Tag Archives: Switzerland

60 Years Ago Today

Posted on by

Friday, 11 July 1952:

The bed was too wonderful! Even more comfortable than when I first crawled into it. I had to get up though. There were new fields to conquer. First on the list was the post office where I mailed five cards for 2.75 francs. Looking around I discovered that the Matterhorn was at its best. The sky was crystal clear blue and peak free of clouds.

As we tried to catch the train, there was not enough room on the train for us. Herr Rogers explained that there were 36 of us so the train workers rolled the baggage car onto the next track and put on another car. Herr Rogers helped. We experienced the same beautiful scenery on the way down or maybe even more so. It kind of grew on you.

As we reached the Stalden station, we were confused whether or not to get off. Andre where art thou? Nope, stay on. Herr Rogers breathlessly came dashing in with more tickets to go on to Visp. Andre couldn’t get through. We prayed that he was at Visp. We were captivated once again with more picturesque scenery of the kind that defied description. One had to see it to appreciate it.
Visp was coming up. Could anyone see Andre? Yes, yes, there he was. Whatta reunion! Never were we so glad to see Andre. Fifteen “rahs” for Andre! Another fifteen rahs because our baggage was all repacked and ready to go. I’ll bet Andre felt like the hen who just found his 36 chicks. Cause we swarmed around him just like chicks around a mother hen.

More beautiful countryside ahead, in stark contrast to tank barriers and mined roads. I spotted a landing strip on both sides of a tree-lined road. It rounded and crossed the road at one end. The hanger was camouflaged with straw.

We traveled through Rhone Valley where it was warmer. We viewed ruins of an old castle on a hilltop, this was the French section of Switzerland. They irrigated by sprinklers. Everyone had lunch on the road again. It included cherry jam sandwiches, an apple, and a cookie. When we crossed the Rhone River, it was a tight squeeze getting the bus onto the bridge. Then there was a sharp turn, but Andre always came through. At 1 p.m. we arrived at Lake Geneva with its beautiful blue water. Later we ran into some road repair.

Castle of Chillon, built in 1256 by Peter of Savoy, was where Byron got his inspiration for the Prisoner of Chillon, a 659 line narrative poem. We walked down the road to the castle and saw a camouflaged gun mounted in a wall along the road. The castle bore the emblem of Berne from 1536 a.d. and was built to guard the road and collect toll taxes.

There was a Gothic prison downstairs with stone slabs for those condemned to death and a hole where some prisoners were thrown down and forgotten. Also I saw the gallows and windows where prisoners were thrown into the lake with a stone tied to them. Byron’s poem described the trials of a lone survivor of a family. He spent four years in prison and was almost blind. Byron visited him and carved his name in the stone.

The guide said that a big banquet was scheduled there for that evening. Candles were at each place setting. What an atmosphere! We saw banquet halls with heavy old pewter ware, swords, and other weapons. Then we proceeded through the torture chambers. We had a good English speaking guide. She was an Italian looking lady with dark hair and a pleasant voice. I noticed her beautiful ivory necklace.

Next on the tour was the old moat, towers and places where they poured boiling hot water on their attackers. I didn’t have my notebook with me and couldn’t remember everything she told us. I bought a souvenir, book of Chillon, at the little shop outside the gate. Then it was back to the bus and off to the hotel.

The hotel turned out to be a large, pretty place right along the highway overlooking the Lac Leman on the outskirts of Montreux. It had a beautiful lobby downstairs, game room, and a pleasant girl at the front desk. When I asked her a question about the concert, the phone rang. She lifted the receiver and kept talking to me until she had finished.

The hotel, though it had seen better days, was still nice. And it turned out to be the only hotel so far without running water in the rooms. We had huge pitchers of water, large basins, a “dealy” in which to pour the waste water, and a big long soap dish. All of this was flowered crockery. I got lost almost every time I left my room with too many twists and turns. I cleaned up slightly to go visiting. Herr Watkins, Alicia, Henry and I took off for Montreux Proper to find the folks of Herr’s home teacher back home in Orem. We decided to walk instead of using the train so we had a chance to window shop on the way.

One store had darling little dresses. Herr Watkins finally succumbed and ended up with one for his little girl. After wandering around in a couple of circles, we found the right street and number. Up some stairs we went and knocked on the door. A little, slightly stooped man peered over his glasses at us. Herr Watkins explained to him in German who we were. I guess we took him by surprise because he seemed a little at a loss. He asked us to come back at 7:30 p.m. when his wife, who spoke English, would be home. Before we left, his kids squirted us with their water guns.

