We woke up, had a nice breakfast (included) at the hotel while we watched snow fall at all the mountain attractions live via webcam, and then began the final preparations for the second half of the trip. We strolled across the Harderstrasse to the tourist information office and began to ask questions. We started with easy ones, like where is the Alamo office in town? Oops, we have to ask the person over there because the person I ask only has train type information. So I try again, only to be met with a blank stare and “Alamo? Alamo? I haven’t heard of any Alamo.” I want to say in the worst way “Don’t every say that to a Texan” but the meters running on our vacation time and while I would find it funny, I know by now I won’t find it funny after spending 10 minutes trying to explain the joke, and then another 10 trying to explain to my family why I wasted 10 minutes on a lame joke in the first place. Foreign travel can be so brutal. But at least it’s clear that there is no Alamo car rental in town. Then we go back to the train guy to ask about the details of booking a ride to the Jungfraujoch. And then I ask a question that has been weighing heavy on our minds since we’ve had so much low overcast and rain while in Interlaken (and today is no different): what is the weather forecast?
“For tomorrow?” is the reply.
“Yes, and the next few days after that, as long as you’re at it.”
“It’s several things”, he says. “Rain, sunshine, cloudy, warm, cold.”
“The forecast is for all that, tomorrow?” I ask.
“Oh yes, it could be all that tomorrow”, he replies.
“So is it supposed to be one thing the morning, and another in the afternoon?” I ask. Hey, I’m from the midwest, I know all about changeable weather.
“No, it could be anything at anytime tomorrow, you just have to see”, he says.
“So I should just look out my window in the morning, and then I’ll know what the weather is going to be like that morning?”
“Yes, that’s how you do it”, he replies.
I feel like Abbot in an Abbot and Costello routine. I’m tempted to say if you don’t know the forecast, just tell me so. Don’t tell me the forecast is to look out the window in morning.
There’s a big difference between where I’m from and Europe – the weather forecast. At home, we have several meteorologists for every newscast, we have constant weather reports on the radio, we even have a whole TV network devoted to weather. People are constantly discussing the weather like a favorite child — “can you believe what the weather did yesterday, that little dickens?” In Europe, the forecast was treated like some state secret. We could never find out even what the weather the next day was supposed to be like. The hotel in Interlaken was the only one that told you what the weather forecast was for that day – but that day only.
So then it was back to our hotel to call Alamo. I call the 800 number and ask the nice lady on the other end where they have offices in Switzerland. All over she says, and then rattles off a bunch of names. I ask for the number of the office in Lucerne. Great, we could make a trip out of it. I ask if there is any penalty or fee for returning the car to a different location from the one I picked it up at. None she tells me. So we decide we’re going to get new train tickets leaving from Interlaken to Venice, with stops to change trains in Spiez and Brig. We’ll turn the rental car back in today, and take a train back from Lucerne.
So I call the rental car office for directions. Turns out they are in Lausanne, not Lucerne. And this guy says they only have a few offices, with the closest one to me in Fribourg. Fribourg? I’m sure it’s a nice town and all that, but we drove through on the way here and we’re not going to make a day out of it there. So I call that number and they tell me there aren’t actually in Fribourg, they are in Dudingen. So that’s when the funWife tells me that while she and kids take care of the train tickets, I get to go return the car.
“And just how am I supposed to get back?” I ask.
“They have wonderful public transportation in this country. I’m sure you’ll take the train or a bus.” she replied.
“A bus!?!” I sputter.
“It will be an adventure.” she tells me.
It’s at this point I realize the sooner the start the sooner I’ll get back, so I grab a CD, a jacket, and what little dignity and courage I can summon and head out for my big adventure.
The start was boring – a long drive in the rain. The CD got me through that part. The fun began when I pulled off the autobahn and started to follow the directions the mechanic (apparently he spoke the best English) gave me: In village on main road left side. It’s a Renault car dealer with with a Shell gas station and an Alamo sign. Amazingly enough, it was in the village on the main road left side and I found it without any problems. I even passed a train station on the way there. The highpoint of the trip was parking in front in the little yellow rectangle painted on the sidewalk. After a minimum of hassle, gratifiying after the big deal they had made in Geneva about not getting any extra insurance when we rented the car, I was on my way back to the train station. The nice gentleman at Alamo/Shell/Renault had assured me that I could catch a train back to Interlaken without difficulty.
