Tag Archives: Switzerland

SIX OF THE BEST – Historic Swiss Hotels

Biergarten. Romantik Seehotel Sonne, Kussnacht

The biergarten of Romantik Hotel Sonne, Küsnacht, by the lake near Zurich

‘Historic’ need not mean faded glory. These hotels combine spectacular locations with character, fascinating stories…and modern plumbing.  
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Filed under Switzerland

CYCLING LAKE CONSTANCE, DAY 5 – a wet finale in Konstanz

On a day like this, all colour is welcome.

On a day like this, all colour is welcome.

Sometimes it’s better not to know what’s ahead until it’s behind you. On a cycling tour we check the weather forecast several times a day of course. The past two days have been perfect, but today: “Konstanz – rain, max 10 deg, headwind strength 3.” Not ideal cycling weather.

Thanks to my correspondent Ken for reminding me of an excellent story about Lake Constance that is vaguely relevant here. It’s worth a clumsy segue to tell it… Continue reading


Filed under Cycle touring, Cycling

CYCLING LAKE CONSTANCE, DAY 2 – Stein to Uberlingen

There were so many villages I lost track. Is this Mannern or Steckborn? Maybe somebody knows.

There were so many villages I lost track. Is this Mannern or Steckborn? Maybe somebody knows.

It was the coldest May day in 30 years, some other shivering cyclist told us. I doubt it got further than 8 degrees, with a vicious wind chill factor.

We were very lucky, however. The icy wind was at our backs for most of the 50 or so kilometres we rode and the rain didn’t set in till we could watch it sweeping across the lake from our hotel window.

It was a day for riding on the Swiss side of Lake Constance, between fields and farms, rolling on the cycleway beside the railway line (putting the bikes on the train was always an option if things turned nasty), and passing through half-timbered villages. Continue reading


Filed under Cycle touring, Cycling

TOUR DE MONT BLANC – the Swiss section

Col d'Emaney We turned back here - icy snow, steep drops, weather closing in

We’re in a bit of trouble on our hike, high on Switzerland’s Col d’Emaney. It’s blowing a gale and there’s frozen snow on a treacherously steep slope. My Dutch companions are carrying ice axes, but I’m not roping myself to anyone who learned their mountaineering below sea level in Amsterdam.

My own mountaineering skills are non-existent, and a ledge above a 500metre drop is not a good place for my first lesson. To my relief, we decide to turn back. It takes us two cold wet hours to slog down through mist and snow to the Auberge de Salanfe.

Now what? This is just the second day of a planned eight-day trek. The idea was to cross two high cols, then connect up with the classic Tour de Mont Blanc route and follow it through to Italy. But we’ve come in June, too early in the season, and the bad weather and snow are still around. Are we stuck?

Not yet. In Switzerland everything is brilliantly organised for walkers who strike problems in the Alps. The Swiss understand mountains of course; the only flat bits of this country are lakes.

We drink chocolat chaud in the auberge while the manager of the establishment rings a friend who has a van. He’ll meet us in the village, an hour’s walk down the mountain, and drive us to the station at Les Marecottes.

The plan goes like Swiss clockwork. At 16.18 precisely we board the little red Mont Blanc Express, and take a short but spectacular train ride towards Chamonix, along rails clinging to the cliffs above a deep ravine. Our carriage has windows in the roof so we can admire the mighty peaks and waterfalls above us.

We disembark at Finhaut and walk again, this time below the snowline, three horizontal kilometres and three quarters of a vertical one, and still arrive at Restaurant du Barrage d’Emosson in time for a beer by the lake, dinner and an early night. Great!

Next morning the weather has really closed in and our second high col is also likely to be impassable. No problem; there’s always a Plan B in Switzerland. We descend to a road and cross the French border. Nobody checks our passports, but there’s a shop selling essential hiking equipment – Toblerone chocolate and Swiss army knives. And cuckoo clocks, in case anyone needs a wake-up call tomorrow.
Once in France we down a café au lait in Argentieres, then climb up to a small yellow sign on a post – ‘TMB’. We’ve made it to the Tour de Mont Blanc. Italy, here we come!

The full circuit of Europe’s highest range is some 170km long and takes about 60 hours of walking. Most people do it in 8-12 days. It passes through the French and Italian Alps, but we’re doing the stretch across the Valais region of Switzerland, then looping back to Ozieres.

