by Diccon Bewes
If you have indulged in a little too much chocolate mousse cake, you could always work it off by running up a mountain. No really, some people do exactly that, though possibly not straight after a visit to the café. Thousands have completed the Jungfrau Marathon, which is the normal 26-mile race except that it has a height increase of over 1600 metres. Quite a challenge, but one which around 4000 people take up annually, with the winner in 2011 managing it in three hours.25 Impressive stuff, but better to let the trains take the strain.
UP ON THE ROOF OF EUROPE
The first carries me away from the plain where Interlaken sits, and along the floor of the deep, U-shaped valley that slices right through the heart of the mountains. Being in this glacial valley is like seeing a physical geography textbook brought to life: sheer cliffs 1000 metres high, the wide, flat valley bottom, bridal-veil waterfalls, the river far too small to have carved such an grandiose sight. This is the Lauterbrunnen Valley, one of the most dramatic in Switzerland, but not a place I’d like to live. It spends too much time in the shade and fog, especially in winter when the sun struggles to reach the valley floor. Far better to be up on one of the suntrap cliff tops, which is where the next train goes.
With the BOB and the WAB trains26 (Swiss rail companies really do love their initials) on adjacent platforms, changing is a more comfortable experience than in Interlaken. The same can’t be said about the seats. Still, with such great scenery to look at, you soon forget your numb bum and cramped feet. It’s surprising how quickly the valley floor is left behind, so that the farmhouses and cars all look like tiny Matchbox models. Just before reaching the cliff top (and, as a result, car-free) Wengen, there’s the best view of the whole valley framed by towering mountains on both sides. A few metres before this panorama appears from behind the trees, beside the track there’s a little sign with a picture of a camera, all so you don’t miss the photo opportunity. So thoughtful. It is but the first of many great views, so that by the time you reach the halfway point of Kleine Scheidegg, you might need to insert a second memory card.
If you thought that being up a mountain was going to be a solitary, peaceful affair, you were wrong. Kleine Scheidegg is like Piccadilly Circus. It’s where tourists must change trains for the final leg up to the top, and where the Swiss walkers get the train back down, but it’s also a popular destination in its own right. And all because it sits beneath the North Face of the Eiger. Having a plate of Älplermakkaroni while staring up at that forbiddingly steep and dark wall of rock is a lunchtime experience like no other. The Swiss German for the North Face is Nordwand, or sometimes Mordwand, a rather morbid reference to how many climbers’ lives it has claimed (Mord means murder in German). And people say the Swiss have no sense of humour. The first successful ascent was in 1938 by a team including Heinrich Harrer, who went on to find fame by being played by Brad Pitt in Seven Years in Tibet. These days the quest is not to conquer the North Face (been there, done that) but to break the speed record for an ascent. The Jungfrau Marathon, which has its finish line at Kleine Scheidegg, might sound odd, but it’s even weirder to want to race up the Face. The current record holder without using ropes is Ueli Steck, from Langnau im Emmental, who sprinted up in 2 hours, 47 minutes and 33 seconds;27 eating holey cheese obviously worked for him.
The Eiger is the first and most famous of a mountainous trio; its neighbour is Mönch, and then comes the tallest of the three, Jungfrau. Together they dominate the Bernese Oberland skyline, clearly visible even from Bern city centre. In English – Ogre, Monk and Virgin – they seem much less imposing or challenging; maybe that’s why we tend not to translate mountain names. Mont Blanc sounds far better than White Mountain. Sitting in the dip between Mönch and Jungfrau is my destination, Jungfraujoch, and getting there means taking a third train up inside the Eiger. Other than a lot of rock there’s not much to see during the 50-minute ride, though two short stops let you go and peer out through giant windows cut into the North Face. It’s the feat of engineering rather than the scenery that is the attraction, but all that changes when you reach Jungfraujoch. The air is thin, the sun is blinding and the wind can be icy, but you feel on top of the world, looking down on the Aletsch Glacier, the longest in the Alps. With all the snowy peaks and that river of ice it’s like being back in the Ice Age, though not all of Jungfraujoch’s half million annual visitors come prepared for the cold; just as well I brought a fleece and a hat, even though it’s August.
