The evening before our little girls' weekend trip, we sit together with friends. Where are we going? Just for the weekend? The suggestions just bubble out of them! To the Jura, to Lake Geneva. It's supposed to hail in Interlaken and storm in the Bernese Oberland. There are storm warnings in Valais. To Bern and the Aare.
Great, Switzerland may be small, but there are a thousand ideas for a great weekend. We look at each other and quickly realise: we're not going to decide anything today. Tomorrow morning we'll check the weather app and drive after the sun. Secretly, I hope we don't have to drive all the way to southern Italy.
The morning dawns, Gerd moves out of Felix and Regi, our dear friend, moves in. A glance at the weather app is clear: if we get to the top of the Grimsel Pass by 11am, it should stay sunny. Then rain from midday. Good for an afternoon nap. And we spend the evening watching a great, but losing, football match of "our" national team anyway.
So: Grimsel Pass. It's a done deal, we set off early, past the beautiful Lake Thun and on to Lake Brienz. A mini photo stop and on to Meiringen. We stroll through the small town, filling our shopping bags with the best alpine cheese fondue, Ruchbrot and homemade yoghurt from Molki Meiningen. We stroll through wool and unpackaged shops and feel like we're on a summer holiday.
The sun is still shining, so we head past the Aare Gorge to the Grimsel Pass road.
"Oh, I've never been to the Grimsel Hospice!" she exclaims. "You can forget it, it's far too expensive and really nothing for us, plus there's no parking!" I reply. Today is probably the time to dispel any prejudices. Because today I can even steer our Felix to the car park of the Grimsel Hospice Hotel (it used to be closed) and we enjoy fruit cake and a hot Ovaltine with a spectacular view of Lake Grimsel.
Here, at the Aare glacier, is the source of our beloved Aare. Which then flows into the Rhine quite a long way down. I imagine throwing a note with a small bottle into the lake and someone in Basel, Cologne or Utrecht could then read my message. That would be fun. But then the first rain shower gets in the way and instead of sending a letter to the world, we run to Felix to avoid getting completely soaked.
Well, the Grimsel Hospiz is still luxurious, but for a cosy coffee break it really is worth a visit. Lesson learnt: prejudices are unnecessary.
A few more hairpin bends (or hairpin bends, as they say here), then the Grimsel Pass. The sun is hiding behind thick clouds. And unfortunately, everything else is also hidden in thick clouds of mist. Time for a cosy break. Cheese from the Molki, leftover vegetables and Gerd's leftover crisps (sorry, I'll buy you new ones!) make for a sumptuous lunch break.
A little later, I let the knitting needles clatter and Regi's eyes drift shut. "I'm going to take a little nap, a quarter of an hour or so." Space and time are known to stretch, the quarter of an hour turns into three hours and just in time for the clouds to disappear at 5 p.m. as promised by the weather app, we set off to explore the top of the pass.
"Yes, I've always wanted to go to Norway. It must look like this in the ice-covered fjords!" I let her believe that this is what it looks like in Norway, we both enjoy the half hour without rain and even marvel at the watershed. On the right everything flows towards the North Sea, on the left towards the Mediterranean. We briefly think about the letter again, but here too the stress of the day catches up with us: We have to repark our Felix for the evening programme: Fondue, football match (I'm surprised that I'm watching this voluntarily, but you have to make sacrifices for friendships) and an overnight stay high up on the pass.
The cheese is bubbling in the caquelon, the Swiss national team is kicking its way into our hearts and our heating is banging for the first time in months. And I, who can't really stand warm cheese, lie flat after half a portion. And enjoy the time together. I don't feel too sad about losing the game, because I think any sport where you lose is stupid anyway. I always feel sorry for the losers. Just like I used to buy the last Christmas tree that nobody else wanted. I always felt sorry for it too and then it found a home with us.
The good thing about bad weather on Swiss passes is that all the motorbike and Porsche drivers don't roar past us for hours on end. So we sleep up here in complete silence. Only now and then do we gratefully hear the gentle bubbling of our heater, because 7 degrees outside is 7 degrees outside and not exactly summery.
Merci for "travelling with us
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