It’s staggeringly beautiful terrain – or is that my pack making me stagger? We plough knee-deep through fields of wildflowers. We wind through dark pine forests beside gushing streams. We clamber up rocky trails and emerge on ridges over 2000metres high, surrounded by snow-capped peaks.

From time to time we drop down and enter villages, each with a picturesque little chapel, old chalets with firewood stacked high outside them and meticulously tended gardens. We fill our water bottles at the icy springs that pour into log troughs.

On the high slopes, some small farms have set up tables and chairs, and Monsieur et Madame offer café et gateaux to a steady stream of passing walkers. The Tour de Mont Blanc is popular.

We meet an English high school group, a party of Aussies with a guide, and an American fitness freak jogging through the snow in his sneakers. ‘I’m gonna run (puff!) the whole route in (puff!) three days (puff!) Travel light. Just carryin’ a credit card (puff!) Have a good one, buddy!’ At lunchtime we find he’s stopped to tell the same story to everyone in our party – he’ll need a fourth day to do his bragging.

The track is generally well made and the TMB isn’t a danger to life, though occasionally to limb. Anyone in reasonable shape can manage the walk, but there are some steep rocky sections and we climb and/or descend 1000-1500m most days. Think of a two kilometre-long staircase and you get the idea.

Tent camping along the way is possible, though we opt to stay in the numerous small hotels and auberges, usually taking demi-pension, which includes a basic but hearty breakfast and dinner. Booking is necessary in the summer (July-October) and some places may be closed at other times.

We usually sleep in the communal dormitories, which we find comfortable enough for people as tired as we are. Our budget for the lot, including too much beer and local Fendant (white) and Dole (red) wine is 100 francs a day.

Fortunately the weather clears as our week goes on and by the time we reach the highest cols we have brilliant sunshine. The masochists among us (self not included) sometimes take ‘variants’, crossing alpine routes to make the trip more challenging. They’re heroes when they arrive alive and even the professional guides of other groups consult them about snow conditions up top.

Near the Col de Ferret

But we’re all tough guys after a few days in our boots, so we scorn the cable car that takes wimps up the Col de Balme. Instead we walk up the track in record time, only to be confronted by a pack of daredevil mountain bikers racing down in helmets and full body armour.

My mates get to laugh at me once more, when they find me hiding in the bushes while two young bulls block the bridge I need to cross. Okay, maybe they were cows. I only checked the horns and they looked like the fighting sort.

From the terrace of our hotel in La Fouly we watch the sun set behind the glaciers. Then next morning we leave our heavy gear behind and take a day walk up to the magnificent Grand Col de Ferret, 2500 metres high. The sun has softened the snow, so there are none of the ice problems we met earlier in the week.

Two steps across the col, my mobile rings. It’s the phone company, welcoming me to Italy and reminding me of their cheap rates. I take up the offer and call Sydney to tell my wife I’m in a very beautiful and very wild place, but not to worry – civilisation isn’t far away.

Another day over! (almost)


Getting there: Train from Geneva to Orsieres costs about EUR35 one way.
Those planning to walk the full Tour de Mont Blanc usually take the bus or train to Chamonix. Cost one way is from EUR25.

When to go: The walking season in the Valais is generally July-October. At other times it’s wise to check whether your planned accommodation will be open and what the snow conditions will be like.

Reading: The Tour of Mont Blanc (Mountain Walking) by Kev Reynolds.
Pub. Cicerone

Free, downloadable maps and information on hiking in the Valais area, including the Tour de Mont Blanc, is on the website: http://www.valais.ch/pdf_doc/Touren_2006.pdf
This gives a number of alternative routes, with details of elevation and approximate time required to walk each leg.

Various companies offer guided and self-guided tours of Mont Blanc (none track-tested by your Sun-Herald correspondent). They include:

Equipment: The weather in the Alps can change very quickly any time of year. Good footwear and wet weather gear are essential.

First published, Sun-Herald, Sydney.


Filed under Budget travel, Hiking, Switzerland, Travel, Travel- Europe

WORTH THE RISK? – the danger of loving mountains

In my mind I can see it all happening. I wish I couldn’t. On my last trip to Switzerland, I stood on a col on the Italian border, photographing Mont Dolent above me. A week later a Dutch mother watched as her husband, son and two daughters, roped together, fell to their deaths off that mountain.

