It was supposed to be just a spring break -- nothing more than that. A week in the mountains, for the walks. With a pleasant hotel to come back to at the end of the day. Then home again, ready to face the spring planting season.
It turned out to be so much more -- from all angles and perspectives, a trip that grew into something enormously special. Longer. Different. And yes, beyond all expectations.
You need a whole bunch of days in Grindelwald to have it really sink in. You need the sunshine, the clouds, the weekend swell of visitors, the weekday mornings of quiet. You need to do those fabulous excursions that start with a train or a gondola and place you face to face with Alpine giants. But you need also to have time for a walk in the forest, in the hills and pastures. You need to meet the Swiss cows and look into their eyes as they patiently wait for their summer in the verdant meadows.
And still, you will have just touched the surface.
Everyone has their own Grindelwald. I would bet 90% of those who come through here spend no more than a day or two. They come for the "top of Europe" ride up to Jungfraujoch -- that highest rail station in Europe -- they take lots of photos from downtown Grindelwald. The hikers may come in the summer, but in March, I see no one on the trails. Locals, walking their dogs, that's it. I like that.
Last night, over fondue, I chatted to the head waiter. Trained in hospitality at the very best training institutions in Switzerland, he is a recent arrival to this town. Winter was okay, he tells me. He's not sure how he'll feel about summer. He has been warned -- it gets crowded downtown.
I'm curious how it is to make a life here as an outsider. I see Europe as being more open to the blending and mixing of nationalities, but my head waiter cautions against making assumptions. He is half Mexican (on his father's side), and even though he is also half Swiss (on his mother's side), he still feels like an outsider. He's thinking of going back to Mexico to be with family there. (His family, also in hospitality, owned and operated hotels in Miami, but they sold off everything and moved away after the elections of 2016 -- a fortuitous move, given everything.)
And yet, I consider the staff I met at the Fiescherblick: Eva was Czech, Katherina is German, Andras is Hungarian. The two brothers would never be able to staff the hotel (17 people total, half of them in the restaurant) with just Swiss workers. They know that. They are extremely kind and accommodating to their team. Andras will have his young son moving in with him in Grindelwald in a few days. They will revise his schedule accordingly. It's an enviable work environment. And of course, it rubs off -- the guests are the ultimate beneficiaries.
Yesterday I felt a pang at having to leave. That was a sign for me. Andras showed me one more room I was curious about. I like mine, with the corner windows, but I liked that one even better -- it's smaller, but it has the best view. And gobs of sunshine, should I be so lucky as to have a handful of sunny days. I booked it for spring break, 2026.
This morning, I'm up at 6. Finish packing, look outside. Those clouds are misleading -- it's going to be a beautiful day.
I go downstairs just a little after 7. Katherina is there, as is a family from India, leaving early, like me, and a couple from Japan, heading out for Jungfraujoch. We have the comradery of the early risers! The breakfast buffet is up and running. I sit down to a last breakfast of bircher muesli.
Are you the one who makes this? Did you put in the milk and yogurt last night? -- I ask Katherina.
We take turns. And yes, that's their recipe. I add the fruits -- grated apple, orange, banana if it's ripe -- in the morning. We all have our own recipes though! At home, I dont put in the yogurt until the morning!
So delicious. Definitely my new go to breakfast at home.
And now I have to say good bye.
(Andras and Katherina)
I get gifts of Swiss chocolate for my grandkids. It's that kind of place. Remarkable. Really remarkable.
Andras drives me to the train station. I am so glad I can say "see you next year."
* * *
I hesitated about my trains today: I have 4 of them and though most of my connecting times are good enough (about a half hour), the first -- in Interlaken Ost, going to Zurich -- is tight. Only 6 minutes. I asked one of the hotel brothers about that -- is the train from Grindelwald ever late, thereby making it an impossible transfer? But he assured me that even his older father, who doesn't move so fast, has always been able to make the connection. I'll be fine.
My train pulls into the station at Grindelwald on time. And leaves on time. 8:17, on the nose.
But it's a single track, and it pauses going down, waiting for the oncoming train to pass at the exchange point. As a result, it pulls into Interlaken Ost three minutes late. I see my Zurich train. I know half the people will be making the same transfer. I don't feel the need to run. I push my suitcase down the ramp, then up again. But I know, too, that the long distance trains do not open doors in the minute before departure. And my wagon is at the very end. I ask the conductor -- will I make it to my wagon? You've got two minutes, he tells me.
