever we looked. We spent our time on the deck enjoying the scenery as the big Swiss flag billowed in the wind, reflecting the pride of its people.

We hiked up the hill to the apartment, washed the cow plops off our boots, and changed our clothes. Then it was off to Hunibach and the Chartreuse restaurant with Stuart and Mary McCarty. We had a lovely evening and a delicious dinner. Len had venison, and I had fish garnished with fruit. The walk home seemed awfully long after our day of hiking, and we fell into bed exhausted.

Saturday, Sept. 24, 1988

We awoke at 10:00 this morning to rays of sunshine sneaking through the drapes. Sure enough, there, framed in the picture windows in the living room, were the mountains towering over the green hills, the villages, and the sparkling waters of Lake Thun. They really exist!

We had some housework to do this morning, and I put the laundry in to wash while we ate breakfast on the patio, basking in the warm sunshine. Down on the lake we could see the colorful sails of the boats from the sailing school plying the waters.

I went to get the laundry out of the machine, but no matter how hard I tried, the door of the machine wouldn't open. Finally, in desperation, I went up and rang the landlord's bell. Mark and his lovely sister came down to see what was wrong. This front opening machine was engineered to stay locked while water remained in it, and I had neglected to turn the switch to the number 13 to make it drain. It was lucky that I hadn't succeeded in getting it open.

We walked along the lake toward Thun, stopping at a market at Hunibach for a carton of delectable looking figs. We asked the girl at the checkout stand where we could find water to wash them, and she offered to wash them for us. Leaving the cash register, she vanished into the back of the store and soon returned with our fruit all washed. We continued our walk, happily feasting on figs.

A voice from behind shouting loudly in English for us to turn around brought us to an abrupt stop. We turned, and sitting on a bench were a man and wife who beckoned us to come over and talk. They were Sid and Maria Wheatley, an American expatriate retiree and his Swiss wife, who lived in an 80 year old chalet in the village of Leissigen. He was obviously craving the company of Americans, and he quickly poured out his story. He was an ex flyer and FAA official who had been retired and living in Switzerland since 1982. For many years he had flown as a mercenary for Saudi Arabia and for Lebanon. He and his wife had been married for 32 years. They spend the summers in Switzerland and the winters in South Africa, and they claim that there are many happy blacks in South Africa! To put it in his words, "All they don't have is the vote!" His solution to the South African problem is to give the blacks the vote and allow their representatives control over the blacks just as the "coloreds" are responsible only for and to their people. We switched the subject to Switzerland, taking the opportunity to get the answers to many of our questions. Homes in Switzerland average about $150,000 to $250,000. Those on the shores of Lake Thun cost millions. The lake is totally free of pollution. The law requires that all sewage be collected and treated before the water goes into the lake. All of the effluent is discarded. The reason we see no swimmers is that the water temperature is too cold for swimming. Living costs in Switzerland are no worse than in the U.S. The higher prices are balanced by the tax advantages in the Swiss system. It is possible for a foreigner to buy a building, but the land itself can only belong to the Swiss. They said we must see the Niederhorn and the Jungfrau, and they addressed my fear of the chairlifts by claiming that the scenery is so beautiful that one forgets all about being afraid. Maria said that she hates heights but she can ride the chair lifts easily. We exchanged names and addresses, and they invited us to visit them before we go home. It would be a very interesting visit, but we already have more to see and do than we can possibly manage.

We walked on into Thun. Mark had told us that there was a street market that day which we would find very interesting. It turned out to be very unexciting as it consisted mostly of booths with manufactured items. There was a Farmers' Market in conjunction with it, and the produce did look very fresh and tempting. We needed to buy groceries immediately as the stores close at 4:00 on Saturdays, and nothing is open on Sunday. We found a combination meat market and deli on the shopping island, and we bought a succulent looking whole roasted chicken, slices of stuffed breast of veal, and some sausages. Then, we bought some lettuce and a few tomatoes at one of the Farmers' Market.

As Len was hungry and we were both very thirsty, we stopped at a sidewalk cafe. The tables were full, but a young man and his wife beckoned us to join them, and we gratefully sat down. They were from Zurich and had just started their holiday. They planned to headquarter in Bern and spend time hiking in the nearby mountains. He worked with computers and had been to the U.S. and had spent several weeks in San Jose.

We had to go inside to order. Len led and I started to follow, but my shoelace caught on a cardboard advertising mannequin which made a loud clatter and started to fall before I caught it. I couldn't extricate myself and, feeling like a real clown, had to be helped by the wife. Red faced, I finally caught up with Len inside, and we each ordered a different kind of sandwich. The waitress put them on one plate which we took to our table. Our conversation with the young couple continued while we ate. We were grateful for their update on the Olympics and their description of Ben Johnson's breaking of the hundred meter mark. Then we touched on cars in Switzerland, commenting that we had seen many Japanese imports. We were told that American cars haven't sold, despite their comfort, because they had such terrible gas mileage, and gas is very expensive in Switzerland. However, this year America is selling a car that will be the least expensive on the market, and the Swiss are very interested! He predicts excellent sales. The Swiss, he told us, make the highest wages in the world. Car manufacturing would be uneconomical for them and unnecessary since Italian, German, and French cars, as well as Japanese, are so readily available.

I was so interested in the conversation that I didn't notice that I had finished my sandwich until Len asked, "Did you eat my sandwich? I thought I put my last piece down, and now it's gone." I concentrated on what I was chewing, and, sure enough, it was salami and not the ham sandwich I had ordered. "You must have been very hungry," said the young wife solemnly. Between my gasps of laughter I tried to explain that I had been so interested in the conversation that I was totally unaware of what I was eating. After a bit more conversation we wished each other a good holiday and went our respective ways.

This was not to be my day. We next stopped at a camera store and went in to price film and developing. One saleslady spoke no English and asked us to wait for another who was with a customer. I had been standing there, mentally rehearsing my speech, and when the saleslady came and said, "May I help you?" out popped, "Do you speak English?" Poor Len turned as red as I did. Developing costs $.85 a picture, and slide film in $6.00 a role. I decided to wait until I got home to develop my pictures.

We had seen a lovely wanderweg at the far end of town. It followed the rushing river, and we decided to follow it. We walked for a long time under leafy branches and often had to stand aside for bicycles. Below us, on the shore, fishermen were casting their lines. Two teenagers had tied surfboards made from wooden boxes to a rope attached to the bank. One of the boys would get on his board and ride it to the top of the water where it would buck furiously and finally dislodge him.

It was time to turn back, and we decided to find the railroad station, our meeting place for the next day's excursion to the wine festival. We walked back into town, but we couldn't locate the station and finally had to resort to stopping a man who was walking briskly toward us. "Excuse me," said Len. "Do you know where the 'barnhoff' is?" In perfect English, the man offered to escort us there. He turned out to be a tour escort from San Francisco, and as he walked us to the covered bridge that led to the train station, he told us to be sure to see the Oberhaven castle. "It's a fairy tale castle that is actually built out over the lake," he told us. "Don't miss it, whatever you do." We thanked him, walked to the train station, and then boarded the bus for home. We stopped for a beer at the little restaurant by the bus stop before trudging up the hill. After a salad and roast chicken dinner, we settled down to figure out the train, bus, and boat schedule for the trip to the Erlach Wine Festival. It took us a long time, but we finally worked out a schedule that we were pretty confident about, and we looked forward to the trip with real anticipation.

Sunday, Sept. 25

It was a cloudy but pleasant morning, and the church bells chimed joyously as we set out on our hour long walk along the lake to the railway station at Thun. The rest of the group going to the wine festival at Erlach was gathered at the station, and as we awaited our train, our eyes were drawn to a self-possessed little boy who stood at the tracks looking as though he owned the place. We had to have his picture.

