24/09/25 Into The Clouds

Switzerland had lots of big mountains and I wanted to see some of them. Roger was right there with me, battling his natural aversion to heights and placing his faith in Swiss engineering when it came to gondolas and cog railways.

Off we went on the train to Grindelwald, after making the most of the Happy Hostel's 8 franc breakfast. We wound uphill past tumbling rivers and steep hillsides, and mountains soon made an appearance.

Grindelwald played its part as a Swiss village perfectly, surrounded by mountains and crawling with tourists, with window boxes spilling geraniums over brown timber Swiss houses and cloudy mountains so perfect that they could have been a painted backdrop. 

We walked up to the cable car and hopped on a gondola to First, a name which proved that the Swiss can be as unimaginative as the rest of the world when it comes to naming things.

Let's go!

The gondola rose past sweet little mountain cottages and fat cattle grazing in bright green fields. The cattle all had cowbells and the cowbell soundtrack was audible even in our gondola. Roger resolutely faced the hillside as we rose higher, pretending that the ground was rising with him.

Then  Switzerland decided to mess with us and turned on the cloud machine, and that was the end of our views.

Into the void.

Up at the top I went on the cliff walk, which would have been delightfully terrifying if I could have seen how far up I was. With all the clouds it was just thrilling and cold and only terrifying if you used your imagination.  Roger's imagination was already in overdrive so he decided to stick to terra firma and left me to my own devices.

"This is as far as I go. I'll see you on the other side."

I had fun. Wind whistled up from an unseen valley and an invisible waterfall crashed into the abyss under a slippery suspension bridge.

At the end of the suspension bridge I climbed some steps to a grand lookout with information boards telling me all about the fantabulous view I couldn't see.  No matter, I did photo favours with a lovely Japanese couple and we all acted as if we could see fantastic things.

Whee!

There was a restaurant at the lookout, but Swiss prices with tourist upgrades were enough to cause apoplexy. We dined outdoors instead, scoffing slightly squashed chocolate and cheese pretzels that had survived the trip up the mountain in our backpacks.  Then, deciding to swap one set of clouds for another, we caught the gondola back down to Grindelwald to catch another gondola up to Mannlichen, with stunning views in the valley as we dropped briefly below the clouds. 

A disembodied voice in the gondola assured me that the north face of Eiger was out there on my left but nope, just clouds. Mannlichen was pretty much deserted with not a skerrick of the hustle and bustle over at First. We found a picnic room complete with table and chairs, and ate more chocolate while regretting not bringing our flasks with hot coffee.

A picnic room is a truely delightful invention for climates such as Switzerland's. 

The Mannlichen lookout was, I'm sure, blessed with beautiful views. 

Now that would be a downhill ride worth doing.  If you could see where you were going, that is.

Mannlichen outlook.

Small spatters of snow fell as we made our way across to the last gondola which took us down the other side of the mountain to Wengen, a breathtaking descent even with poor visibility.

Down.

Wengen was below the cloud ceiling: cliffs towered over fat Swiss cattle grazing with a backdrop of picturesque Swiss houses. I watched the gondola disappear back up into the clouds. Wengan was a ski town without the usual accoutrements of ski towns, like ski runs. This problem was neatly solved by sending all the skiers up the gondola where they could spend their day skiing on the Mannlichen side and then gondola back to spend their money in Wengen at night.  

Not that the cows cared.

Wengen from the gondola, incoming.

All gondola'd out for the day, we caught a final train back down another narrow valley, along a railway tucked between tall cliffs and a rushing stream of milky water hurrying to be somewhere else. 

Rain still fell in Interlaken. The Happy Hostel smelled of garlic and beer in the public rooms, and rice and coffee in the back kitchen where us hostel guests gathered to peruse the kettles and use the grown up cups. An American lady loudly enthused over the concept of using a kettle to boil water for tea. We swapped gondola/train stories with other travellers over a cup of tea (boiled in a kettle no less) and went to bed.