View from my hotel window in Mürren.
I left Mürren at around 10:00, taking the BLM train to Grütschalp, the cable car to Lauterbrunnen, and another train to Interlaken Ost. I had planned to take a Golden Pass train to Luzern, have lunch on the river, then take a train to Bern, but that seemed like a lot of extra time just for lunch, and it was already noon by the time I got to Interlaken, so I took the train straight to Bern.
But then halfway to Bern I thought, why not go to Basel? The train goes all the way to Hamburg, so I could ride into Germany, but my Swiss Rail Pass only takes me to the border. Still, I can get off, walk across the border and look around, then take the train back to Bern. I can’t check in until 3:00 anyway.
As it happens, the train station is several miles from the border, but there’s a central tram stop in front of the station with trams that go all over the city. Two of the stops had “Grenze” in the name, so I picked the one that didn’t sound French and got on that tram. I didn’t have a ticket, and I don’t think local trams are covered by Swiss Rail, but I thought I’d see what happened.
The tram actually went across the Grenze and into Germany.
I got off, then realized that it was just going to turn around and go back, so I got back on again and rode back to the train station.
No one ever asked to see my ticket, nor did I see any machine that accepted tickets. But there were machines that sold tickets next to the trams. Weird.
Then I took the train to Bern, where I have the tiniest hotel room I have ever seen. Even the Japanese business hotels were bigger than this.
The hotel itself is all faded elegance, with an ancient cage elevator.
Now I’m drinking a complimentary Schneider Weisse in the hotel restaurant and planning the next day.
Today was clear and sunny, so I took a stroll to Gimmelwald, a little over a mile away. It started pleasantly enough. I watched paragliders take off to go floating over Lauterbrunnen in the valley below.
I walked along a path with a view of Eiger and Jungfrau.
The path got kind of rocky.
Some of the bridges seemed kind of sketchy.
But eventually I saw farmland.
And I arrived in Gimmelwald.
I took the cable car back to Mürren.
It took less than five minutes.
It’s snowing. It’s been snowing all day. I went up the Schilthorn anyway, where I saw this view.
I had the misfortune of going up with a Chinese tour group. There were probably at least 30 of them, all taking selfies and generally getting in the way. I did gain a few minutes at the top. While they were all crowding onto the escalator, I found a freight elevator and went up that way. I had the place to myself for about two minutes.
The Schilthorn is famous for the Piz Gloria, which is a revolving restaurant that probably has a spectacular view when it’s not snowing. The building was also used in the 1969 James Bond film On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, which is the one with George Lazenby. They play this up for all it’s worth. There’s a James Bond Experience, a James Bond Walk of Fame, and numerous Bond/Schilthorn souvenirs.
All of which went pretty quickly, and I went back down before the Chinese tourists did. At the Birg stop, part way down there mountain, there’s a Thrill Walk, which was closed, and a Skyline View, which didn’t have one.
So I went back to Mürren and had lunch at the Snackbar Berry. They have good Apfelstrudel and play Tom and Jerry cartoons in German.
I awoke to clouds. Not a good sign. I took a shower and got dressed. Still cloudy. I checked the weather report. Supposedly it was sunny and would be all morning. Hmm.
I got a croissant and some “expresso” (as the menu said) and walked over to the tourist information office, but it was Sunday and they were closed.
Well, okay. My original plan was to go to the top of Aiguille du Midi, then descend to Plan de l’Aiguille and hike to the Mer de Glace glacier, spend some time there and take the train down. Then I decided I didn’t want to do a 2.5-hour hike in my Nike Frees, so I would do the mountain and the glacier separately with a multipass. If the mountain was clouded over, I would just do the glacier.
I walked to the cable car station to find out if it was going to clear up and decide which ticket to buy. I asked the lady at the ticket counter if it was going to clear up. This was obviously a very stupid question as it was clearly sunny right now, as anyone could see by looking at the webcam. Oh. So I asked for a multipass so I could take the train to the glacier. But the glacier is closed, she said. It’s closed? Stupid question #2. It’s closed for the season, as everyone knows. Thus my options all converged on a single point, and I bought a ticket to the summit of Aiguille du Midi.