OFF THE RAILS AND ON THE ROADS
Despite all the spectacular mountain trips, the successful marketing ploys and record train usage, the Swiss also love their cars. There are four million private vehicles on Swiss roads,28 giving Switzerland more cars per head than either Britain or the US.29 The strange thing is that the roads don’t seem that crowded, at least not compared to the M25, so where are all the Swiss cars? Surely not sitting in garages? Certainly not in driveways, because few buildings have those. In summer, though, it’s easy to spot where the Swiss cars are – all queuing to get through the Gotthard Tunnel. Radio and television news have regular reports on the length of the lines heading south on Fridays and returning north on Sundays. It’s far worse at the beginning and end of the school holidays, when 20-kilometre queues and five-hour waits are not uncommon. And you thought the A303 to the West Country was bad.
Even during peak queue season there are no live traffic cams on Swiss breakfast television, mainly because there is no breakfast television. No perky double act on the sofa, no pointless outside broadcasts or endlessly repeating news stories. Instead, the Swiss get to watch the weather around the country, via a series of ever-rotating camera feeds, with music playing in the background. That might sound as exciting as watching snow melt, but it serves a useful purpose. Most of the pictures come live from mountain tops, not for the panoramic views but so that you can see where the weather is good before you set out for a day’s walking or skiing. For each weather station there’s not only the live feed but a mini local forecast for the day. So if Rigi looks dodgy, you can go up Brienzer Rothorn instead. It’s strangely compulsive viewing, not to mention eminently practical, as there’s no point in setting off in your car or train to go up a mountain, only to be swathed in cloud when you get to the top.
The pleasant thing about driving in Switzerland is that everyone seems so polite. Road rage is not a Swiss concept, mainly because rage is so very un-Swiss. In almost any situation, be that at work or in the car, most Swiss would prefer to avoid a confrontation and try not to provoke one. You rarely see drivers arguing over a parking space, shouting out the window or honking furiously; except in Ticino, but there the rules are different. Speeding is easier to witness – where there are drivers, there are speeders – but it doesn’t seem as endemic as elsewhere. That’s partly due to the Swiss being naturally careful, but more likely down to the hefty fines. It’s a novel concept, where what you pay is based on how far over the limit you were and also on how much you earn, but it seems to work because fines can run into the thousands. One man landed a 300,000Fr bill for driving his Ferrari at 50 kilometres an hour over the limit through a village in eastern Switzerland.30 Some reports suggested he was German, though that may have been a Swiss rumour designed to maintain their reputation as law-abiding citizens and the Germans as the bad guys.
In comparison, the charge for driving on Swiss motorways is a bargain. All vehicles using the motorways must display an annual pass, or vignette, costing 40Fr. It takes the form of a coloured sticker in the windscreen; so much more elegant than having ugly toll booths, which also slow down the traffic and take up too much space, all of which make booths an illogical concept for the Swiss. Of course, all the Swiss dutifully go to the post office and buy their stickers every year. It sounds very regulated because, like many aspects of Swiss life, it is, though no more so than tax discs, speed cameras and congestion charges.
Perhaps the nicest part of owning a car in Switzerland is that you own the number plate. Replace your current car with a
new one and the number plate, which is not dated, goes with you. A Swiss number plate is for life, not just for one car. Unless you move cantons, when you might have to change plates to avoid be classed as a ‘foreigner’. That’s because every number plate starts with two capital letters denoting the canton of origin. Often it’s the first two letters of the canton’s name, for instance SO plates come from Canton Solothurn, but this changes if there’s any chance of confusion. The neighbouring cantons of Valais and Vaud clearly couldn’t both be VA, so the former is VS. And the latter? Well, if you own a car in Vaud, you have VD your whole life. Then you might want to move.