After saying adieu to Art and Henry, we went window shopping for awhile. Then we searched for a likely eating spot. We finally settled for a tea room that looked more French than Swiss. It was cool and pleasant. I had a plate of assorted cold meat and a milk shake. Ha! Ha! They should let us show them how to make milk shakes. After I went to a perfume shop and “john” at the big station.

Later we went back to visit Herr’s friend’s parents. They were thrilled to see us and had been crying for fear that we wouldn’t come back. They had a dressmaker and tailor shop in their home. They once had a dressmaking shop under our hotel, in the days when it was Montreux’s biggest and best, that catered to royalty. Their flat was clean and nice, but quite modest.
We looked at pictures, talked a little German with them and they showed us around. We went for a boat ride around the lake and, unfortunately, saw a crowd at the side of the lake that was looking for a drowned man’s body.

As we passed Chillon, it was all lit up. People at the banquet waved to us as we circled around the lake. What a beautiful night and city with weeping willows everywhere. They insisted on taking us to the casino for a drink. The casino insisted on charging 2.50 for drinks plus 15 cents cover. I had a really jippy ginger ale. There was a New York band with an interesting floor show. Other entertainment included: four ballet dancers, comedy team, and a Spanish number. The roulette table was quite a temptation for me. Later we walked home with them and then back to the hotel ourselves.

60 Years Ago Today

Posted on by

Thursday, 10 July 1952:

I just gained consciousness at 12:15 p.m. in the afternoon. What a wonderful 12 hours or more of sleep! It was the most sleep I had had since long before I can remember—long before I left the USA that’s for sure.

Wow! I realized I could eat a horse to put it mildly. A crowd of kids in front of the hotel directed us to their favorite restaurant. The restaurant was a red shuttered deal down the street in a charmingly typical village. Everyone seemed to be on their way to hike or returning from a hike. They wore coats by the way. Guess we didn’t lug ours all this way for nothing.

The waitress wore a Swiss costume. They even let us take their picture. I had a delicious dinner for 4.50 franc. I filled my soup bowl twice and there was still enough left for a third time. It was in a copper warmer on legs with candles inside. My platter included a pile of fluffy mashed potatoes on top of two pork chops, bowl of salad, and turnips. There was enough for several servings of each. But I had to gulp down the delicious ice cream because there went the mob around the bend to the ski lift. That made us tail-enders again.

Such a picturesque trail with all kinds of little chalets. There was a saying that Zermatt had the population of 1000 inhabitants and 7000 tourists. The natives were almost exclusively engaged in taking care of the visitors. I was glad that we made it in time to go with the mob because it saved me 1.50 franc, net cost 3.50 franc. Alicia and I were next to last in line. Herr Rogers and Mrs. Rogers brought up the rear after seeing that everyone was duly taken care of. It was my first ride on a ski lift! And it was quite a thrill with a wonderful view of the countryside. I went over the top of the first hill just to see another hill beyond that. The lift ended on the top. A sign on the bar that held us in the lift said “Do Not Swing.”

We hiked on up from the lift house and waited for the clouds to clear in order to take pictures of the Matterhorn. On the trail we met many Swiss German, Swiss French, and Swiss Italians. I tried to talk to them, but found it a little difficult. However, I managed to get a few ideas across. People were very friendly and most of them spoke several languages which usually included French and German.

We topped a couple of hills and returned to the lift. Then I had a great big bottle of orangeade. Now I was ready for the return ride. Halfway down the lift I had a tremendous urge to take a picture, but I had used my last picture up on the mountain. I had to curb that urge.

Back on the street, I saw a lady milking a cow. She was very friendly and lived above the barn. Next stop was the hotel. After a quick break to lighten our load, we took off for an excursion to the village. We picked up a bunch of food—apple, pear, box of raisins, delicious Swiss chocolate—as we left. We washed the fruit in the first watering trough. There were people returning from the mountains on every trail. It seemed all trails led back to Zermatt.

Switzerland was really international as you could hear any tongue your heart desires. Most of the people were dressed comfortably, but not richly with heavy shoes and socks, often long wool socks. I had picked up a picture of a beautiful waterfall at the hotel, so we inquired how to find our way to the real thing.