We boarded the 11:00 a.m. train to Bern and sat with Hans (who had helped us at orientation) and his wife, Elizabeth, who spoke no English. Hans is 70 and a retired railroad employee. He explained Swiss rail fares, saying that most Swiss pay 100 francs per year for a pass entitling them to ride for 1/2 fare and their children to ride free. He told us a little bit about Swiss government, explaining that the country is divided into cantons, and the citizens of each canton elect the local government and choose their representatives to the Federal Assembly. Members of one chamber, the National Council, are proportioned according to the resident population of each Canton, and the Council of States has two members for each Canton. We discussed our Swiss travels a bit, and Hans recommended that we see Murten, his favorite Swiss city.

At Bern we transferred (umsteigen, one of my favorite sounding words) to the train to Inns, and at Inns, we boarded the bus to Erlach. Our homework from Orientation had been to schedule this trip, and Len and I were really pleased that we had scheduled it just this way. It gave us a lot more confidence that we could get places by ourselves.

Our busload of travelers poured into the narrow village street and lined up with the Swiss to pay 5 franc admissions to enter the festival area. Flags and banners were draped from the buildings in colorful display, and walkers filled the cobbled streets and the sidewalks. A street market with local foods and handicrafts stretched along the shopping streets and drew hungry and curious crowds. We bought a ham sandwich at one stand and a glass of the local wine at another and wandered through the crowd, eating as we walked. In the center of two cross streets a portable stage was surrounded by an appreciative crowd watching and listening as costumed actors, accompanying themselves on a hand organ, sang and acted out a play. We found ourselves a place on the curb to view the parade, and at 2:00 mounted horsemen signaled its start. Each family in the village participated, and many of the floats were family floats. Many were humorous, and many represented folk tales and customs. There were marching bands, and role reversal floats where men were doing housework dressed as women and women were doing the men's work. Costumed figures in demonic masks followed a float where young men wrestled in games unique to the area. There was a horse drawn farm cart carrying a load of pigs, and groups of young baton twirlers pranced proudly by. There was even a float of people costumed to look like American Indians. We couldn't imagine how they got in there. Everything was in the spirit of fun; nothing was serious. The paraders kept filling the wine glasses of the observers. Some of them threw candy to the crowd; some gave cookies. One girl even came up to Len and put a bandaid on his nose.

After the parade we walked with the McCartys for about an hour on St. Petersinsel, a long finger of island extending far out into Lake Biel. The first part of the walk was rather disappointing. The area was very marshy and tall fields of a plant in the Pampas grass family obstructed our view of the lake. The last half of the walk led through woods and was quite pretty. At the end of the island we came to a boat dock, and we boarded a boat headed for the city of Biel. This trip through the Neuchatel region was gorgeous. The lake is bounded by mountains on either side, and the environs all seem to follow a pattern. At the base of the mountains houses sit by the road and the lake. Above, fields and fields of grape vines cling to the hillsides. Commanding a view of all this, a church stands in the fields, and above it are more grapevines, another row of houses, and then forest. After several miles the design would repeat itself as though by plan. Everything was very green and very neat. We saw many fishermen fishing off the docks. The sky was silver with patches of blue, and the dark blue lake was dotted with sailboats, their colorful spinnakers billowing in the breeze.

As the boat pulled into Biel, dusk was approaching. We walked to the railroad station sitting in the center of this large city. Big department stores and other businesses lined the streets fanning out ahead of us in stark contrast to the peaceful scene we had just left. We boarded the train for Bern and transferred to Thun. There, we stopped at a kiosk at the bahnhoff where we bought fresh bakery bread, packages of Knorr soup and cans of Coca Cola to take home. We ran for the bus and rode to Hilterfingen where the soup and bread we had for dinner was a perfect end to a wonderful day.

Monday, Sept. 26, 1988

Clear skies and sunshine today - a perfect day for the Jungfrau. We dressed and ate quickly and hurried down the hill to the tourist office for help with our train and bus schedule. The three hour trip to the mountain was fascinating. We traveled from Thun to Interlaken Ost along the west shore of the lake and, at one point, could look across to see our little village snuggled against the hillside. At Interlaken Ost we transferred to another train for a 20 minute ride through a leafy forest of fir, alder, and birch to Lautenbrenner, a village tucked in a valley encircled by awesome peaks. The climb from here to Kleine Sheidigg took the train through green carpeted meadows. Placid cows grazed contentedly in the yards of the isolated wooden homes that seemed to grow right out of the mountainsides. Windowsills and gardens overflowed with bright colored blooms, and barns were stacked with hay. Wanderwegs crisscrossed above and below the tracks.

Our next stop was Wengen where we had to purchase tickets for the remainder of the trip - an expensive $85.00 apiece round trip. This was a private railway not covered by our Swiss Holiday Pass. Once on the cog train, we passed the switchman standing stiffly at attention beside the track, his whole demeanor reflecting his pride in the responsibility of his job. As the train climbed slowly but steadily up the 25% grade 12 miles to Kleine Sheidigg past waterfalls, streams, and rocky outcroppings, the view changed to one of snow covered jagged peaks with glaciers clinging to their sides. Here, hikers could be seen in all directions as the wanderwegs wound through alpine vegetation.

Blackness enclosed us at 8,000 ft. as we entered a 4.4 mile tunnel bored into the granite mountain. Our ears stuffed as we climbed to 9400 ft. where a 5 minute stop afforded us the opportunity to walk to a window for a dizzying view of the fantastic, glacier covered north wall of the Eiger Peak, one of mountain climbing's ultimate challenges. Two more window stops afforded spectacular views and a chance to gradually accustom ourselves to the altitude as we came to the final stop of this 3 hour ride, the Jungfraujoch. At 11,333 ft. this station has held the distinction for 50 years of being the highest railway station in Europe. The railroad, finished in 1912, took 16 years to build.

Once out of the train, our hearts pounding from the altitude, we followed the signs up several flights of stairs to the cafeteria. Looking out the picture window walls, we gazed at granite peaks clad in pockets of deep white snow. To the south, the 13 mile Aletsch glacier looked like a river frozen in action. 1,000 ft. deep, this glacier recedes 30 meters a year. Above, a weather station known as the sphinx stood, a lonely silhouette against the darkening sky. We made our way outside to get a closer view. The frozen mountain looked like a moonscape, and far below we could see the valley, its dwellings so small they were practically indistinguishable. Signs directed us to the Ice Palace, a huge cold and slippery cavern hollowed out of the glacier. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all solid ice, and Len chose to go through while I tried to warm myself in one of the display rooms in the station. The palace, a Japanese concession was full of large Oriental ice sculptures and included a giant Buddha and a statue of Sumo wrestlers. It was quite impressive.

After an hour and a half, we boarded the train and started the return trip. To our astonishment, a parachutist floated softly overhead, dropping slowly with the air currents toward the valley below. We shuddered at the thought that people do this for sport, and we marveled at the courage of the chutist.

Our transfer at Interlaken put us on board a train in which one car was a children's playground! Green archways on each side and a purple roof topped its yellow walls. A slide, a bouncing horse, and a large magnetic board complete with magnets for making designs were getting heavy use from a horde of youngsters. Some were hanging from the railings, some were climbing on the walls, some were designing pictures, and all were very happy. Groups of astonished tourists, cameras in hand, trooped through, taking pictures.

We stopped at the kiosk at the Thun railway station for groceries and then took the bus home. After dinner we planned the next day's trip and wrote some postcards before finally falling into bed for a welcome night's sleep.

Tuesday, Sept. 27, 1988

Today Idyll gave us a wonderful opportunity to understand Switzerland by scheduling a lecture at Giswil on the meaning of Swiss festivals. Agnes, the lecturer, was a retired Swiss teacher and a member of their staff.

