Knocking off the Gemmenalphorn

It's Friday, normally a hiking day, but for various reasons our little hiking group isn't out there today, so I'm filling the space with recollections of last week's hike, a five hour trek from Beatenberg up to the Gemmenalphorn and down to Niederhorn. The Gemmenalphorn, soaring above the Thunersee at 2061m, features in my friend and hiking companion Hilary's book of Switzerland's beautiful mountains, all of which we're attempting to "knock off", in the immortal words of that other high-flying Hillary, Sir Ed.

We started at Beatenberg, and the first couple of hours were a doddle, a stroll through an alpine valley of streams and freshly cut meadows. At the head of the valley was a "Beizli" selling alp cheese, so we stopped to buy some, stepping back a few centuries into a dark cellar with wood fire burning under a huge copper cauldron of curdling milk. After this our path went up, steep and tortuous, to a flower-covered plateau, and lunch on a sun-warmed rock. Then came the assault on the Gemmenalphorn, truly a "horn", a rock needle up which we threaded, passing a family of ibex en route. Alert but calm, they sat beneath their rock staring at us sweaty, camera-waving humans. We came across several more of these majestic creatures, some perched atop rocks, others resting with their young in the shade, as we clambered from one peak to the next, until eventually the trail flattened out to another plateau leading to the Niederhorn cable car, back down to Beatenberg and a welcome beer.

Hiking the Strada Alta

Every summer, on the last weekend in July, the park in front of our house hosts the Seenachtsfest, a three day event of carnival rides, music and beer tents that bumps and grinds into the wee hours and penetrates the densest of earplugs. This year, with Gary away in Nairobi again, I planned an escape down to sunny Ticino, in the southern, Italian part of Switzerland. I'd heard about the Strada Alta, a 45km hike from Airolo to Biasca along the old track used by muleteers on the Gotthard route, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to check it out.

My friend Rebecca offered to join me, sparing me the deafening silence of my own company, so, backpacks stuffed with essentials (spare knickers and socks, books and a pack of cards), we took the train down to Airolo on a glorious Saturday morning, smug and comfortable above the morning's already several kilometre long queue of cars waiting to go through the Gotthard tunnel.

Airolo's cafes were packed with hikers and cyclists, and we joined them for an espresso before setting out on the first leg of our journey. It was deceptively easy, that first 17 kilometres, most of it on small roads or trails, and like all Swiss trails, well marked and signposted. We passed through pretty villages and steep alpine meadows, stopping for iced tea at a friendly little osteria, filling our water bottles with icy mountain water from the ubiquitous and oh so welcome water troughs. Lunch was a Ticino platter, a feast of finely sliced local cured meats and cheeses, with delicious tomatoes and bread, washed down with a beer on the shady terrace of another hospitable osteria.

Our first overnight was in Osco, where dour service, shoebox rooms, a lacklustre meal, and a sleep-disturbing proximity to churchbells briefly dimmed our enthusiasm for our Italian Swiss neighbours. Back on the trail, however, our spirits lifted as we strode out on glorious paths, passing from sunny meadows into cool beech and pine forests. This was to be a shorter day, but, assiduously following all the signs, we took the high and hungry route, clambering up and down steep, rocky paths which bypassed the villages with osterias. We were rewarded, on this less-travelled route, by banks of wild raspberries and strawberries, their startling sunbursts of sweetness keeping us going until Anzonico, our second destination.

This was much better, the friendly little Osteria Anzonico offering another huge Ticinese platter to hungry hikers, this time lubricated by a couple of flasks of merlot. Our room was large and comfortable, opening onto a terrace where we lounged with our books, tired legs at rest, until it was time to eat again. A peaceful night, only a distant echo of cowbells lulling us to sleep.

And on to Biasca, more raspberry-lined wooded trails taking us into the gorges of Vallone, a challenging section of wild river crossings and vertiginous cliff trails. As we began the steep descent into the valley we bought a jar of delicious honey, redolent with the alpine summer smells of fresh cut grass and alpine flowers, a tasty memento of our journey.

Küssnacht am Rigi

It seems there's an army of Swiss Expat Bloggers out there already. But, so far, none from Küssnacht. Küssnacht literally means "kiss night". Hence the title of this blog, which is my answer to Facebook, and those "friends" who keep asking for information about our whereabouts and happenings. And to explain the spelling variations: the ü (u umlaut) doesn't work on the web (or on most non-German keyboards) so my url uses the "ue" variant.

Küssnacht - usually referred to as Küssnacht am Rigi to differentiate it from that other, single-s Küsnacht on the lake of Zurich - is a village of around 10,000 inhabitants nestled in a shoulder of the Vierwaldstättersee (often referred to as the lake of Luzern, because that beautiful and heavily touristed city is on the western arm of the multi-limbed Vierwaldstättersee) and in the lee of the majestic Rigi. It's in the Canton of Schwyz, one of the original three cantons of the Swiss Confederation, and, according to legend, Küssnacht is the place where William Tell killed Gessler, bringing freedom from the oppression of the Habsburgs.

So we're living in the very belly of Swiss history, and, we believe, in one of the most beautiful parts of this astonishingly beautiful country. From our terrace we look south across the lake to the three big mountains, the Jungfrau, the Eiger and the Mönch, east to the Rigi, and southwest to Pilatus, Luzern's locator mountain.