January 2013

[Sweder]

My Swiss adventure is over, but what a time we had.
First up it was a pleasure to spend time in the company of Le Grande Fromage. The man is in his element, surrounded by efficiency and tranquility with a backdrop that Peter Jackson would relish. He's in good form as he wrestles with the challenges of what to do next in terms of physical and literary challenges.

The perfect host, EG worked out a plan to tour the region on consecutive days, filled with wondrous vistas, convivial eateries and the occasional bar. We shredded those plans on the first night, sitting up until 5 am chomping on cheese and supping fine wine whilst a succession of vintage 'Big Match' football programmes played out on the telly. One, a dramatic victory for West Brom over Man United from the late '70's, invoked a debate so passionate it saw us standing, raging at each other, fingers pointing at the screen, eyes bulging. I had seen a heinous crime committed, a tackle that would in today's non-contact game have seen an instant red card. EG saw no such thing. We both wailed and howled, each seeing what he wanted to see. No amount of slow-mo replays could convince either that he was mistaken. It was a wonderful occasion, one I shall cherish. Sport is about passion and conviction. We were both passionate, and almost certainly should both have been convicted. The truly great thing about this is that friends can vehemently disagree on something in this way without any detrimental effect on the weekend.

When we crawled from the wreckage late next morning, EG served up his home-made Bircher Muesli with juice and coffee on the side. Miraculous stuff, really tasty, it restored me to rude health and I was ready to attack the day. We set off down the hillside to catch the boat to Rapperswil. The shiny, smooth-sliding Lake-beast cruises around the hamlets and towns up and down the great body of the Zürisee, picking up and dropping off passengers along the way. We took coffee in the onboard restaurant, discussing the day ahead. Despite gloomy weather - persistent mizzle, low cloud and general greyness - Rapperswil thrilled me. The ancient castle towering above the town, quirky follies, an impressive moss-stained maw yawning out of the castle rock, a plethora of comely dwellings and inviting bars laced together by winding, climbing cobbled streets. The views of the distant cloud-capped mountains took my breath away. We took the train up to Einsiedeln, home to an imposing monestary and one of the finest pizzerias you'll find anywhere. We sloshed and slipped along dimly lit, snowy streets, snapping shots of the monastery against the fading daylight. On arrival back in Horgen we popped into the stationside bar to enjoy a tall glass of Schneider Weiss, a most agreeable German Weissbier, watching the locals gather before they hopped the train into Zurich.

The next day, following considerably more sleep, I awoke determined to go for a run. EG pointed me in the direction of the local forest, assuring me, should I get lost, that so long as I was going downhill I'd be headed for the lake. I could work it out from there. I wanted to run for about an hour, tops. My left heel still ached from the unfortunate encounter with my Mizuno Ascends (never again), the blister now gone but a small hole and bruised flesh remains. I set off under crisp, clear skies, trusty, battered old Wave Harriers on my feet. A smattering of overnight snow lay round about, crunching nicely under foot. Soon enough I bade farewell to the pavement, diving left in amongst the tall pines. Winding trails took me deep into the heart of the forest. A babbling brook meandered through the centre, pine straw path running alongside, occasionally criss-crossing, the water. The sun peeped through the leafy canopy at the far end, casting mystical shadows across the trail, picking out out the iridescent green of the moss-covered boughs. It felt like another world. On, on I ran, up slopes of slippery shale, down steep, muddy steps until I came to a clearing where a large pool formed at the base of a rocky escarpment. A waterfall cascaded into the pool, crystal-clear water running back towards me. The submerged stone shone smooth, polished by the stream to a marble-like lustre.

Alongside the pool stood a stairway to heaven. At least, it seemed to climb that high. It was just wide enough for people to pass, made of stainless steel coated in ice. I ran up as best I could, sliding a gloved hand along the rail. Below me the sound of cascading water reminded me of the drop should I slip. At the summit the metal grid continued around the rock, carrying me ever on into dense woodland and an ever-narrowing, steepening gorge. I scampered down a steep slope to sling-shot up the other side, only to realise halfway up I'd climbed the wrong side of the valley. The lake was now behind and to my left, down, across and up a steep wall of mud and rock. Ah well. I carried on, breaking clear at the top into snow-flecked farmland. I jogged around a few outbuildings, noting the great walls of chopped wood piled up to the eaves, sucking in the unmistakable smells of wet, incontinent farm animals. With no obvious path back to Horgen I had to about-face. Ten minutes later I stood atop the opposite side of the valley, gulping cool Swiss air as I drank in the view. Below me the hillside dropped away towards the lake. The opposite shore winked and twinkled as sunlight danced on windows and metal. Small craft slid silently across the water like ugly, flat-headed birds.

   

I dropped down the hill, hit the road and turned west, heading back into Horgen. The climb up to EG's lair sucked the wind out of me and I was relieved to recognise his appartment block just as I started to really struggle. 57 minutes, around 4.6 miles in all. An unexpected, rather pleasant journey.

That afternoon we took off for Chur, home of a hitherto unvisited (by either of us) H R Giger bar. In truth the bar was a little disappointing, as was the QPR v Spurs game (0-0) we stopped off at McDonalds* to watch on EG's iPad. The fabulous scenery more than made up for these minor set-backs. Majestic snow-coated mountains soared above us, clouds clinging halfway up. Quite the sight, even for one who has never (and has no intention of) strapped on skis. We returned to Horgen late that evening, taking a peaceful beer aboard a parked-up bar-boat before tucking into Andy's home-made chicken curry. Right lovely it was too.

Many thanks to EG for indulging me and for playing the perfect host. I hope to return in the summer with my good lady. Rumour has it there's a rather tasty Blues festival in Rapperswil at the end of June.

*McDonalds have free wifi. We may or may not** have partaken of junk food.
**I had a Royale with Cheese