I made the decision a very, very long time ago that bus excursions were not for me and that Switzerland was boring.
I concluded the former thanks to Heinz, a very boring Swiss guy I dated very briefly who only talked about mountains and Switzo being heaps expensive. Me: left swipe on both. The latter was affirmed by uni-me after my first and only coach tour back when bus parties were cool courtesy of the Vengaboys, and the height of travel sophistication was a Discman. The strict itinerary gave us zero time to explore and nil unique experiences, so came home with blurred memories of parties, not places.
Even the swans are angelic in Switzerland.
For starters, Switzerland is extra. The air is purer, the colours brighter and every inch of the place looks like a mash-up of an Enid Blyton book, Country Road catalogue and magic mushroom trip. It’s like a real-life train set in a landscape of mountain peaks, turquoise lakes and perfectly preserved architecture with flower boxes trimming every windowsill (so many flower boxes — like ‘OK guys we get it, you like flowerboxes’) and set to a soundtrack of chirping birds and clanging cow bells. Understandably its full of millionaires — if you’re loaded, why wouldn’t you live in the most beautiful country on earth?
Never thinking I would be able to fund a visit that could allow me the luxury of seeing it all, I was peasant-ly and pleasantly surprised that a 9-day coach tour, showing me the ‘Best of Switzerland’- with 45 strangers — was not only affordable and flexible, but offered unique experiences without cutting back on the icing. And mamma loves her sugar.
Loves a flower box.
Let me start at the very beginning …
I rolled straight off the tarmac and into Zurich’s airport hotel where I checked-in beneath a 16 metre tall neon-lit wine tower of 4,000 fancy wine and champagne bottles. ‘Come back at five to see trapeze artists fly up and bring them down from the top’ advised my tour guide Wolfgang (shout out to Wolfies parents for best name ever).
This was the first of six hotels and, recalling my last tour where I slept on a trundle, I assumed thought they’d peaked too soon. But nope, not the case. We stayed at a lakeside mansion, mountainside chalet, palace-turned-hotel — all minimum 4-star and all max out of my usual price tag. It was dem primo opulence vibes that had me sleeping like a kween and I was into it.
The Manoir de Ban, the traveller’s lakeside accommodation. Picture: Chaplin’s World™ © Bubbles Incorporated
We left the cobblestone laneways and buzzing riverside of Zurich, driving through forests to the old town of Berne, and onto Chillon Castle — a water fortress, immortalised by Lord Byron’s ‘Prisoner of Chillon’ that now has stand-up paddleboarders floating around it’s moat.
My first day trip was outta Montreux, taking a paddle-steamer across Lake Geneva to Charlie Chaplin’s estate to then meet the rest of the group for lunch at the 15th-century vineyards of Cave Champ de Clos. We dined with the family and the winemakers, getting to know each other over the homemade meal and many rosés. Fellow tour-er Shushma (on her seventh Trafalgar trip) summarised the day nicely: ‘This is surely what heaven will be like — castles, mountains, lakes, wine, cheese and chocolate. There is nothing missing’.
Chillon Castle. Picture: Switzerland Tourism/Markus Buehler-Rasom
Our four-wheeled journey continued through the Alps past waterfalls and up to the mountain resort of Zermatt. This car-free village of 6,000 has a buzzing main street of shops, cafes, bars and hotels, attracting millions each year to see, and snap, their #1 resident — the pyramid-shaped Matterhorn. I woke early one fair morn and watched the peak turn gold and pink with the rising sun, then wandered up to a small bakery where I had a coffee and hazelnut croissant with the owner, a Kiwi baker who moved here ‘for a year or two’ twenty years ago. ‘Have you hiked up to the top yet?’ she asked me. I shook my head. ‘It’s absolute beauty, I go up all the time.’ She looked me up and down. ‘The oldest person to climb the peak was almost 90 — don’t be lazy’.
I floated in a cable car above the slated roofs of the mountain chalets and mint-green creeks, stopping three times to acclimatise before making it to the top to see ‘the king of mountains’ up close. It was like meeting a celebrity and the amount of photos being take was a tad OTT, but understandable — the view was insane. A panorama of mountain tops, naked above the tree line, their little white snowcaps bright against blue sky and the village far below. The air was crisp, the sun warm and it was surprisingly quiet. I followed the sounds of bleating goats around a corner, then another, until I realised I was chasing echoes from far below … Idiot. However, the ghost goats led me to something heaps cooler — a waterfall coming down from the Matterhorn. Aka Toblerone juice.
The Matterhorn in all its glory.
The melting glacier was trickling over glittering pink and silver rocks (I swear to you this is not an exaggeration, they were sparkling like magic wizard stones) so I filled my water bottle with surely the most pristine water on the planet.
Maybe I hit the enchanted H2O too hard but as I hiked down the dirt track, the hills came alive with peak-nature everything. The flowers were bursting in pinks, blue and yellows, the grass was impossibly green, the butterflies were waving at me and everything looked as though it had been hit with a highlighter. Even the air felt happy. I skipped through the treeline, past old Swiss log cabins singing everything Julie Andrews (wrong country, but you get the gist, let the girl have her moment).
It wasn’t just the peaks that made me peak. Other experiences included a; train trip *with schnapps* through fairy tale country, exploring the laneways of Évian-les-Bains, taking a private launch to the palazzo on Isola Bella and a hysterical Swiss folklore dinner with fondue, yodelling and horn blowing. One arvo an activity had to be canned, so on the fly, Wolfie arranged a replacement: a horse-and-carriage ride to a 10th century Benedictine monastery where we sat in the sun drinking local wine and tasting artisan cheese, made on site.
Lucerne the final stop.
Our final two days were spent in Lucerne where the iconic wooden bridge (laden with flower boxes of course), cobblestone streets and colourful facades had been taken over by a music festival — just one of the many events the town throws each summer.
I spent my last afternoon swimming alongside yachts, paddleboats, ducks and swans in Lake Lucerne. Hundreds of locals lined the edge, dangling their feet over the water as they enjoyed the sun’s rays as it set over Mount Stanserhorn.
Our farewell dinner was held beneath marble arches in the grand dining room of a verrrry fancy hotel, overlooking the lake and mountain. The wine flowed, new friends swapped details and then half of the group announced they’d all be doing another Trafalgar trip together, this time to Scotland.
So yeah, that’s that. I concede; I was wrong. Coach tours are great. They’re flexible, insanely well arranged, offer unique experiences you couldn’t co-ord yourself and allow you to relax while the Wolfies of the world handle stressful stuff. And now, I am in love with a country that I thought like Heinz would bore the pants off me. Instead, I want to take my heart out of my chest, wrap it around Switzo in a hug and say ‘Hey you big peaky thing, thanks for being you’. The end.
Source: https://t24hs.com