Eager to know more about this country, we set out for Giswil in the early morning, boarding the Post Bus to our train connection at Interlaken Ost. The train ride to Meringen alongside the deep turquoise waters of Brienzersee skirted some of the loveliest vacation spots in Switzerland, and we sped past hotels and camp grounds, through beech forests and lush meadows and past ancient farmhouses and barns all displaying gaily colored geraniums. At Meringen, the village where meringue was invented, we changed trains for Giswil, arriving there mid morning. There, at the Hotel Banhof, Agnes, animated and informative, gave a slide show and explanation of Swiss customs and festivals. We learned much about the Swiss, a practical, disciplined, and frugal people with a sense of community resulting from shared traditions. Their festivals originally were intended to influence the demons and gods, but their practical effects were to overcome fear by concentrating on happiness, to provide gaiety to change traditional gloomy suicidal outlooks, and to provide a way for young men to meet young women eligible for matrimony.

The first festivals occurred during pagan times and were intended to chase away demons by fire or noise. Remnants of these ancient practices are still apparent in today's Switzerland where the fencing of a house or yard to keep the farm animals in bounds stems from the ancient belief that a fence would keep the demons out. A necklace of bones worn in a contemporary parade derives from its Celtic display denoting power, and the sign of a boar's head or a peg on a house is a symbol originally intended to keep the demons out. Stemming from the Celtic belief that a good deed will lead to a reward, 17th century industries held parades and gave out samples and gifts of their crafts. The practice of parade offerings to bystanders happily persists today in Swiss festivals.

One of the festivals today that derives from the pagan customs, the Herdsmen Sunday Dress parade, uses huge cowbells to create awesome noise. This ringing of the bells stems from a festival that originated to ward off winter hardships by scaring away the cold weather demons. Thrift is a national trait, and the cowbells demonstrate the Swiss penchant for using what they have. Demons were also fought with light, and the Winter Fire Ceremony features lanterns carved from giant turnips which the thrifty Swiss feed to their animals after the parade. Traditional Swiss frugality shows up again in the carnival held to chase winter; all of the costumes must be derived from nature. Nothing may be purchased, and the masks must be of materials indigenous to each area participating. These masks use tree roots, cows' teeth, animal fur, and dyes from plants. Costumes for most festivals are made in parts so that they can change and grow as the young performer grows. This way the same costume, once fashioned for a child, can be used, with minor alterations, throughout the wearer's life.

Today's festivals, combinations of work and celebration, illuminate the Swiss character. The cleaning of a river to insure clean water involves the entire village and culminates in a fishing contest. Then comes the celebration which takes place only after all have helped with the work.

These festivals are an integral part of Swiss life even today, and their celebrations call forth the wholehearted participation of entire Swiss villages. They are a highlight in the lives of the villagers and are eagerly anticipated each year. Though they are not aimed at the tourist trade, tourists are warmly welcomed for the tourist industry is important to the Swiss economy. According to Agnes, the Swiss first became aware of the benefits of tourism during Victorian times. Queen Victoria, afraid to travel by horseback, came to Switzerland in a specially made hand-carried carriage. When the tired bearers stopped to rest she would bestow gold coins upon them to encourage them to continue. This made them so happy that they yodeled joyfully as they went about their work. From this experience the Swiss learned that if they worked hard and were happy in their work, tourists would be attracted to them and their country.

In the late autumn Swiss cows are ceremoniously brought home from the high alpine pastures. Decorated with floral headdresses and miniature flags, clanging huge ceremonial cowbells, the cattle follow upon the heels of the youngest herdsmen, each of whom leads with a sack of salt. The older herdsmen follow behind, urging any straggling cattle to move.

Two of the most traditional forms of Swiss music originated as part of the care of these prized herds. The echoing notes of the Alpenhorn wafting from the Alpine meadows brought news to the valley below of an accident or emergency encountered by the herdsman. Each melody meant something different and served as a code informing the villagers of the herdsman's needs. Yodeling, also indigenous to the area, was a method of communicating with the cattle. Each cow knew the yodel of its own herdsman, and, from far away, would respond to its signal to return to the barn.

The practice of making Swiss cheeses in these high mountain meadows had its birth when cattle herds were first moved there from the overpopulated villages. The milk production was abundant beyond the country's needs, and a way had to be found to use the surplus. When set thick milk was found in the stomachs of slaughtered calves, a way was sought to duplicate this product using the extra milk production. Priests in the monasteries worked with the farmers, and together they formulated methods and recipes for making cheese.

This penchant of the Swiss to make use of their abundances was graphically brought home to us when lunch was served. Aelplermagronnen, a one pot dish consisting of cheese, butter, whipping cream, potatoes, onions, and macaroni, was set before us, and we made a feeble attempt to consume this specialty of the area. It was like macaroni and cheese, swimming in cholesterol, and a little bit went a long way.

Eating this lunch made our anticipated walk even more essential. At Agnes's suggestion we boarded the train to Sachseln, the next town, and began our hike around Lake Saarnen. Swans and ducks clustered near the marshy shore snapping at the numerous insects that swarmed among the lily pads. Willow trees overhung the wanderweg, their gray leaves resembling those of the olive tree. Villages sat in the sloping meadows that rose from either side of the lake, their houses and barns nestled protectively close together. Beyond these settlements, farmhouses and barns sat between wide expanses of green pasture land.

Our path led through a forest thick with maples, beech, and Norway spruce. The deciduous trees, turning brilliant fall colors, were dropping their leaves gently at our feet. People sat on benches by the lake shore, quietly visiting beneath the drifting autumn foliage. We passed several churches and many schools before entering Saarnen, a serene and sparkling little town. After stopping for a cool drink at a little sidewalk cafe, we decided to follow the river a little way upstream. It flowed so gently between its narrow banks that the lush foliage on its shores reflected in its calm waters, and we watched the willow branches reach down to their mirror images in the water below. A school was situated on the bank, and we watched the children clambering on the supports of its colorful, hand made meteorological station. Conscious of time, we turned back and, finding ourselves at the end of the lake, decided to walk along the opposite side rather than follow the same path back to Giswil.

This path led to a road through the hills above the lake. Large and small farmhouses sat contentedly amidst the pasture land, their gardens abundant with vegetables and flowers. Many of the barns were two storied buildings, the top floor utilized for storage of lumber and feed, and the lower as a home for the cattle. Chickens, sheep, and butterscotch cows shared the fragrant meadows. Beekeepers tended their hives. The peacefulness of this lovely pastoral scene would have been complete except for the numerous sonic booms caused by Swiss fighter planes as they passed overhead on training missions. On one side of the road two women were gathering a harvest of apples, and on the other side a small bakery on the lower floor of a house tempted us with its delectable smells. We entered and bought bread and pastry to bring back with us.

We continued our walk. People passing greeted us with the lilting Swiss "grooetsie," and we tried to answer in kind. Somehow the word sounded quite different coming from us. The melody disappeared, and the pronunciation varied each time we tried.

The sound of cowbells, always soft in the background, seemed to be getting louder and louder, becoming as insistent as a Salvation Army bell ringer and as clamorous as the Sunday church bells. We turned around to see, and on the road behind us a herd of cows, having finished their summer stint in the mountains, was being led to their winter home. Led by herdsmen in their festive embroidered jackets, the animals sported huge ceremonial bells, lovingly fashioned colorful floral headdresses, and tooled leather neck flaps decorated to show the honors won by each cow. Thrilled at the sight, we grabbed our cameras to photograph the proud herdsmen and their twelve flamboyant charges before continuing our walk around the lake.