To outsiders Switzerland’s transport network is one of the modern wonders of the world; to the Swiss it’s merely a means of getting from A to B. Or at least that’s how it seems; in fact the Swiss love their transport system in general, and their trains in particular. But, as with so many things, while they know that theirs is better, they are too modest to show it. The only time you really see how much it means is when something new comes along. New trams are shown off like babies by proud parents, new buses are always newsworthy, and as for new tunnels, they invariably get a party. The completion of the motorway tunnel under Zurich prompted weekend-long festivities, with thousands walking, cycling, skateboarding and jogging down underground. And the opening of the 34-kilometre Lötschberg train tunnel under the Bernese Alps was an event in itself, where bands played and tickets to be the first to ride through the tunnel sold out well before the day. The tracks were even blessed (by Catholic and Protestant churchmen, just to be safe) and that was in addition to having been protected by St Barbara, the patron saint of tunnellers, who always gets a little shrine in every Swiss tunnel works. Heaven knows how big the party will be when NEAT opens.
Their railways may be superior, but the Swiss are so used to punctuality, quality and service that they take them for granted. And they are just like any other nation when it comes to train travel: they read, they listen to iPods, they doze, they chat and they text – mobile reception is good even inside the tunnels. And most of them don’t look out of the windows at the passing natural splendour. But for tourists, and still-unjaded foreigners like me, Swiss trains are more than a means to an end; they are an attraction in themselves. You don’t have to be an anorak to enjoy sleek trains that run on time; and you don’t have to be a tourist to get excited at climbing up inside the Eiger. You just have to be human.
SWISS WATCHING TIP NO 10: MOBILE ETIQUETTE
Much of Swiss life is governed by rules, both explicit and unspoken, and travelling is no exception. Here are the most golden.
Rule number one: Don’t queue if you don’t have to. For an otherwise polite society, the Swiss can’t queue, so this rule is assiduously followed by almost everyone. At bus stops, train platforms and cable-car stations it’s a free-for-all. Scrum down, elbows out and every man, woman and child for themselves. Getting off a tram can be a battle against the tide of humanity getting in, even when there’s enough time and space for all. But when places are limited, such as in cable cars, the only ones waiting in an orderly fashion are the tourists, who’ll probably end up not getting in. In such situations the best option is to indulge in the ‘Swiss sidestep’. You start at the back and edge your way round the side of the queue, sidling in slowly among the unsuspecting tourists until you’re near the front and sure of a spot. Most Swiss have this sidestep down to a fine art so that it’s used everywhere, not just when waiting for transport: at market stalls, restaurant buffets, Carnival crowds, pretty much anywhere with more than two people waiting. No wonder busy post offices, banks and railway counters have ticketed queuing systems.
Rule number two: Be seen and not heard. It’s quite possible to go a whole day without being too disturbed by public noise. Few cars have music so loud that the air around them throbs as they sit at traffic lights, ghetto blasters are rarely heard in trains, most shops are music free, and whistle-while-you-walk is seemingly not a Swiss trait. This isn’t because the Swiss are puritanical killjoys but because they respect each other’s privacy and need for peace. The main exception is mobile phones, which are a national obsession and transform a reserved Swiss person into someone who shares a conversation with everyone. Swiss trains used to have a silent carriage, where mobiles were banned, but SBB abolished them in 2nd class in December 2009. Enforcing it proved too hard for the conductors; evidently the Swiss, for once, chose to break the rules. As an example of the breakdown in public order it’s hardly a riot, though in Swiss terms it was a minor revolution.
Rule number three: Know where to park. Street parking is colour coded with lines painted around the spaces. Stick to white and you’ll be alright, though blue will sometimes do. Some streets have one parking meter, and each space is numbered with a corresponding button on the meter. It took me a while to work that one out the first time, especially as there’s no ticket to display. And if you see a space with CAR painted on it, do not park there as, despite evidence to the contrary, it is not a space for cars. Ignore the writing on the floor and look at the size of the space, which is huge because car in French, and Swiss German, means coach.