I run, suitcase, backpack, bag, camera dangling.
And in the end I say the hell with it and I get onto an earlier car. It's off season, not at all crowded. You don't need to sit in your reserved seat. Panting, I climb upstairs. Was it close? Might I have missed the connection? Probably not. I can't believe that they'd close the doors in my face if I tried to make it to the last car, but who knows. Swiss punctuality (my little train's lateness notwithstanding) is formidable. I'm not going to tangle with it. The train does leave punctually at 8:59.
(ride to Zurich)
Two hours later I am in Zurich. Only I don't know it. Somehow in my head I had it that we arrive at noon. We don't. -- we arrive at 11, pulling into the station as I sit comfortably in my upstairs seat, laptop out, bags scattered over various racks.
What? This is Zurich already??
I throw everything together, hoping so much that I leave nothing behind.
I needn't have panicked -- the train pauses in Zurich for a good five minutes. But I didn't know that.
Once off the train I take many, many deep breaths. I check to see that my bag and passport are with me. Phew. Exhale.
It's weird to be at the Zurich train station (is a behemoth!) now, after the six days in Grindelwald. I feel less like a stranger here. Less a neophyte. I have a half hour before my next departure to Milano Centrale, but I'm still regaining my composure. I watch the crowds around me and think -- wow, I'm in a big city again.
Milano Centrale? Is that where I'm heading? I think about how much time I put into this decision in the months leading up to the trip. I have three nights to kill before I have to be in Paris. Where should I go, after Grindelwald? I booked Baden-Baden Germany. Weeks later, I changed my mind. I booked Lausanne Switzerland. I changed my mind on that one too. I booked Zermatt, also in Switzerland. And again I changed my mind. Only recently, against the backdrop of the tumult at home, did it hit me: I want those days to be in Venice.
Oh, how this reminds me of my youth! (Isn't that a senior thing -- where everything connects to something that happened long ago?) When I finished college in New York (it was February, 1974), I packed my bags and traveled to a rented room in the Italian Alps. I had booked it for a month. I asked my best college friend to come visit me, but she chose to go to Israel instead. I asked my secret lover to come visit me, but he was entangled in another relationship and didn't think she'd like his absence. In the end my sister came from Poland for a few days, but before she did, I grew bored. It was March, there was no snow for skiing. Solo hikes? Good for a day or two. I was just 20. I was restless. I needed to get out.
I took a convoluted combo of buses and trains to Venice, for an overnight there. It was wet. It was cold. It was beautiful! The next day I returned to my prepaid room in the Alps. But four days later, I did it again. An overnight in Venice. And then again. And yet again. The hotel owner in Venice laughed at me: the police are getting curious about your travels here! -- he said. (You always have to register with the police when you stay at an Italian hotel.)
How I loved those March trips (the hands-inappropriately-in-the-wrong-place-on-my-body hotel owner notwithstanding)... I would have stayed longer, but my part time job savings were dwindling. Still, I soaked up the mood of the city then. It fit mine so well!
All my subsequent trips to Venice -- with my friend Diane, with Ed, with Snowdrop -- have been in at this same early spring month. It may rain, it may be dark and serious -- it doesn't matter. My Venice is the off season Venice. In an off neighborhood, far removed from Piazza San Marco.
The train to Milan is at the Zurich platform early.
That's so good for a person who has a heavy suitcase and apparently a scattered mind set. I settle in for the 3hour 17minute ride (really truly! I'm paying attention now!).
And by the way, a good many minutes oof this segment are spent deep inside an Alp, as you cannot get from Switzerland to Italy by train without going through a tunnel that seems like it hasn't an end point. Ever.
Milan has never been my favorite city and Milano Centrale is not my favorite train station. The chaos here is aggravated by the fact that there are pickpockets galore. I've seen a purse snatcher do some snatching! Too, I have nearly an hour to kill. It cant be helped -- I need a cafe bar. And I find the one that was here when Ed and I last traveled in Italy together. I was searching for a glass of wine. He wanted a slice of cheesy focaccia. We shared it. Man, I miss that guy!