The roadside scenery gradually turned to forest, and the trail left the road and led through a wooded, marshy meadow. In the shadows of the overhanging birch and beech trees we struggled to avoid tripping over the many roots that thrust themselves up from the soil. The trail was not well marked from this area on, and we often had to retrace our steps to avoid natural barriers and find the right path. It was nearing dusk when we found a man who gave us directions in German to turn to the right and cross over a bridge, and after a total hike of about 3 1/2 hours and 8 miles, we arrived at the train station for our return trip to Hilterfingen.

Wednesday, Sept. 28, 1988

We headed down the hill to the little market this morning walking past a white rooster perched proudly on a cart in the open garage of a neighbor's house. He was curiously examining his domain, and we, curious too, envied him his vantage point as we continued down the hill and embarked on our first real grocery shopping experience in Switzerland. It was an adventure in communication. We pushed our cart through the narrow aisles, picked up a few groceries, and began our quest for non fat milk. Knowing it was called "magermilch," we asked the proprietress if she had any. Our answer was a horrified, "You don't want that!" and the expression on her face made the meaning of her Swiss words clear. In vain we tried to convince her that it was, indeed, what we wanted, and, in earnest, she insisted that it was not. Finally, overwhelmed by her opposition and her insistence that we wouldn't like it, we settled for low fat milk (3% in Switzerland), and carted our groceries swiftly home so we could be out again and on our way to the Niederhorn.

We reached the bus stop just as the bus to Buchtenberg came along, and we climbed aboard. There was standing room only, something we had not seen before, and we asked a Swiss fellow passenger if she knew why there was such a crowd. "Rain is predicted for tomorrow," she said matter of factly, "so, of course, everyone is having an outing today."

At Buchtenberg we boarded a funicular which climbed straight up the steep mountainside for about ten minutes and let us off at the Beatenburg station. From there it was a 20 minute walk to the chair-lift to Niederhorn. We were surprised by the number of homes and hotels along the way, for the area is so difficult of access.

It was the first time on a chair-lift for Len and me. He loved it, but I had white knuckles, tingling heels and a little nausea as I sat about 3 stories high clutching the bar that held us in. Up we went past the tops of fir trees, above terra cotta roof tops, over mountain meadows and rocky cliffs, above gnarled and stunted trees, past treeless meadows, toward our destination. Just ahead of us, a large black and brown dog occupied the seat next to his master. He sat quietly at attention until disembarking at the top and then patiently waited while his master and mistress took a bowl out of a knapsack, filled it with dog food and water, and gave it to him.

The view was spectacular. From where we stood, we looked across the lake at the snow covered Jungfrau, the Eiger, and Monch. Behind us we could see Mt. Finsteraarhorn, Switzerland's highest peak towering an awesome 14,000 ft. above sea level. A wanderweg sign directed us toward the Niederhorn peak, and we climbed for about an hour to reach it. The mountain dropped precipitously away on our left side, and by inching toward the edge of the precipice, one could see Justisal, about 2,000 ft. below. To the right of the trail, the slope was just as steep, and we carefully kept to the center. The path climbed steeply, and we struggled toward our goal. To our amazement we saw many elderly people cheerfully walking toward the top, and we marveled at their fitness and stamina. As if to accentuate our feelings of inferiority a signpost loomed ahead forbidding the wearing of high heels!

We reached the pinnacle, and what a reward for our efforts awaited us. Way down below us sat Interlochen, its little Monopoly houses on the green hillsides looking like a scene out of a story book. The lake was a brilliant blue, and we could just distinguish a tiny white sail upon its waters. It was peaceful and quiet on the top of the mountain, and we rested there for a while and drank in the view.

As we started our descent we suddenly came upon the rare sight of an Alpine antelope foraging in the meadow. Thrilled, we looked around us for more, and above, silhouetted against the sky, another majestic antelope stood sentinel. Feeling like intruders upon their territory, we quietly followed the trail down through the meadow, stopping now and then to admire the tiny purple wildflowers peeking through the foliage. Stepping off the trail in some spots could involve a 4,000 ft. fall, and a sign urged caution and warned us of the obvious: it would be slippery when the snow fell.

We once again ensconced ourselves in the chairlift and were transported to Beatenburg. Another amazing sign in this amazing country confronted us there. The dogs in this country seem to be as disciplined as its people, and the sign pointed to a designated place for them to lift their legs!

We caught the boat at Buchtenberg for a pleasant ride to Gunten. The ship was crowded with people enjoying the lovely afternoon. Our plan was to find a restaurant for dinner at Gunten, but we were scared off by the posted prices and hopped a bus to Oberhaven instead. A sign at the Alps restaurant near the border with Hilterfingen advertised fondue, and it sounded wonderful. We were seated in the restaurant, but to our astonishment we were the only patrons. The fondue was marvelous notwithstanding: thin, thin slices of lean beef which we cooked on skewers in a delicious broth and then dipped in condiments before eating. It was beautifully served, and we savored each succulent morsel, storing up energy for our climb up the hill to our apartment.

Thursday, Sept. 29, 1988

Taking Hans' advice today, we went to see Murten, a town founded in the year 1013. We took the 10:00 bus to Thun and boarded the train to Berne. We had a bit of a problem there finding the right track for the train to Kerzers, but with luck and the help of a couple of knowledgeable trainmen, we managed to board the right train. Across from us sat a female archeologist from Italy who was working on a dig, unearthing villages near Murten. She found the area exciting and fascinating and told us to be sure to go to the museum at Murten to view many of the archeological finds that gave impetus to her further search.

At Kerzers we caught the train to Murten and traveled through farmlands and small villages before arriving at our destination at 12:00. A short walk from the train station led us to the medieval walled city also known by its French name, Morat. The tourist office, museum, and stores were closed until 2:00, so we contented ourselves by strolling beneath the arcades and window-shopping. The tea rooms were open and tempting, and we found ourselves seats at a sidewalk table. I selected a plate of open face sandwiches, and Len chose pizza. We polished off an exquisite peach pastry for dessert before setting forth along the cobbled streets, window shopping and admiring the architecture. I was startled by a slight blow on my back, and I heard a noise. Seconds later, after Len had the same experience, we heard laughter and looked up to see two boys with pea shooters grinning at us from the roof of a building.

Worn concrete steps beckoned us to ascend to the top of the stone wall that had surrounded and defended this city since the year 1480. From the top we looked out on a sea of steep terra cotta tiled roofs and beyond to the blue waters of Lake Murten (Murtensee). Some of the houses abutted the wall, thriftily utilizing its stones for their rear walls.

It was time for the museum to open, and we headed there. Housed in a mill built in 1524, it presented a charming facade. The masses of red geraniums in the window box that ran the whole length of the covered porch contrasted happily with the white plaster and heavy natural wood timbers in this charming old building. As we entered, the receptionist greeted us, to our astonishment, with, "You must speak English. Here is an English guide book for you!" How could she tell? We couldn't see that the Swiss dressed any differently than we did.

The majority of the finds on display in the museum first came to light between 1873 and 1879 when the marshes around the lakes in the area were drained and canals were dredged. We started our browsing in the Upper Hall where finds from the early Stone Age and the Bronze Age, 4000 B.C. to 750 B.C., fascinated us. We saw fired clay pots, woven linen, body ornaments and finely crafted copper jewelry from that period. On the floor below, the Lower Hall, were finds from the Celtic period, the Roman period, and the early Middle Ages. Coins weapons, fish hooks, and jewelry were among the many exhibits showcased there. Other floors held similarly interesting exhibits from later periods: coats of arms, flags, a collection of arms and weapons, and a display of old household utensils that we found particularly interesting. There were leather fire buckets, spinning wheels, pretzel-irons, and many pewter plates.

