Goethe wrote a poem called Song of the Spirits over the Waters in 1779 about one of its valley’s jaw-dropping waterfalls. Mendelssohn noted it was “the finest of all in this unbelievably beautiful country” in 1842. Tolkien was so impressed he conceived of Middle Earth when he visited the town and its surrounding area in 1911. Despite this high culture, Interlaken remains best known, to Brits at least, as little more than a means to an end, a train stop on the way to the birthplace of modern ski-ing, Wengen. It is, of course, way more, but we’ll come to that later.
With a year round population of about 1300 inhabitants, Wengen is situated 4180 ft above sea level and is one of the few truly car free resorts in the Alps. Picture box pretty, it nestles comfortably in the side of the mountainous Jungfrauregion like a hand in a snug glove. There’s one nightclub and only a few bars so it’s not so much an après ski resort as one for families and early bird adventurers. We stay in Beausite Park Hotel & Spa which perches over the village and looks out at the sheer black cliff faces that define the valley and commune with the much higher holy mounatinous tryptcyh of the Eiger, the Jungrau and the Mönch. If you’re lucky to get this front of hotel view, it’s worth just sitting on the balcony for a few minutes every day and letting your jaw drop.
The Beausite is a smart hotel with an all inclusive spa which has a steam room, a few saunas (including an extra hot and dry ‘Finnish’ one), a foot pool, an indoor swimming pool, an outdoor swimming pool (which currently, with reeds and rocks, resembles a wild swimming pool or, indeed, a pond) and a whirlpool. It’s a great way to relax after a long journey or a day’s ski-ing but beware, signs indicate the saunas should be enjoyed naked.
On the two days we indulge, an American couple were keen for us to keep our kit on whilst a lonesome Dutch man was keener for us to take it off. Dinner at the hotel’s Restaruant Altitude is a fusion of Swiss specialties and Mediterranean fare. The food is generally befitting the establisment and includes mouth-watering dishes like Smoked Trout Mousse, Grisons Barley Soup and Patcheri Black Salsify although one night our minds collectively boggled when presented with Crispy Ribel Corn chicken which is more reminiscent of KFC than high or even middling cuisine.
The Lauberhorn (Photo by Christoph Zwaan)
The ski-ing is solid intermediate with a decent amount of red and blue runs but only a handful of black. The pistes are of good length and width and whilst not all are bashed, most are. Home to the Lauberhorn, one of the world’s most legendary and longest (4.4km) downhill ski races, make sure to ask your guide to take you down this run. Although its highest speed,161.9 km/h, was attained by Johan Clarey of France, no worries, some of the most extreme parts of the course, including a130 ft jump over a rock nose, are closed. A good photo opportunity can be found standing at the race’s start gate but the twists and turns, some, literally 90 degrees, are incredulous to behold. The average race speed is 100 km/h and one can’t help but marvel at the super heroic, super foolhardy racers who’ve bestowed this race with such mythical status.
But what if, God forbid, you don’t ski? Or what if, God forbid a whole lot more…What if there’s no snow? Assuming you’re no rock climber, it turns out Interlaken is chock-a-block with outdoor activities, some of which happen all year round. The town is larger than Wengen but still relatively small with 23,000 inhabitants. It allows cars but is also unfeasibly picturesque and has a river, the Aare, running through it. Not surprisingly, Interlaken is thus called because it sits between two lakes; Lake Thun to its West and Lake Brienz to its East. Both lakes’ water is crystal clear and deemed clean enough by the Government to drink unfiltered.
One morning, we take a few kayaks out onto Brienz. The water is still about 5 degrees but the sun is trying to convince us it’s the middle of Summer, not the second week in March. There’s nary a wisp of wind and the lake is flat like a proverbial pancake. We have to wear dry suits, an effort to put on, but not as clumsy as they appear, and a life jacket. Sunscreen’s a good idea, too. There’s a great tranquility to this kayaking, the gentle dipping in and out of the paddle, one of the few sounds, practically hypnotic if you find a steady rhythm. Boats are also allowed on the lakes but jetskis are banned. Whilst not as visceral as ski-ing, it’s another way of being at one with nature.
