Out & about.

I was on program today, and we headed off to Meringien, a town on the other side of the Thunnersee and Brienzersee from me, in the heart of Switzerland. As you might have guessed by the name, it’s the birthplace of the meringue. Canuk, Brazil, and I were on Meringien duty, with SAussie and Finn taking another group into Bern for the day. The three of us checked out every Bakerei in town before heading off to wander the town. We looked at a small church, notable for its impressive flower garden and religious woodcarvings, then walked by the Spital for me and the Schule for Brazil, who is a teacher back home. We found a locked gate in the face of the cliff that lines the back of the village, and we walked along a little trail until we could see one of the waterfalls. Next was a bigger church with a lovely graveyard. I had decided to sample the water in every Swiss public fountain I came to, and the one in the graveyard and the mossy one across the street were no exception. Canuk and Brazil are convinced I will die of this practice, no matter how safe the water is reputed to be. Since I was as good as dead already, Canuk dared me to slide down the banister in the biggest church in town, then filmed me to ensure everyone would know I’m destined for hell. (It was a good banister, sturdy, long, and smooth.)

In addition to the meringues, Meringien is supposed to be where Moriarty finally got Sherlock Holmes, at the Reichenbach falls. They had a Holmes museum, hotel, tour, and statue, but aside from a quick rest on the detective’s bronze knee, he couldn’t pull us away from the bakeries. (The rocking horse and giant chess set could for a few minutes, though.) We got back to the main street at just the wrong time, though: much of Switzerland closes down every day from noon to 1400, as well as Sundays and all afternoon on Wednesdays and Saturdays. We ate our sandwiches at the train station, but that didn’t kill enough time, so we walked by the stream coming off the waterfall and looked at the tower on the edge of town. We arrived back at our bakery of choice, only to notice that the sign said they were closed from 1200-1330, not 1200-1300, as we’d though on our last glance. Brazil went off to look at another school, and Canuk and I hiked to the foot of the waterfall, then back into town along the top of its old rampart. The wall looked like it was designed to keep people in rather than out, and the rocks were slippery.

We all made it back to the bakery at 1330 exactly, then bought a large box of meringues to bring back for the rest of the staff. The proper way to eat one is in double crème, and the proprietress of the meringue shops look awfully disappointed if you don’t want the crème with yours. I also bought what turned out to be a slightly soft chocolate biscotti sort of thing, with a thin raspberry filling.
We met back up with the tour bus at 1400 and were shuttled up into Grindelwald, a touristy village in the nearby Alps.

Canuk and I immediately set out for the gorge, as we’d missed a good one in Meringien, but we accidentally chose the long way and couldn’t go the last fifteen minutes if we wanted to make it back to the bus on time. We’d come down a long way into the valley as it was and hiked uphill very quickly to make it back. We did get to see some better scenery than in town: old churches and houses, Swiss villagers out for a stroll, a receding glacier, and the gorge from a lot closer than in town. We could not see the top of the Eiger, Monch, or Jungfrau, unfortunately, due to the clouds. We’ll be back in Interlaken (between the aforementioned lakes) in a couple of days, so perhaps we’ll see the famous peaks then. There’s a train right through the Eiger that takes you to a saddle high on Jungfrau, but it’s hardly worth the exorbitant fee even on a clear day.

The highlight of Grindelwald turned out to be its playground. (Sorry this is sideways.)


I enjoyed the views over the lakes as we rode home, and the tunnel between Frutigen and Adelboden was closed for repairs, so we got to go a different way than usual. I smiled at the sheep grazing slowly uphill, their fleece recently shorn so that they finally don’t look like their spindly legs shouldn’t be able to support them. It’s spring in the Alps, at long last, even if spring is schizophrenic and can’t choose between thick snow, bright sunshine, or misty rain.