Leaving the exhibits, we went outside to where the old water wheel was still working, and we marveled at its size and age. The tourist office was finally open, and we picked up brochures for a self-guided walking tour of the town. We stopped at the French church and admired the silhouette of its slender spire against the gray sky. Walking on, we came to the gateway out of the city, a stone passageway atop of which sits a massive clocktower. We saw the City School, converted from the oldest Italian Renaissance style house in Switzerland, and then we walked through the German church and admired its polygonal pulpit, circa 1484, carved from a single piece of oak. Our walk returned us to the main street and its colorful shopping arcades, and we continued walking past the central fountain and the castle dating from 1255.

We proceeded to the railway station, and, at the direction of the stationmaster, crossed the tracks to Track 2 to await our train. A train pulled in on track one. The rest of the waiting crowd boarded it and rode away. It was the train to Kerzers that we were supposed to take! A girl standing nearby, witnessing our consternation, suggested that we take the train to Fribourg and transfer to Berne from there. After she assured us several times that it would work, we hesitatingly took her advice and got on the train to Friborg. To our great relief, the people who sat down across from us were going to Berne. They spoke no English, so, in my halting German, I asked if we could follow them. They were very friendly and happy to help, and we were very grateful. At Friborg an announcement, unintelligible to us, came over the loudspeaker notifying passengers that the incoming train would split in two parts, one of which would go on to Berne. We felt really lucky to be able to follow these people to the right train, and we said a grateful goodbye as we boarded our train to Thun and our waiting bus. Once at home we fixed chicken sandwiches, salad, and nectarines for dinner, planned our route for tomorrow, and fell into bed.

Friday, Sept.30, 1988

It was 5:00 a.m. when the alarm rousted us from our comfortable beds this morning. Rushing down the hill, we caught the earliest bus to the Bahnhoff at Thun where we joined those from the Idyll group going with Hal to see cheese being made in the Alpine village of Stockalp. By the time we reached our transfer point at Konolfingen and were headed toward Lucerne, I was sufficiently alert to notice that we were traveling in a car that was set up especially for cardplayers. We sat facing each other across little tables, and I found it a good time to ask Hal Taussig a bit about himself and his company. Hal is an ex-professor of U.S. history who spent a one year sabbatical in Switzerland. It was the beginning of a love affair with the country and its people as well as an educational experience he felt was attainable for other teachers. He wrote a "how to do it" book for other instructors and soon was deluged with inquiries about apartment rentals. On his next visit, he took some other educators along. The demand kept growing, and in 1975 when he was between jobs he decided to make a business of arranging housing in Switzerland for educators. Requests from doctors and attorneys encouraged him to open his program to them, and, as its popularity grew, he opened it to all. He has never advertised but depends solely on word of mouth for his clients.

We transferred to the Post bus at Saarnen and began our travels through the canton of Unterwalden toward Stockalp. There are 20,000 people in Unterwalden, Hal informed us, and the only police station is in the city of Saarnen. The policeman there is usually busy issuing bicycle licenses. A Swiss policeman is like the Maytag repairman; he has very little to do. We were climbing higher and higher into the Alps, and large rectangular wire cages filled with rocks lined the road and served as retaining walls. These are known as "gabions," and they act as effective barriers to falling rocks. Many of the chalets were of typical Ementhal architecture with an arch beneath the half roof that extended part way down each side wall from the peak.

At Stockalp we left the bus and walked a short distance to a stucco and wood building that looked like a farmhouse. Milk pails hung upside down on the outside wall, and a pungent odor filled the air. This, we learned, was from the pigs the thrifty cheesemaker raised as a sideline, feeding them the whey that was the byproduct of his cheese production. Inside, milk, heated to 57 degrees Fahrenheit, bubbled and boiled in shiny 400 gallon copper vats. A wood fire sent heated water through the coils, and a mechanized paddle in the vats distributed the heat evenly. This "Mountain Cheese" or Swiss Berkaese production starts at 5 a.m. and continues for about 2 hours. Our cheesemaker gets his milk from a herd of 43 cows, and the milk is brought down from the high meadows every day on the backs of the cowherds. The cheesemaker has trained 2 1/2 years in order to obtain his license.

When he thought the cheese was ready, he dipped in and brought up some curds to test for the proper consistency by squeezing with his hands. Once satisfied, looking sometimes like a Swiss machine and sometimes like a dancer, he fished out the curds with a cheesecloth net attached to a metal apparatus. He removed the metal, tied the net at the top, and attached it with its 120 pounds of curd to a hook that dangled from a rope pulley. The curds then were pulled along an overhead track and lowered into wooden forms where the cheesemaker used the lids to press the liquid through and out the bottom. After adding more hot liquid, he pushed and packed down the lids with great effort to insure that no gas would be left to form bubbles. In Ementhaler cheese these gasses are encouraged to form, and they are responsible for the holes that are typical of the product.

The mountain cheese stays in the forms for 24 hours. The warm cheese is rubbery and relatively tasteless. At the end of the 24 hour period the cheese is carried to an adjacent room where it is left to soak in brine for 14 days to form a crust to insulate it from the air. Then it is put in stacks to age for one year before it is ready to be sold. Some cheese is allowed to cure for two to three years in order to make a delicacy called hoblikaese that looks like wood shavings but is prized for its flavor.

It was drizzling as we stepped outside the little cheese factory, and Hal led us to the bus to the tiny village of Melchtal and the cloister known for the products of its weaving nuns. We visited the 15th century church there with its imposing marble columns, handcarved wooden pulpit, crystal chandeliers, and its outstanding stained glass window. The interior certainly belied the simple exterior. Behind the church stood the cloister, and the nuns welcomed us warmly and took us into the workrooms to give us a weaving demonstration. One merry little old nun worked with such joy and rhythm that we could have danced to the beat of her clacking shuttle. It takes 6 days to thread the loom in order to make about 130 towels.

We were starving and all ducked into a little restaurant for lunch. At Hal's suggestion, we ordered sauser to drink. This is a delicious non-alcoholic drink made from grapes just as they are starting to ferment. Its taste doesn't resemble either wine or grape juice, and it is light, bubbly, and wonderfully refreshing.

Hal announced that he was going to hike to Flueli-Ranft and Bruder Klaus's cloister and anyone who wanted to could come along. Together with the Creeds and the McCartys, we joined him for a glorious 4 1/2 mile hike through green alpine meadows, beside streams, and into a beech forest that was turning an autumnal copper color. We looked down a steep drop into a river valley with scattered homes and barns and across the river to where steep lush green meadow walls rose to forested hilltops. The music of cowbells accompanied our steps and echoed softly through the silent air. Sibilant streams rushed down to join the river, and mists shrouded the path ahead in mystery.

The trail cut through a pasture, and I stopped to pet a cow under her chin. She licked me lasciviously and turned to follow and nuzzle me. I was afraid I had a friend for life, but she stopped at the electric fence. Hal said that Swiss cows consider themselves domesticated animals.

According to Idyll's Hiking and Biking Guide, "Flueli-Ranft is the holiest place in Switzerland, the home of the patron saint of the country, Bruder Klaus. This illiterate hermit abandoned a wife and 10 children to retire to a simple cell in the bottom of a chasm and live without food for 20 years and live a life of anonymity. However, events intervened when civil strife, brought about over the issue of how to divide the spoils of victory in a foreign war, threatened to end the Swiss Confederation. Bruder Klaus, from his hermitage at Flueli-Ranft, dictated a visionary solution which was transported on foot over the mountains and read to the divided factions just in time to save the nation. The religious recluse, therefore, was sanctified for his divine inspiration and is today glorified as both holy man and Abraham Lincoln of Switzerland. The many trails leading to the Bruder Klaus shrines at Flueli-Ranft are often used by pilgrims treading in the footsteps of the saint."