The father, a doctor from the Netherlands, was an experienced alpinist and his children were 23, 20 and 16. The weather was fine, the route they took is not regarded as difficult and the fact that they were roped suggests they were taking care. I don’t know what went wrong, but I’m shocked and saddened rather than surprised. Dozens of people die on the Mont Blanc Range every year.

I wrote about walking the Tour de Mont Blanc in Sydney’s Sun-Herald newspaper. With some bravado, I noted that the route was sometimes a danger to limb, but not to life. This is true. The main track is well trodden and safe in good weather. But there are numerous side routes like the one taken by the Dutch family, leading to mountain peaks, and it’s tempting to try them. I understand the feeling – everyone does that main track; let’s do something a bit more challenging. We’ll get a great sense of achievement and the view from the top will be awesome.

The mountains are dangerous, even for those of us who are not adrenalin junkies. I deplore idiot base-jumpers and solo climbers who are a menace not only to themselves, but also to rescuers. However, most victims of the alps would not regard themselves as daredevils. Most casualties are walkers and skiers, because those are by far the most popular activities there.

The friends I walk with are experienced in the mountains. We choose routes we think are within our capabilities, take the advice of locals, carry good equipment and are prepared to turn back if faced with a dangerous situation. Even so, it is hard to judge from a map or a guidebook what we will be safe for us. Routes that are easily traversed in good weather suddenly become life threatening in the rain. In a week of what should be routine alpine walking, we regularly have at least one moment that could be somebody’s last. Others may find this exhilarating; I hate such incidents, and they crop up very quickly and unexpectedly.

Climbing the Grand Col de Ferret in June was quite demanding enough for our group, meaning that it was a slog through soft snow, but it was perfectly safe. Then two of my companions decided to take a side path along the snow-strewn track to the Petit Col, the point from which the Dutch walkers started their fatal climb. I declined to go with them, though I felt rather timid for doing so.

Track to Petit Col de Ferret. Mont Dolent behind.

I didn’t like the look of a small patch of snow, maybe twenty metres wide, above a steep slope. I’m not at all confident on such terrain. Anyone who slipped there would end up in the valley half a kilometre below. I tend to think in worst-case scenarios. To their credit, my companions never pressure me to do anything I feel uncomfortable about, so I stayed behind.

Fortunately my friends made the crossing safely and returned whooping with enthusiasm. I was very relieved to see them again and regretted that I hadn’t had the nerve to go too. ‘The slope wasn’t as steep as you think, Richard,’ they said. ‘You just watch your feet and don’t look down. Great view from the other side.’ For confident walkers like them, probably there was minimal danger. I know that my fear makes a slip more likely.

But why not walk along the valley? We’d still see the mountains, and they’re nearly as impressive viewed from below. If we want a panoramic vista, there are lookouts with safety railings we could drive to in the car. Why do we take any risks at all?

First, we walk the alpine routes because we enjoy the physical activity. We love the challenge of pushing our middle-aged bodies some way towards their limits. We feel that time is running out, and that we better do some tough climbs this year because our knees may not manage them next year. If the sign says it will take three hours to reach the top, we put our heads down and try to make it in two and a half, just to prove to ourselves that we’re still clinging to better-than-average fitness.

We find remote spots more beautiful than those accessible by road or cable car. We like being alone in the world, and it is less satisfying to reach a col with a revolving restaurant and a parking area on top. Even meeting groups of other walkers takes the edge off our sense of achievement. But those less-travelled paths are less well maintained and some of the most spectacular routes have no track at all.

There are few better experiences than making a beautiful walk in the company of friends, and ending each day very tired, knowing you’ve seen sights that few others see, done something which many are not capable of doing, and that you’ve earned a drink, a good meal and a lie down.

It will be dreadfully small consolation to that poor Dutch woman that her family died ‘doing what they loved’. They were doing things that didn’t need to be done, and it has cost them their lives. But their lives were surely enriched by their love of adventures in those mountains.

Even if we could protect ourselves from all risks, life might be longer, but it would be less worth living. It’s a matter of balance.


Filed under Hiking, Travel- Europe