Rule number four: Learn to cross the road. In Switzerland this isn’t as fraught as in Cairo or Bangkok – your life as a pedestrian is rarely in danger – but it isn’t as simple as it looks. It’s all to do with lights. When traffic lights are present, as a pedestrian you should wait for the green man before you cross, even if there is no traffic. This is to set a good example to children as much as for safety. Even if no kids are visible, one may be watching from a nearby window and you, as the responsible adult pedestrian, have to do the right thing. There’s also the small matter of being fined 20Fr if you get caught crossing on red, though I’ve never known that happen.
If, however, there are no traffic lights, you can use a zebra crossing when you want and the cars must stop for you – pedestrians have right of way. Swiss people seem to step out into the path of oncoming cars, safe in the knowledge that the vehicles will stop; which, of course they do, not least because their drivers know they risk a 140Fr fine if they don’t. So at any junction, it’s always possible to tell which pedestrians are Swiss and which tourists: the Swiss ones dutifully wait at traffic lights beside an empty road until the red light stops the nonexistent traffic and the green man flashes up; but at lightless crossings they plunge headlong out across the road, no matter what is coming, though most wisely wait for trams to rumble past. Of course, it’s tourists who cause the system to break down. As pedestrians they do it all backwards, not waiting for the green man on empty roads but hesitating to cross busy ones; and as drivers they are faced with countless Swiss pedestrians seemingly all wanting to commit suicide under their wheels. Perhaps such confusion is down to a Swiss zebra crossing having yellow stripes, not white. It’s still called a zebra crossing (Zebrastreifen) but it must be named after very jaundiced zebras; wasp crossing would be better.
As a non-Swiss local I try to have the best of both worlds. I stride onto lightless crossings, stopping the traffic like a successful, modern-day Canute, but also wilfully ignore the red man if the road is empty. This has worked. So far, at least.
ELEVEN
SEEKING HEIDI
Driving south-westwards from Bern on the A12 motorway, one moment the exit signs are all Ausfahrt to Düdingen and St Wolfgang, then it’s Sortie to Granges-Paccot and Givisiez. It’s the same on the local trains, where the nice lady switches her announcements from Nächster Halt to Prochain arrêt without warning. The countryside outside the window still has the same, lumpy-under-the-eiderdown quality, and red-and-white Swiss flags still flutter in people’s gardens, but it feels different once you read the signs and billboards. They are proof that you have crossed a linguistic Grand Canyon, known locally as the Röstigraben, literally the ‘fried-potato trench’ (see the map of Romandie on page 184). The odd name refers to the fact that the German-speaking Swiss love their Rösti (grated fried potato eaten with anything) and the
French speakers don’t. Of course the trench is invisible, but you soon know when you’ve gone over it. And it’s one of the many things that make Switzerland what it is, perhaps one of the most important.
For many countries, particularly in Europe, language is one of the prime factors defining their national identity. Italy is Italy, and Poland Poland, primarily because all the people speak the same language (at least historically). Language also plays a big role in the Swiss national identity, but in a very different way. Instead of having one they have four, and it’s this multilingualism that makes Switzerland special. Without Ticino and Romandie the Swiss would just be a small German-speaking country. Another Austria, and there’s nothing they’d hate more than that. But equally, if they weren’t part of Switzerland, Ticino and Romandie would merely be distant, neglected provinces of a large, centralised state. Far better to be a little fish in a little pond than a speck of algae in a large lake.
This unusual situation suits everyone. Swiss Germans may complain that the work ethic is lacking in the other parts, and that its inhabitants are less focused, less organised and simply less Swiss. But they secretly envy the way the French and Italian regions enjoy life more, have a sense of humour and drink wine at lunch. The Swiss French are more pro-European and less nationalistic, as referenda results consistently show,1 and moan about Swiss German arrogance, but they have a voice in national affairs that wouldn’t be the case in France. As for the Ticinese, they may not have had a seat in the Bundesrat since 1999 but they’d rather feel ignored in Bern than ruled by Rome.