Matterhorn

I’ve gone back and added some pictures to earlier postings.

This morning (Thursday, July 1st) we caught the 8:28 train to Visp, and from there we took a train to Zermatt, arriving a little before ten. From the plaza in front of the station you can look up and see Switzerland’s most famous natural monument. We crossed the river and went up to Sunegga (2288 meters, around 7600 feet) in an underground funicular. From there, we had our own gondola car up to Blauherd (2571 meters, about 8300 feet). Then, we took the cable car to Rothorn (3103 meters, 10,180 feet).

The Matterhorn must be very accustomed to having its picture taken. Certainly, I added my share to those millions of photos, as Sunegga, Blauherd and Rothorn all provided the mountain with opportunities to pose.

Eva and Andreas had suggested going to Fluhalp, where they had had a room. It is also known for its restaurant. Rick Steves suggested walking there from Blauherd. The woman at the tourist information office suggested walking down from Rothorn. Having digested all these suggestions by the time we arrived at Rothorn, we decided that we didn’t feel much like walking at that altitude, especially walking down about 500 meters. Going from Blauherd (2571) to Stellisee (2537) to Fluhalp (2616) seemed more within our range of ambitions. So we took the cable car back down to Blauherd and started our walk from there. It was a very nice walk, first through moss-covered boulders to the pretty little glacial lake, Stellisee. Near its outlet some architecture students had built an odd-looking structure, made of rounded wooden slats. You could enter it and go up, keeping in the same direction, and eventually, after going around twice, you would end up back down at the place you had begun. From Stellisee we walked up a slate-strewn hillside to Fluhalp, a large wooden building with red shutters and a deck terrace. It was a restaurant-hotel, and we sat on the deck and had a very nice lunch. I had a bacon and vinegar salad, but with all sorts of things added to the lettuce, including chicken pieces and little mushrooms. Mary Joy had mountain trout (perhaps caught in the Stellisee) in meuniere sauce, with roesti (a Swiss way of cooking potatoes, similar to hash browns).

We decided to go back down by the “Murmelweg,” or “Marmot Trail,” a route celebrating the principal inhabitant of these heights, a rodent somewhat similar to a groundhog. Basically, it would go down to Sunegga, without passing through Blauherd. Unlike the other trails there, this one was marked in yellow on the trail signs, indicating only a “Wanderweg” (“Hiking Trail”), instead of the white-red-white that shows a “Bergwanderweg” (“Mountain Hiking Trail”). In other words, the Marmot Trail was supposed to be the sort of trail suitable for wimps and grannies (non-Swiss grannies, that is—Swiss grannies have a lifetime of experience on near-perpendicular trails). We were feeling that we had met enough challenges recently and were due for nothing more than a pleasant walk.

It appears that the sole basis of distinction between a Wanderweg and a Bergwanderweg is steepness, because if anything else were taken into account, the Marmot Trail would be a champion Bergwanderweg. Though it avoided steep grades by the use of many, many switchbacks, on a lot of them the footing was none too sure. In addition, there is a long stretch where the trail is very narrow—not much more than a foot wide, with a steep drop-off to the left. But we got down to Sunegga, cheered by the wooden statues of marmots (and their predators and annoyers) along the way.

At Sunegga, we sat on the deck and I had a beer, while Mary Joy had a Rivella. Rivella is a type of Swiss soda pop, sort of like an orange Fanta, but, we are assured by the label, containing milk serum.

We went back down the funicular and walked around a little in the commercial frenzy of downtown Zermatt. Zermatt has no gasoline-powered vehicles, but there are millions of electric-powered little trucks, buses and taxis, whose drivers appear to be overcome by the urge to more than make up for the lack of gasoline-powered dangers to pedestrians. We ran into one of Zermatt’s best-known tourist attractions: goatherds walking their goats down the main street of town.

We escaped on the 5:13 train and went immediately to dinner at an Italian restaurant called Channa. It had an open interior courtyard, with no smoking (unlike the tables out front of a Swiss restaurant). We didn’t have much (Mary Joy had a salad, while I had a Margherita pizza), but it was good.

On our way back to our room, Mary Joy asked me to wait for her (I wouldn’t accompany her) while she went up the next street to see if the big church there was open. Half an hour later, I went up in search of her. The church door was locked and no Mary Joy in sight. I ran back to our guesthouse to see if she had gotten back there somehow, and I saw her up the street, talking with a woman. The woman turned out to have the key to the church, as well as to the chapel before which they were now standing. Well, addictions are addictions.