As we left for the waterfall we met people coming back from the fields with their scythes and forks. It was hay making time. Then we made our way to Gorner’s Villa, a little inn upon the mountainside. Around the corner a frau was waiting for us by a sign. It cost 1 franc to go by. Wouldn’t you know it! The man at the hotel didn’t mention this. Well if it was worth charging for, it must be worth seeing. I guess? Far be it from me to turn back now.

There were stairs going down to a bridge. The path was built right into the side of the perpendicular gorge. Another bridge went across the gorge with water foaming angrily below it. The waterfall was cutting its way through the mountain. A man came along behind us and explained that the rushing water had cut the gorge out of the mountain over a period of years. Now the gorge was deep. I chanced a couple of pictures even though the light was poor.

I think we missed the trail on the way back because we ended up in a hay field. A farmer stopped his work of turning hay and talked to us. In addition to his occupation as a farmer, he was a guide and professional skier. He was a farmer through the summer months in order to grow feed for the other nine months of the year. The cattle were put out to graze during the summer months. He tilled the same land ancestors had tilled for the last 600 years. Furthermore, he spoke very good English in addition to several other languages.

Now that we had found our way back on the pathway, we discovered a crossroad with several paths leading back to Zermatt. We tried to find out which path was the prettiest. “They were all pretty” was the answer. We chose by the eenie meenie miney mo method to decide our direction.
We ended up going back by the church graveyard, where all those who had been conquered by the Matterhorn were resting their bones. It was quite an imposing area of tombstones with some rather recent tombstones as well. Those who wanted to attempt to climb the Matterhorn should visit here first. Then perhaps they would exercise every precaution in their attempt to conquer the Matterhorn.

The graveyard was peaceful and beautiful. Flowers were growing on almost every grave with lots of big wreaths of little colored beads, trees, and shrubs. Many other natives of the village rest here along with the daring mountain climbers. I ate pretzels on the way home.

As we went back to Hotel Victoria everyone was all excited. A lady down the street was offering a 15% discount if our group bought $200 worth of merchandise. Most everyone succumbed to this deal as witnessed by the loot that was brought back later. From reports I gathered our mob had driven the shop lady slightly mad. Carol and Alene had succumbed earlier, as well, and both were sporting quite beautiful Swiss specimens. Carol and I crawled down through the village to see what was brewing, but things seemed relatively quiet.

So we returned and drooled over the loot before returning to our luscious beds. I would love to take this bed with me wherever I go. I received mail from my parents at each mail stop so far. I wrote them about Zermatt and the Matterhorn. It was as beautiful in its own way as Venice, Florence or Rome.

60 Years Ago Today

Posted on by

Wednesday, 9 July 1952:

I had a delicious cold shower this morning. We had been staying on the top floor of a boys’ dorm. A little man had locked our door from the outside during the night and had stood guard all night long to presumably protect us from the men. I took my bag down from our room on the top floor. We were miles away from where the rest of our crew were staying. Our group was really separated this time. Across the street I got fruit for lunch where oranges were 300 lire a kilo. Then we left and had little trouble finding our way out of Milano.

We traveled on Autostrada, a toll road. I caught sight of Lake Magiore. It looked like a wonderful place to spend a lifetime. There was an island out in the middle like Venezia. As the mountains got higher, the air cooled. Switzerland was coming up! We stopped at a small town about 12 miles from the border, Domodossola, to unload the last lire. It was one U.S. cent for the “john”.

We were definitely leaving the low country now. The sheer mountain peaks were rising abruptly as we left our last stop. I felt the Swiss influence or maybe it was the influence of the mountains. There were swift running streams, little rock houses, and winding mountain roads with patches of snow. The border buildings were unimpressive. In between all of this I saw a 1952 Studebaker.

There wasn’t any red tape on the Italian border, but at the Swiss border our passports were checked. As we journeyed into Switzerland, there was a swift moving stream between our bus and the sheer rugged cliffs. Herr Watkins commented that we were leaving behind the academic part of our tour and entering the esthetic portion.

Everyone was excited about going into Switzerland—such breathtaking scenery! Beautiful meadows stretched right up to the edges of the snow. Families were outside making hay on the hillsides. I saw a little boy under an umbrella on a hill by Simplon Pass. Also I saw the movie Heidi relived on the mountainside in my mind. All of us were shooting pictures out of the window.