At the train station, Marc and Markus seemed to be happy to be helping some crazy American who presented himself at the Dudingen train station without a clue. They had a great time getting the tickets, explaining where to go to catch the train, how to switch tracks in Bern, explaining the little printout that showed I would take a local train into Bern where I would switch to another train to Interlaken. Thanks you guys, I hope I broke up some of the monotony, you were a big help to me.
And now begins the record of my big adventure, written at the exact moment I lived it:
Dudingen is a charming little town, but Switzerland is filled with exquisite little towns.
Fillstorf was the next stop. It isn’t even a wide spot in the road — a few cars parked in the weeds alongside the road and they didn’t even bother opening the doors of the train.
They have a 1st and 2nd class on the trains and boats here. At least in the boats it makes a difference because you can get seats in the breeze, but on the train I think they are there just in case Hyacinth Bucket ever rides.
I am not smitten with Schmitten, our next stop. A couple of people got off who’d gotten on with me in Dudingen, so apparently they are.
Wunnewil – hard to tell as you went through a tunnel just before the station which was in a big ditch. I had no idea that there were so many ugly spots in Switzerland. From Wunnewil, the countryside looks a lot like Missouri, although the buildings quite clearly don’t.
Flamott — another tunnel which meant I only got glimpses of the impressive highway bridges through town. The station was nice in a modern industrial way. But even the traditional cute Swiss architecture couldn’t dress the town up much.
Thorishaus Dorf — The quaint factor is rising, but the tracks are banked in the station giving an odd sway to the train.
Thorishaus Station — the main business looks to be recycling scrap metal by the train cars on the sidings. But the view of the chalets on the hillsides as we pulled out restores my aesthetic appreciation of Switzerland.
Oberhagen — about 50 feet from Thorishaus Station, I have to credit it for a lot of charm. I especially like the rock wall built of metal mesh and pebbles.
Niederwagen — the most noticeable thing is that a lot of passengers get on here. That and the stations are now coming fast and furious.
Bumpliz Sud — I think we are clearly in the Bern suburbs by now, which means less charm and more graffiti. I hope we don’t go to Bumpliz Nord, too.
Bern Ausserholligen — the apartments along the way look nice, but I’m beginning to feel about graffiti the way I feel about spam – death to graffitiers! The station appears to be under a long highway bridge.
Bern – at last, and now to switch trains. The station is bustling in the middle of a weekday. I use a McClean WC: one franc to take a leak. Does the name play off McDonalds or some notion that celts are clean? On to platform 6. I can’t shake the notion I’m on the wrong train, about to hurtle to parts unknown, no matter how often I look at the electronic sign telling me that indeed this train will take me back to Interlaken. Now I’m on a real train, real coaches and I hope a locomotive, although they all look like little electric toys here. Oh well.
I’m hoping on the side with a view — the lake side and not the poured concrete abutment holding back the mountainside side. Time will tell, and I may have to knock over a few people getting to it. It all depends, do they back in or pull in forwards? Or if they have an engine (I’m still hoping for a locomotive) at both ends,maybe they go in which ever way they need to. I switch sides, thinking we’ll pull out and that way will be forward, and now I think I screwed up — I should be on the left side. Oh well. I can get up again later, the train isn’t full.
They announce the stops, and I’m crushed to find out Spiez is pronounced “spits”, not “spee-ez” as I’ve been calling it. Leave it to the German language to always sound worse that it needs to. Sadly, the train has filled up , and some young french speaking woman and her iPod has joined me. Ah well, c’est la guerre or something. I’m facing the wrong way – and I was right, they just pull out. But we have stops in Thun and Spiez, so maybe we will turn around again by the time we are zooming along the Thunerzee.
After we leave Bern, I’m struck by how much prettier the countryside is along this long distance rail line as opposed to the local line I took in. The absence of graffiti alone is breathtaking.
I think I’m the only one riding today with just a regular ticket.
In Thun (back to an excess of graffiti) I switch seats – I think we are going to keep going the same direction, so I’m hopeful I’ll be facing the right way for the view side of the train. Ha, I’m right! At last I get to look at the lake without interruption. And let me assure you, the view is fantastic. Makes me want to retire to one of the little towns that dot the shore. I’m always brought up short by the question, how bad are the winters?
There ends the tale of the adventure as recorded that day on the back of the National/Alamo map of Switzerland. I would make it all the way to Interlaken with difficulty, walk back to the hotel wondering how I was going to meet up with the family, and then wondering how I was going to get into the room without a key, only to find them lounging about reading and watching TV in the room. They were shocked I was back so fast. So much for my big adventure.
We spent the rest of the day just hanging out in the hotel room or lounging about in town. If you can’t do nothing on vacation, when can you do it?
