Switzerland by train and foot part 3- by Robert Fullarton, Copyright Robert Fullarton 2015

Switzerland by train and foot part 3

by Robert Fullarton

Copyright Robert Fullarton 2015

Swiss food differs from region to region, with a culinary tradition that combines French, German and Italian cooking together. Famous dishes such as fondue and raclette-which are more common in the Francophile regions of Switzerland, along with the dishes such as Rosti and Spatzli in the German speaking Switzerland -all these dishes are hearty, wholesome and can be filled with several types of Swiss cheese! Potatoes are common on most menus along with a  hot filling bowl of goulash soup. I myself have to say that I really enjoyed the rosti -each version differs with each ingredient, restaurant and region and it has become a dish synonymous with Switzerland's identity (it was apparently cooked by alpine farmers for breakfast at the start of a hard day's work).

Each morning my aunt and I would eat a fine selection of cold meats and cheeses -Emmental cheese happens to be one of the few cheeses suitable to my rather fussy palate!- with muesli and breakfast tea. I did on occasion find that the hotel had filled my sandwiches with fish paste -which was not the nicest surprise to occasion upon when out on a day's ramble- but we would fill our bags with fruit and snacks from the supermarket -on one occasion we picnicked in the green-heavenly oasis of the Lauterbrunnen valley (one of the most beautiful places I have ever laid eyes on!) by the chalets, the piles of wood that were stored for winter and the Black Redstarts that darted in and out of the crevices in the chalets beside the milky white Luetschine river.

The hotel offered up local specialities, such as -the locally caught- trout covered in almonds or the tender veal served up with potatoes in a red wine sauce. My aunt and I smuggled in a kettle to drink cups of tea, while we played cards, indulged in the local chocolates and enjoyed the view of the mountains from the balcony. I wrote over several evenings in the opulence of the Victorian hotel and ate a selection of German salamis and cold meats -trying to cope with bad sunburn on my scalp and forehead- pondering on bigger issues and problems that I would have to face when I went home again.

My aunt and I boarded the cable car to the Mannlichen peak on the heights above the village of Wengen -it is impressively positioned at over 7,000 ft above sea level- where we gazed down on the elevations of  beauty, the village and its wooden constructs, the snow blasted towers of the Alps that formed an arc past the village of Wengen both behind us and towards the distant village of Murren. These heights are home to Marmots, Ibex and Chamois just to name a few of the mammals in the region. The heights are alive with the sound of chirping birds, with snow finches coming and going and Alpine Choughs begging for food off recreational walkers -I myself fed a Chough, that landed right beside me, a bit of a cracker!

The air is cold, but fresh and oxygen levels are lower than down further. A grand milieu of walkers, dedicated hikers came and assembled on the rocky summits that went on one side to Grindelwald and on the other to the station at Kleine Scheidegg. Up on these heights- which had just been opened to the public, meteorological stations cover the region and stations for winter skiers can be found. Both me and my aunt wanted a leisurely walk and nothing too strenuous, so we decided to take the 1 1/2 hour walk to Kleine Scheidegg -which in reality took a lot longer than the supposed time suspected, due to minor avalanches that had occurred before hand and had blocked the path with mounds of snow. My aunt slipped and had to be helped on the walk, on one particular stretch of the path, we found ourselves struggling to maneuver around and over the snow and spotted school children taking careful measures to get through.

We met a man of 80, a veteran hiker who came from Colorado who with his wife had been to Switzerland on numerous occasions and was on a day out to survey and inspect the Alpine flowers that grew out of the rocks on the slopes of the mountains. Naturally enough he was tired and less able than many of the other climbers, but he was a redoubtable man who keep going despite having had knee surgery a couple of years before the holiday. We picnicked with him and his wife on the journey and we kept bumping into each other at every mound of snow that held us up and created a queue of cautious walkers. At the end of the walk we came to Kleine Scheidegg, where you can survey the heights of the Eiger and the Jungfrau- and where (if you have the considerable amount of cash!) you can board a train to the Jungfraujoch, the highest train station in Europe.

On that night I remember that there was a yodelling concert on in the town hall in Wengen, with the full kitsch, the Alpenhorns, cow bells and beer all ready for the tourists. Unfortunately, due to complications in the hotel kitchen with our dinners, we were left waiting quite some time for our food, and by the time we were finished, we found ourselves to be considerably late and ill prepared for the occasion. We decided to walk around the peripheries of the town, sat outside a lovely little country church where we looked in awe at the candle like twinkling of the lights in Lauterbrunnen bellow us and the clear starry sky that was in full view above us. The only sounds to be heard were from the waterfalls bellow us and the brass bands that rang out from the town hall. In the dim of the midsummer twilight, bats flew round the hillside, while scarlet streaks filled the retreating descent of the sun into the black hills beyond us. We went back to the hotel and played some cards in solace.