All good things must come to an end, and so we left Lausanne and made our way to Interlaken.
On the way there we stopped at the Nestle/Cailler chocolate factory in Broc. I have to admit I had my doubts to start with because its a bit off the beaten path -- off the autobahn at Bulle, then through Broc and quiet residential side streets, then back out of town and around a a low escarpment until at last you see the sterile facade of what appears to be a shipping department -- I'm hoping that whatever it is they give tours so I'm not lost. It's a little bit of a walk to the actual entrance from the visitor's parking, past what looks like the charming original building to another modern facility, and it's at this point I'm wondering just why we came here. But the receptionist is so jolly in explaining the route we are supposed to take and what we will meet along the way I don't even mind the nominal entrance fee. She went into such detail I just had to ask if it is easy to get lost but she assured me that we would always know which way to go as long as we leave any room by a different door than we entered. Not just a tour, but a logic puzzle as well. I wanted to ask with every fiber in my being "So where do you keep the Oompah Loompahs?" but I couldn't summon the requisite sang froid to pull it off, and I don't want to spoil our blossoming relationship with a lead balloon witticism.
So instead its off to the European ideal of a chocolate factory tour, which has some neat stuff like how they make chocolate, what the ingredients are, in a phrase the nuts and bolts of the operation, a dash of history, and a whole bunch of pretentious prattle about the experience of chocolate and the glories of the Cailler brand. We didn't actually get to see any making of chocolate - the only view of the factory floor gave the distinct impression this wing had been decomissioned when Nixon was president. But we did get to watch a film made no later than the Eisenhower administration about a girl who visited the Cailler factory in her jammies Christmas eve, possibly while sleepwalking. Since it was in French and about the only French I remember is je ne parle pas Francais -- I told you I love logic puzzles -- some of the details sailed over my head. In the movie everyone was so helpful and delighted to see her, even the night watchman who invited her in and and showed her around, she snagged a giant candy bar on Christmas morning -- Cailler Frigor naturally.
And then it was on to the tasting room. The room was underwhelming to look at, but oh, what transports of joy and raptures of delight awaited within. The room was long and narrow, with the entire line of Cailler chocolate several times over on top of glass cases along the long axis of the room. I am not a chocoholic, and I normally prefer salt/grease snacks (i.e. potato and corn chips), but an all you can eat buffet of swiss chocolate is a sensual experience words can't describe. There was an abundance of chocolate because it is set up for bus tours and they were between buses while we were there. All I can say is that there was no comparison between that chocolate and the run of the mill milk chocolate I usually eat. Apparently even the milk they use is special, from Gruyere (yes, the cheese).
THE TASTING ROOM AT CAILLER'S -- OH HOW I MISS THIS ROOM
Then it was on to the store, with me kicking and screaming the whole way. The Fruit each picked out a big candy bar for themselves, and we bought some for gifts. I don't know if it was because we were at a factory outlet or the restaurant prices had thrown us off, but the chocolate actually seemed cheap. As it turned out, we would leave the gift chocolate behind the in the refrigerator of our hotel in Interlaken upon departure. Good thing the Fruit didn't even wait until we got to the hotel to scarf down there chocolate bars. We wound up buying a giant bar of Toblerone at the Brussels airport with the last of our Euros as a gift for the girls who watched Trooper while we were away.
Thus satiated and unaware of the loss of the chocolate that lay ahead, we drove back through Broc towards Bulle. We noticed a gorgeous castle on a hill top and after a quick consult with the guidebook (If you are going to spend thousands on a trip don't false economize -- get a guidebook) the funWife announced it was Gruyere, it was a town plus a castle and it was open to the public. After only one wrong turn we arrived at a parking lot at the foot of the hill. Since the guidebook also informed us that there were no cars allowed in town, we parked there. Then it was a huff and puff up the steep trail until we came to the outer wall of the town.
GRUYERE EXUDES CHARM THE WAY I EXUDE PERSPIRATION -- IN BUCKETS
Gruyere is a town that defines picture postcard perfect. The view of the mountain, the cobblestones, the old buildings, the colorful flowers and banners, the hilltop setting -- the whole assemblage was made for photos hundreds of years before the invention of photography. The quaint restaurants and shops beckoned, but our motto was excelsior! So we didn't linger in town, we made our way ever onward and upward towards the castle. I find old castles fascinating, but its clear it was good to be the baron, and not the horde of laborers and artisans who built the castle.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU CALL THIS, BUT IT LOOKS REALLY COOL
LOWER PARTS OF THE CASTLE FROM A HIGHER PART
A DRAMATIC VIEW OF CASTLE GRUYERE FROM THE FORMAL GARDEN
And then it was on to Berne. The funWife and I had been here before sixteen years ago on a cold day in October and had a wonderful time. We were there again on a warm day in August, and it was a lot more crowded. A lot. As in who are all these people, and what are they doing in my way? I admit I got off the Autobahn too soon (not that there are a lot of exits for any town) and that coupled with the abysmal driving might have made ever so slightly cranky until we parked the car, but once we parked I was Mr. Sunshine. Perhaps my ancestral homeland was calling out to my blood (I believe it was saying "Don't take sides!") - -my Great-Grandfather Senti was from Berne. Apparently the swiss blood ran too dilute in the veins of the Fruit of the Murphy Loins, as rest of the family didn't want to linger once there. It could be, I admit, that I just wanted to stay out of the car for longer, a lot longer, but I do like Berne and we really didn't do anything beyond wander around for a while. We didn't even go to one museum!
BEAUTIFUL BUSTLING BERNE
So it was back into the car and on to our hotel in Interlaken. We thought Berne was crowded, but Interlaken as absolutely thronged with tourists and far more crowded than Berne. Progress down the main drag, the Hohenweg, was very slow as long streams of pedestrians held up traffic at every crosswalk. I knew roughly where the hotel was since I remembered it from the time, sixteen years ago (notice a pattern here?), we stayed at the Royal St. Georges and there were no Fruit of the Murphy Loins, just a gleam in each of my eyes. If it weren't for the geraniums overflowing the window boxes and obscuring the sign for the hotel I wouldn't have passed it up. Still, it's nice to a get a tour of the town before settling in, as I always say, at least I do when I pass the hotel up and have to go quite aways before finding a place to turn around. But eventually we made it and we were all glad to get out of the car this time.