We hiked along the Pilgrimage trail, feeling cleansed by the damp air, until we stopped at a place in the road where we could look down a chasm and see the cloister that marks the shrine of Bruder Klaus. We made our way down the hill and entered a tiny room in the shrine. After our eyes became accustomed to the darkness, we were able to see the narrow timber he used for a bed, and, at the urging of some elderly Swiss women behind us, we reached out and ran our hands over the stone he used as a pillow. Then it was down some worn narrow wooden steps into the dark hole below that was part of his living quarters.

Emerging into the light, we retraced our steps up the steep path and walked to the post bus stop. We climbed aboard and rode to Sachscheln where we heeded a sign in a cafe, "There is no beer in heaven so drink it while you're here." Refreshed, we boarded the train to Interlochen East and shared the company of a lovely British couple with our other seat companions, the McCartys and the Creeds.

We caught the bus to Hilterfingen and soon were home enjoying a delicious dinner of soup, brown bread, and pastry from the corner bakery. Having seen lights on in the Pfister residence, we knocked on their door. We had been unable to open the mailbox ever since we arrived, and we were dying for mail from home. Mark answered the door and showed us that we had been trying to open the wrong mailbox. He led us to ours, and we found letters from Judy, Sue, and Brigitta which we gratefully and voraciously read and re-read.

Saturday, October 1, 1988

After sleeping quite late today, we took the bus to Interlaken Ost where we found the wooden clock that Nick and Olga had asked for. After purchasing it for them, we spent some time window shopping before having lunch at an Italian restaurant. We wanted to see Interlaken West so we took the train there and then strolled on the wanderweg along the river for the 30 minutes that it took to return to Interlaken East. The walk was lined with large stately homes and huge old hotels. We passed a large swimming complex with water slides, a diving board, and an Olympic size pool. The pool had been drained, but the complex also boasted an indoor pool. Adjacent to this section was a busy pee wee golf course catering to the vacationers in this resort area. We walked across a covered bridge over the dam and back into Interlaken East and caught the bus to Oberhofen.

Wanting to see the castle which is built out over the lake, we walked to the gate where we were informed that it would close in 1/2 hour. Not realizing that there were 5 floors filled with furniture and artifacts, we bought our tickets and entered. The receptionist asked us if we would "Mach snell, bitte," and we ran through but must go back. It's truly a fairy tale castle built out into the lake, and one really expects to find the Sleeping Beauty in the tower. After the 5:00 closing we were able to spend some time strolling along the paths in its magnificent gardens. A caretaker's home covered with flowers, seemed to have sprouted from the bountiful earth. A sailing regatta was taking place on the lake, and colorful sails circled the starting point. The ferry appeared, churning up waves that splashed against the rock walls of the lake. The brightly colored scenery was spectacular beneath the leaden sky.

We left and huffed and puffed up a long, steep hill that would take us to the wanderweg to Hilterfingen. Ahead of us 3 elderly women walked slowly and steadily. The one in the lead leaned on two arm braces and walked with a rocking gait on her deformed leg. Oh to have the fortitude of the Swiss.

After 4 blocks we reached the top and turned toward Hilterfingen. The view as we walked along the narrow road at dusk was of the quiet, gray lake below the clustered roof tops of Oberhofen. The air was still and very peaceful. The tinkling of cowbells was the only sound when suddenly the joyous bells from the church filled the air. The chiming accompanied us all the way to Hilterfingen.

Sunday, October 2, 1988

The view from our window showed the fog about to burn off so we set out early for Kandersteg and a day of hiking. The sun was shining brightly when we departed the train and started walking through the land where Heidi might have lived. Spectacular granite mountains loomed above the steep forested hillsides and lush green meadows. A 15 minute hike brought us to the lift that was to take us to the path to Ochinensee, and we rose up above the rooftops, above the treetops, and looked down upon larch, pine, and spruce trees during a 7 minute ride to the top. From there it was an uphill walk to a restaurant overlooking the lovely blue-green lake. We lunched on the deck looking down through the trees at the granite sided crater cradling the deep turquoise water. 2 or 3 boats were the only visible specks on the surface.

After lunch we returned to the wanderweg as it followed the contour of the lake. We passed sunbathers on the shore and then veered sharply uphill and soon found ourselves climbing on a steep path that hugged the escarpment on the north side of the lake. Mountains circled us. Glaciers hung in the crevasses high above, and waterfalls of glacier melt on their way to join the lake spilled from the rocks. Swiss people of all ages crowded the trail and greeted us with a musical "grooetsy" or "Gruss Gott" and a smile as they passed.

Our pace slowed markedly as we continued to climb. Panting, we looked up to see an elderly Swiss woman supported by two canes, hiking up the path ahead of us. She must have been in her late eighties! We stifled the panting in embarrassment and hiked toward a stream that was running merrily over the rocks. We forded it and kept climbing toward a hut that was perched against the mountain wall. People coming down the mountain told us that the trail would eventually return us to Kandersteg and that travel time would be about 2 hours. Len looked at the climb ahead and said he'd had enough, so we walked across a meadow to the hut that we had seen. Its very friendly owner was sunning in his yard, and water flowed from a tap near his house to a tub beneath. In answer to Len's request for a drink, he jovially told us to help ourselves. The water was icy cold and wonderfully refreshing. We started talking and asking about the house, and he asked his wife's permission and then showed us through. The hut was around 100 years old. The kitchen abutted the hillside and had no window. There was a living - dining room, and, curtained off behind, was a room with bunk beds. Everything was neat and immaculate. He offered us a beer, but we declined, drank some more water, took some more pictures, thanked him, and started our hike back.

The return trip was just as difficult, but we had fun trying to communicate with a Swiss trio that had been going at our speed both ways. As we started down the lift a bright, multicolored parachute appeared in the sky above, and we gasped as it sailed and turned and billowed to a landing in the meadow far below. Soon the air was filled with gaily colored chutes descending from all sides. These were students from the parachute school.

At Kandersteg we seated ourselves at a terrace table at a restaurant and ordered beer for our parched throats. We looked toward the road and, to our astonishment, saw the elderly woman with the two canes riding her bike away! We stayed in the village for a while enjoying the atmosphere and then walked to the train station. We boarded the train to Thun and, while waiting for it to pull out, watched hockey players on an outdoor rink below us.

Once in Thun we walked to the Boccalino restaurant near the town square and had an excellent meal. Three young people, all speaking English with an accent, sat at the table next to us. Puzzled by their use of English, Len asked them where they were from. One was from Holland and two were from Switzerland. They had all toured the U.S. in the "Up With People" show, and, since the Swiss could not speak Dutch and the Dutch boy could not speak Swiss, they chose to converse in English. They were enjoying a reunion and were delightful, enthusiastic, friendly young people. The Swiss girl was a school teacher at a school near the village of Schwartzenegg, and she urged us to visit Schwartzenegg on Thursday for its annual market day. We thanked her for the suggestion and invited each of them to stay with us if they ever visited the bay area.

We left the restaurant and were window shopping at a lovely jewelry store when we met a young couple who had just returned from a three month rv tour of the United States. It was fun talking to them and hearing their impressions of the United States. After bidding them good-bye, we walked home alongside the peaceful lake shore.