There were fortifications in several places along the way. We found out the roads were mined and were ready to be blown up at a moment’s notice. This was in case of an invasion. Meanwhile the bus had clutch trouble, so we stopped at the next rest stop.

While we were at the rest stop, Carmela was busy gathering bugs with Henry’s milk bottle. At the same time Henry was searching madly for his bottle to get milk from a Swiss farmer. The current topic of conversation was milking cows. As we continued there was more snow visible in the mountains and it was much cooler, so bringing our coats hadn’t been for naught.

The water was finding its way down the mountain in little rivulets. Herr Rogers gave a Swiss lecture about how mountains play a big part in Swiss life. The Alps and Jero Range helped form a border between France and Switzerland. These mountain barriers helped the Swiss people maintain their independence. Switzerland with few natural resources was dependent upon tourist trade.

We hit a 12 mile tunnel, Simplon Pass, where the passes were mined and fortified. Then I saw a valley meadow with an old church where workers were removing the mines along the road. There was a free shower outside. When I saw little kids herding cows, it reminded me of my childhood. Switzerland had 22 cantons, a small administrative division of the country, which occupied distinct valleys.

As we stopped for gas and milk I saw a large statue of an eagle on a hill top at the summit pass. SOS casa contoniera is the Swiss’ rest stop. Back on the bus there were colored mountain goats on the inclines and little clouds hanging down between the huge mountain walls on the east side. Beautiful waterfalls dotted the mountains as well. What terrific scenery!

Herr Watkins yelled out and asked a man if he knew his great grandmother. Then there was some kind of bottleneck ahead. All the men jumped out to investigate. The rain had washed the bridge away. We couldn’t wait for it to be fixed or we would miss the train to Zermatt.

So we had a council of war with a decision to be made. I guess we were going on a cross country hike to the bridge. We got our suitcases down. The kids opened them on the road in the rain to get their supplies out for two nights. We definitely got our raincoats and boots out as well. With big suitcases back inside the bus, we bid adieu to Andre.

Whatta sight! Thirty-six characters with different kinds of garb and bags on a cross country hike. As we met the road again, Herr Rogers buzzed by in a car in order to make arrangements ahead of us. Bonnie had a big suitcase and Helen’s suitcase was not so small. We thumbed a ride and everyone piled in with suitcases.

As the rain stopped, we could see the car’s tires going down so Helen and I got out and walked. We shed our coats and brought up the rear. It was a beautiful refreshing walk in the Swiss countryside. As we strolled into the town of Brig, a little boy leaned out of a three-story window to wave. Brig had clean streets and shops.

At the railroad station, I changed my first traveler’s check into Swiss francs. My insides were groaning with hunger. We found a café in the station that provided a delicious meal for 4.25 francs plus tip. I had spaghetti and pork. It was time for the train, so the waitress put the fruit for dessert in a sack and we ran out.

Somehow I got out on the wrong side of the depot. Probably because there were train tracks all over the place. I ran around madly trying to find a sortie. In the process I darted into the same office twice and finally remembered the stairs I had used to get to the café. It was past time for the train to leave as I dashed frantically out the right door onto the right track.

No one was in sight. I couldn’t see a train on the track and a sinking feeling set in. I asked the first person I came to if the train for Zermatt had gone. “No, it’s right there,” as they pointed to the next track. I peered in the windows. Yep! There they were. What a relief!

It was an interesting train ride to Zermatt. I practiced a little German with servicemen on leave from Frankfurt. The scenery was rugged with magnificent meadows right up to the snow line. The water and waterfalls were trickling down the mountainsides in unexpected places with a view of little houses with rock shingles. My first glimpse of the Matterhorn was impressive with its stark rugged peak above all the rest and clouds hung all around it.

We made it to Zermatt! All out. Hotel where art thou? It was right across the street. First class too. My room 14 was right off a beautiful lobby. OOOh! The bed looked positively luscious with a beautiful fluffy silk comforter on top. It felt like we may need it here. There were double sinks that were big enough to take a bath in if necessary, plus overstuffed chairs. Gee it was quiet. There were no cars.

First job on the docket was to remove the dirt of Mount Vesuvius from our tresses. Believe it or not, my hair hasn’t had a real shampoo other than the swimming on the first night in Rome when I went to the concert with wet hair. I went out to the desk to check on maps and events. Then I crawled into bed to write. Whatta farce! I should have known better than that. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.