Which was spectacular. I didn’t see anyone doing ballet on the side of the mountain, but the view was amazing. 12,600 feet is the highest I’ve been on the ground. The best part of Aiguille du Midi is that you actually take an elevator to the summit. I think that mountains like Everest and Kilimanjaro would be much improved by such an approach.
There were views.
And more views.
And a clear platform that was smaller than I thought it would be.
The view from the restroom was just as good, and I could stand in front of the heater.
I met a Filipino couple and we exchanged picture-taking services. (That’s Mont Blanc behind me.)
The last platform I visited was up a long flight of stairs. I took the stairs two at a time, like I usually do. This was a bad idea at 12,000 feet. I had to stop about two-thirds of the way up and gasp for a while. When I got to the top, there was…a display on hypoxia. Clearly someone’s idea of a joke.
While I was recovering, I read about what happens to your body at high altitudes. There was a little gizmo that you could stick your finger in to determine your heart rate and blood oxygen level. I had a little smiley face next to mine, so all was well.
On the way down in the cable car, the people next to me pointed out a donkey on the side of the mountain below. I wasn’t fast enough to get a photo, but I’m sure it was Al.
For the rest of the day I just walked around Chamonix talking pictures, buying shirts (nice ones), eating, etc. Dinner was tapas and Irish coffee at a British restaurant and bar overlooking the river Arve.
Tomorrow: Geneva and beyond.
We departed Seborga at about 8:00 AM and I dropped off Lobo and Alcalde at the Terminal 1 Kiss & Fly of the Nice airport. There was no kissing, but they were able to fly anyway. Apparently the airport is flexible about these matters.
It took me awhile to get back on the A8, due to the strange and occasionally impossible guidance of the car’s navigational system. I was halfway up the mountain behind Nice before I finally got suspicious. I eventually made it out of the city through the selective veto process that had worked fairly well with Lobo’s GPS.
I managed to find my way back to the Starbucks in Monaco and got a Ristretto Bianco and wrote a post card to my mom. It already had Seborga and Italy stamps on it, but now I was in Monaco, so if I wanted to mail it, I needed a Monaco stamp. I started wandering around Fontvieille (in the opposite direction than we had gone before) and came across the Monaco stamp museum, which sold me a stamp and mailed the card for me.
I walked around a little, then took off for Chamonix.
I stopped for gas just outside of Monaco — €77.76 to fill the tank! Pulling out of the gas station, I nearly t-boned a Rolls-Royce. I wonder how understanding they’d be getting hit by an American in a rental car with Swiss plates. Probably not very.
But I made it back to the Grand Corniche and the nav system guided me through Italy for 4+ hours without incident, except for occasionally beeping to tell me that I needed a break. Like I’m going to take orders from a car. I did take one break to get a doppio macchiato and use the restroom at an Italian rest stop, but otherwise I ignored the break notices. Stupid car.
- Final toll for crossing Italy: €50.10
- Toll for driving through the 11.6km Tunnel du Mont-Blanc: €44.20.
The nav system became hopelessly confused once I got into Chamonix, and Google Maps wasn’t any better. The car has a British accent and Google Maps has an American accent, but neither one can pronounce French, and some of the streets they guided me to do not seem to exist. I finally gave up and parked, then walked around looking for the hotel. It took me about two minutes to find it that way.
Hôtel Le Chamonix is across from this church.
The hotel is a creaky old wooden building that has just what I need and nothing more. My room is on the second (i.e., third) floor, but to go up the stairs I have to step over this dog.
I spent a couple hours wandering around the village (which is bigger than I was expecting), had pizza provençale sans anchois for dinner, located the t-shirt place recommended by Lobo, and returned to encapsulate the day in this blog post.