Monday, October 3, 1988

We had planned to see the local sights in depth today, but we surely got off to a bad start. We walked to the castle at Oberhofen, arrived at the gate, and found it was closed until 2:00. Frustrated, we decided to hop the bus to Thun and visit the museum; the museum was closed on Mondays. Our next choice was a visit to the church. The first door that we tried was locked, but we were able to translate a sign directing us to use the door on the other side of the building. It was open, and we entered this 1,000 year old Evangelical Reform church. Because the exterior resembled the architecture of the castle, we expected a dark and medieval feeling inside, but the interior had been modernized. Rows of clean lined light colored beechwood benches marched down the center of the room. The walls were a bright white, and the loft was dominated by the huge silver colored pipes of an organ. Crystal chandeliers sparkled in the sunlight. The pulpit commanded attention by virtue of its contrasting dark wood construction hand carved and capped by a crown-like intricately carved canopy. Bright flowers and greenery accented the decor, and the sense of spaciousness was enhanced by the high ceilings and uncluttered lines. After leaving the church, we decided that this would be a good day to shop for gifts for the grandchildren, but since everything would be closed between 12:00 and 2:00 we should have lunch first. While looking for a restaurant, we happened to pass by the cattle market, a fenced off area on a cobblestone street in the center of town. Several steers were tethered there. Trucks would pull up to the fence, and the cattle that were purchased would be loaded on board. One man would lead the animal by his rope, and another would hold the steer's tail and urge it up the truck ramp with a cattle prod. Each truck could hold three or four of the animals. It was enough to make vegetarians of us, although I'm sure it was at least as humane as anything we do at home. We just don't see it at home.

We found a cafe and had tuna salads for lunch before walking to Kyborg, the department store where we had purchased our curtain rings. In the jewelry department we bought novelty watches for Mike, Aaron, Shannon, and Lisa. Then we finished by buying knives for Josh and Jason and a sweater for Nicky.

Shopping finished, we boarded a bus and returned to our apartment in order to change our clothes for the rosti party at Sigriswil. Then, Len in his sport coat and I in my cotton skirt and a sweater, feeling quite dressed up, joined the McCartys and the Roberts and boarded the bus to Gunten. There we were met by Hal and ushered aboard the crowded post bus to Sigriswil. It was so crowded that 5 of our group had to be left behind. Julie, a staff member, drove her car down to pick them up. Most of the rest of us had to stand as the bus negotiated the steep, winding incline, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone was chattering animatedly and comparing notes, and in no time we arrived at our destination, the Hotel Baren.

As a matter of fact, we were 15 minutes early, so Hal took us for a walk to see the church. We passed a lovely cemetery with masses of flowers planted at each gravesite, and Hal began to tell us about Swiss burial customs. Because there is so little land, each row of graves contains burials from only 1 year. People are allowed to stay in the graves for 30 or 40 years. Then the whole row is dug up. The families are asked if they want the remains, but because the succeeding generation is usually gone, the option is often turned down and the remains are cremated. New bodies take their place.

The Swiss Protestant and Catholic churches are state supported. A pastor makes about $45,000.00 a year; the salary surpasses the income of a doctor. The Protestant churches are very poorly attended. People are taxed to pay for them but can be excused from church taxes if they declare themselves atheists. This is rarely done because most Swiss want to avail themselves of the rites of the church. Most Swiss Protestants use the church only when baptized, confirmed, married, and when they die.

We passed a cluster of tall stakes reaching about 16 feet in the air. We had seen similar configurations elsewhere in Switzerland and took the opportunity to ask Hal to explain them. "They are markers that show the exact configuration of the building planned for the site," he said. "The law requires that they be posted so that the neighbors can see them and have an opportunity to raise any objections that might be relevant."

We walked back to the hotel, and the tables in the dining room quickly filled. Happy folk music filled the air as we were serenaded by a Swiss family of entertainers. The mother played the bass; the father and 16 year old son played the accordion, and 2 younger sons kept time with clacking wooden rhythm instruments. The meal consisted of green salad and rosti (fluffy cottage fries mixed with ham and topped with a layer of onion and melted cheese). The desserts were fantastic ice-cream concoctions rivaling Fenton's best. After the meal everyone joined in singing and dancing, and Hal treated us to some "vignettes." Among them was the story about one of the group who thought he understood train schedules and started, with his wife, to get off at his town when he looked at the sign and said, "This is not Kandersteg, it's Gleis," and sat down in his seat again. ("Gleis" is German for "track," and each track in the station has a sign that says "Gleis" and a number).

We all piled on the bus for home when the very agitated proprietress climbed aboard, "You can't go yet," she pleaded. "Someone has given me 10 francs too much!" When the patron identified himself, she returned his money with a happy smile and invited all to come again and "Give a look at me."

The bus trip home was one big community sing. When we got off at Hilterfingen, Len and I decided to go for a walk. It had rained while we were in the restaurant, and the air smelled wonderfully fresh. Lights along the shore shimmered on the lake. The hills above were dark, but lights twinkled on the highest peaks. It was very beautiful and very peaceful.

Tuesday, October 4, 1988

We were up at 6:00 this morning and caught the 7:40 bus to Thun. From there, we embarked on a scenic train ride to Lucerne. The architecture seemed to change in this section of Switzerland with more and more of the barns attached to the houses instead of standing alone. The closer we got to Lucerne, the thicker the woods that lined the road. Fir, balsam, and beech trees crowded together in a dramatic autumn display of color contrasts. The two hour trip was filled with beauty.

Arriving at Lucerne, we walked straight across the street from the train station to the shifstation, stifling any impulse we might have had to shop in the exquisite city stores. Instead, we boarded a ferry boat and feasted our eyes on the dark turquoise waters of Lake Lucerne, the villages along the shore, and the blue fingered fjords that thrust themselves into the land between the mountains. Gulls circled overhead, swooping hungrily into the water to retrieve the scraps that the children on the deck were broadcasting.

At the suggestion of one of the boatmen we disembarked at Treib and took the cable car to Seelisberg. Potted plants greeted us at the end of the line. The conductor gave us directions so that we could hike to Rutli, and we stopped for lunch at the Restaurant Alpenblic before setting out. A vase of cheerful fresh flowers sat atop our blue hand woven linen tablecloth. The charming waitress explained that this is hunting season in Switzerland, and since the restaurant's specialty is game, we would be well advised to order venison. We took her advice. The plate was a work of art to look at and delicious to eat. Red kraut, spaezel, and a baked apple with currant jam accompanied the meat, and, well fortified for the hike, we set out.

It was raining slightly but canopies formed by the trees sheltered us and kept us dry. The ground was thickly matted with lovely bronze beech leaves cushioning our steps, but the trail was paved with rocks, and we had to be very careful not to slip. We walked slowly downhill through a dense forest of beech, Norway spruce, and firs. The sunlight cast stripes of light as it filtered in and accented the greens of the ivy and ferns growing below the trees. The rain began to come down harder as we continued to follow the switchbacks toward the shifstation at Rutli. We could look down the steep escarpment toward the darkening turquoise lake. Lightning flashed and thunder reverberated again and again, echoing from the hillsides. Airforce jets flew overhead adding their roar to that of the thunder, and then, suddenly, all was silent again. We arrived at the dock at Rutli and had a 30 minute wait for the boat. A mother with two boys was also waiting. She could not speak English, but one of her sons was studying it in school and was glad to try to communicate. We gave the boys some American stamps that had arrived on our letters, and they were very pleased.

A large passenger boat bound for Lucerne pulled up at the dock, and we boarded. It was a beautiful sidewheel paddle boat built in 1902, and it sparkled from loving care. The inside was cut away to the engine room below, and passengers were leaning over the rail to watch the bright red painted engines doing their work. The restaurant was full of people, and the atmosphere was very festive. We found seats at a table occupied by an elderly trio of women on holiday, and I conversed with one of them in German all the way back. She pointed out some of the high spots along the way. We sailed by Mt. Pilatus, many lovely hotels situated on the shores of the lake, and farmhouses set upon such incredibly steep hillsides that we marveled that they were accessible.

We said goodbye at Lucerne and boarded the train for our return trip. One of the best parts of this trip has been meeting people on the train, and this time we sat next to a family of four. The husband was Swiss, and the wife was Spanish. She asked if I could speak Spanish, and I confidently answered, "Yes," and told her I had studied Spanish many years ago in school. She and her husband then spoke Spanish to me, and, to my dismay, I found that I had concentrated so hard on German that the Spanish wouldn't come to me any more. I could answer more easily in German!