(Train platform announced. I can board.)
And at 3:45, my last train of the day leaves the station -- with me and my packs and suitcase.
(not the cleanest window...)
(passing through Padua: school's out for the day!)
* * *
Venice, at last.
There's some humor to be had here: it is going to be warm in Venice the days I'm here. There will be no rain. Venice is not presenting her serious gloomy face at all.
I booked a room at an unusual hotel, one that isn't even called a hotel -- it's the Madama Garden Retreat. It is tiny -- just 9 rooms, each named after a flower. It calls itself a retreat because it sells the idea of quiet (to that purpose, they limit it to adults only -- never my favorite strategy, as I've had more adults be noisy in hotels than kids, but I suppose it really is all about peace and serenity here, so I forgive them).
By the time I decided on this, there were only a couple of rooms left, but among them was one I would have chosen judging from the photos - it's called Iris. A spring flowered theme, shades of blue and importantly -- with a view toward water.
The hotel itself is in the Canareggio neighborhood of Venice -- about as far as you can get away from the visitor hub. I'll eat all my dinners here. Well, let's not pretend that this is a total neighborhood immersion -- I'm only in Venice until Friday. Still, I'm staying with the idea of a quiet trip, in a quiet neighborhood.
The first technical issue in Venice is always this: how will you get to your hotel? Almost always it's going to be a combination of Vaporetto (the main "bus" running up and down the grand Canal) plus walking. Over bridges that have steps. I wasn't going to try this. I'm no longer 20. I book a taxi to take me straight to Madama Gardena.
The owner, Signora Mara, greets me, explains the ins and out of the room, of coming and going. But my eyes are on the fantastic lay out of the place. All rooms have a sitting area and mine looks out on a canal (as does the bedroom)...
... but also onto the little garden that she has to the side. And you have to be impressed with what's blooming there right now -- an iris!
Is that some kind of a sign or what!
There's little time left in the day. The train came in promptly at 6:12 p.m., the taxi (by boat) was late, by the time I dumped my bags and plugged in all that has to be plugged in after a long trip -- it was after 7. Dinner time and yes, I am very hungry.
And still, I pause to talk to Signora Mara. However did she come to own and run this place?! It's fairly new -- a project she took on after she felt the need for a career change. And yes, it's in the neighborhood where Venetians live. Not those who own houses for a vacation, but those who work and go to school here. I see that she is right. On my walk to the restaurant I see kids, going home. Adults, with shopping bags, going home. People, speaking rapid fire Italian on smart phones, going home.
My restaurant choices are again a combo of hotel suggestions (I'm going for the "local" vibe!) and internet searches. For today I go with the nearby Anice Stellato -- a ten minute walk even deeper into the Canareggio corner of Venice.
They offer me a fabulous seat at a bar like table, only it faces the room rather than a bar. Another woman comes in and claims the seat at the other end of it. From our places, we can look out at all the guests.
Here's another good thing: they offer me a tasting menu. I seize it! For one thing, I'm starving, and, too, I have a hard time selecting dishes when everything sounds new and rather, well, amazing. Only, I tell them, I don't eat red meat. The new me!
No problem! Just sea food and veggies and pasta!
Oh, is it good stuff. First comes an assortment of appetizers (including white and green asparagus!). Next, these gnocchi which are so fabulous that I have to inquire about the ingredients so that I can try to replicate them at home. (The secret is in the ricotta and parmesan, rather than potatoes.)
With this, the proprietor suggests a lovely Italian natural wine. Poured from a bottle with a lovely label!
Then come the secondi -- the octopus, a fried sardine, and a celeriac cutlet which I had doubts about, until I tasted it!
Delicious, all of it. But no room for dessert. I do take a box of chocolates from a local chocolatier home with me. They offer it as an alternative to dessert. My chocolate stashe is accumulating!
The walk back to Madama Garden is atmospheric. Venice has that going for it -- every building here is significant. To be recognized for doing the nearly impossible -- standing in water, delivering electricity, internet services, potable water, not giving in to an inhospitable environment -- brackish water wearing away at every surface. Mountains deserve humility, but so does Venice.
I'm not sure how my two full days here will look. There isn't a plan. There's just Venice.
with love...