We arrived home at 9:00. I put a load of laundry in the machine, and then we had a dinner consisting of soup and rolls.

Wednesday, October 5, 1988

We caught the bus to Thun this morning and visited the Wednesday street market while awaiting the 11:42 train to Goppenstein. Another marvel of Swiss engineering awaited us on this train when it sped for 16 minutes through what seemed like an endless 9 mile tunnel hollowed out of a granite mountain. At Goppenstein, the transfer point for the train to Hohtenn, we had an English conversation with a young Swiss woman who, with her son and 2 friends planned to take the same walk that we did. She informed us that married women in Switzerland do not work outside of the home until the children are grown; then they sometimes take a part time job, but almost never a full time one. The conversation proceeded to other subjects, and Len commented on the number of fighter plane flights taking place in such a small country. He wondered how these flights were possible without violating the airspace of other nations. The answer was that Switzerland has an agreement with Italy allowing Swiss planes to train over Sardinia.

With their permission, we started out following this group when we exited at Hohtenn, but their pace far exceeded ours, and they called back to ask if we minded if they went on ahead. We thanked them for leading us this far, wished them a good hike, and continued at our own pace. The area near Hohtenn was rather dry and reminded us a bit of the California hills in summer, but we were able to look over the edge of a precipice to a quite different sight below. There, in the Rhone Valley, sat little villages, their homes clustered close together, while around them, on the outskirts, farmhouses sat in the manicured green fields. Beyond, various shades of green divided the cropland into geometric shapes. These ran to the start of the woodlands that sheltered the valley as the hills rose sharply on the other side. From where we stood, a train speeding busily on its way through the valley looked like a tiny model train running through a model village. Everything was there: a church steeple dominated the surrounding homes; an airfield and a factory sat beside the banks of the Rhone; and a slender row of cypress trees lined the straight ribbon of highway that ran to an unknown destination. A table and bench had been placed on our trail at an opportune spot for enjoyment of the view below (if one did not mind heights), and Len practically dangled his feet over the ledge while blissfully enjoying his lunch and the view. I stayed prudently back and hoped my camera would capture the memory for me.

Our trail continued through an arid area where shrubs and trees were sparse, and it closely paralleled a high speed railway line. Every once in a while a train would come whizzing by and either disappear into a tunnel or head straight across a towering bridge, intent on upholding its Swiss tradition of being unfailingly on time. At one point, a helicopter moved slowly overhead trailing something in a sling. Most of the time, however, the only sound to disturb the quiet air was the sound of one of the many loose stones as one of our footsteps sent it tumbling to the valley below.

We had passed no habitation and were quite surprised to come upon a little refreshment shack sitting at one turn in the trail, and we stopped gratefully for a cold drink before returning to the path. After walking through several hiking tunnels hewn in the granite mountain walls, we came upon a railroad bridge whose huge arches spanned the gorge below. To my dismay, the wanderweg led up, high up a ladder and on to the train bridge. Having come too far not to continue, I glued my eyes on the solid back of Len and followed him.

We crossed the bridge, and at the other side came upon a rushing torrential stream that coursed down its rocky bed toward the valley below. The scenery changed dramatically to that of a forest of birch, firs and pines so thick that it made us ever more conscious of the waning daylight, and we tried in vain to quicken our steps. The path was very rocky, and its jagged edges offered precarious footholds. Water seeping through the earth made the rocks slippery. We saw no signs of habitation at all until, as a wanderweg sign informed us we were nearing Ausserberg, we passed one old wooden farmhouse. A farmer sat peacefully outside enjoying the dusk and the scenery below. His sheep grazed on the hillsides where the forest gave way to steep meadowland.

We walked past alongside narrow watercourses surviving from medieval times that still provide irrigation for the hilly farmlands. We came to a trough where black faced sheep were having their evening meal, undisturbed by our close passing.

The sky was dark and the rain began to fall as the trail led us to a group of very old weathered, slate roofed wooden farm buildings. A stick, propped up against the end of a barn wall extended across the path and blocked our way though a trail marker showed the trail continuing beyond. When I bent down to duck under the barrier, I brushed against it and inadvertently knocked it down. The farmer came rushing toward me, spewing a torrent of German, and I contritely replied in English, "I'm sorry; I don't understand." With that, he stopped and then answered in English, "I'm sorry," and he lifted the stick out of the way so that we could go through.

The trail began to climb and water was rushing over its rocky surface when we finally came to the streets of Ausserberg after having come 8 miles in 4 hours. The rain was falling hard, and it had penetrated my raincoat and was soaking my clothes. We followed the main street to the Banhoff Hotel Restaurant where we warmed ourselves with a big bowl of delicious minestrone soup. Len finished off an omelet, and I, a plate sized pancake, before we walked to the train station and caught the last train for home.

Thursday, October 6, 1988

Rain was threatening this morning when we boarded the bus that would take us to the market at Schwartzenegg. So many Swiss were headed to the market that an extra bus had to be put on behind ours to handle the overflow.

The ride through the verdant Ementhal Valley was breathtakingly beautiful, and we kept finding new sights to point out to each other. The homes, most of which had attached barns, sat, widely separated by large, emerald green meadows. Brown and white cows grazed in the fields. Color was everywhere. Flowers bloomed in boxes at every window, including the barn window, in almost every house.

The streets of Schwartzenegg were filled with market goers. One could hardly get to the wooden booths lining both sides of the narrow roads. Everything was for sale from farm hardware, cowbells, hand knitted clothing, manufactured jeans and sweaters, hand painted woodenware, puppies and chickens, toys (many from Hong Kong and Taiwan), candy, home made bakery goods, ice cream, cheese, wurst sandwiches, soups, and homemade jams and jellies. Toys were the big sellers to the many parents there with their children, and a carnival with merry-go-round and bumper cars attracted children and adults alike. We were astounded at the price of the cowbells for every cow has one. They averaged about $100.00 apiece, and some sold for as high as $200.00 or even $300.00!

After visiting all of the booths, we went to a restaurant in town for lunch. Temporary tables had been set up outside to accommodate the crowd, but we went inside and, after waiting awhile, found two empty seats at a table. The waitress was unable to translate the menu for us, but she recommended a dish that was a specialty of the area. We sat there in astonishment as she brought us each a huge plate piled high with sauerkraut, boiled potatoes, stringbeans, ham, thick strips of bacon and 2 pieces of sausage! The vegetables were wonderful. I couldn't begin to eat all the meat, but Len took care of it for me.

After lunch we walked through the village. Every home was literally dripping with flowers. The gardens were blanketed with multicolored dahlias, impatiens, marguerites, and, of course, geraniums. Window boxes with profusely blooming orange geraniums billowing over their sides testified to the love the Swiss have for their flowers. Farmhouses were tucked into hillsides, and each rounded hilltop gave way to another rounded patch of vivid green as it gradually led the eye to the mountain tops. The gray skies parted slightly to let a few rays of sunshine through to brighten patches of pasture. Forests behind the meadows beckoned us to explore further, but our bus was ready to leave, and we had to return and board it.

The ride to Thun was speedy, and we felt right at home as we got off the bus and headed for Migros, the grocery store in the shopping center. We purchased our groceries and then headed to our favorite bakery as our bread was running out. Then it was off to a Swiss handiwork shop to admire the workmanship and gape at the prices.

We decided to walk home from Thun, and we nodded greetings to others out for their evening constitutional. Many people were walking their dogs, and it occurred to us that we had not heard one dog bark the whole time that we had been in Switzerland. The dogs are so well behaved that people even take them into restaurants with them, and the dogs sit quietly under the tables while their masters dine.

The steep hill to our apartment was harder than usual because of our full packs, and we were glad to settle for an easy dinner of soup, bread, and cheese and an early bedtime.

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