Once back on shore, I swim (without drysuit) to a pontoon no more than 10 metres away. Initially the water seems warm even, heated by the sun and the shallow beach but as soon as the floor disappears, the swimming is like slow death by a thousand needle pricks. Suddenly my front crawl becomes frantic. Luckily my destination isn’t far. I rip myself onto the pontoon and bask in the sun before returning to the water and ice-swimming back at full throttle.
Although there seems to be very few paragliding accidents, it’s definitely a more nervy proposition than kayaking or, indeed, ice-swimming. The road to our take off point is long, windy, and, not surprisingly, mountainous. Luckily we’re driven in a minibus and have to do little but don a crash helmet and wait for our individual ‘pilots’ to stretch out the parachute and strap us in. The crash helmet seems like a token gesture, a superfluous requirement which surely wouldn’t protect anyone from falling out of the sky but hey, what do I know? We’re on the side of a mountain but its grassy and there’s cow smell everywhere. Or at least that’s what I assume it is. Taking off is surprisingly easy. I’m strapped in front of the pilot like a giant baby and together we walk and then just about run until the parachute drags us into the air and we’re up, up and very much away.
Somewhere between awestruck and anxious, I marvel at the trees, the cliff faces, the lakes, the river, the town, the houses, the cars below us whilst finding it impossible to ignore I’m sitting on nothing more than a canvass membrane a good thousand or so feet up in the air. Laugh or cry? I’m not sure which but it’s the closest I’ll ever get to flying, to being a bird and there is an absolute serenity and wonder in that feeling.
As we close in on the town, my pilot asks if I want to do some crazy turns. Sure, why not!? Well probably because they are crazy. Completely crazy. We veer at acute angle to the left and then right and back again. It’s like being on an extreme roller-coaster ride where the G-force is such that your head can’t move, your eyes tear up and your stomach wants to jump ship. The landing is surprisingly easy on the feet and I’m grateful to touch terra firma again, but for the experience, too.
A friend and I visit Hooters (yes, for some reason, there is a Hooters in Interlaken) to settle our nerves. We can’t stick around too long because we have to head back to the Brienz for a slightly perplexing concept: raclette dinner on a raft. We start at Bönigen, head up the Aare and get out at Interlaken. A poor Irish chap rows us. With no historical precedent, this seems like a money grab from a budding entrepreneur who’s invented a unique Instagram moment. Initially it’s rather discombobulating. Where do you sit? What do you hold onto? How do you not fall into the freezing water? Where do you look? The mountains? The lake? The cheese? The potatoes? The wine? The raclette burners? How do you turn the burners on? How d’you keep them burning? Why isn’t the cheese melting? Why is the cheese melting so quickly!? Where are the potatoes!?
Slowly but surely, everything falls into place. The wine helps. The cheese, a selection of garlic, pepper and plain, melts. I crush the potatoes, pour viscous cheese over them and choose from three pickles; fennel with curry, cabbage and, adding a bit of sweet to the sour, melon. There’s also a selection of paprika, salt and pepper to add to what is, essentially, an exotic baked potato with cheese. It all feels very decadent, surreal, fin de siècle, Finis Terrea, even. But, as the sun sets, as its shards of light bounce off the darkening lake, as the mountains start their slumber, the concept starts to make sense and everyone relaxes into a unique experience, as memorable as everything else this trip has offered up.
For more information on Wengen, and to start planning your trip, visit the official tourism website at MySwitzerland.com. For information on kayaking on Lake Brienz, visit hightide.ch, for paragliding in Interlaken visit alpinair.com, and for raclette rafting, visit outdoor.ch.
SWISS connects Switzerland with more than 160 weekly flights from London Heathrow, London City, Manchester, Birmingham, Edinburgh and London Gatwick (seasonal) to Zurich or Geneva. One-way fares start from £54 to Geneva, and include all taxes, fees and surcharges. For more information, visit swiss.com.
For comfortable travel throughout Switzerland, Swiss Travel System (STS) offers a unique all-in-one 1st class Swiss Travel Pass for unlimited travel by train, bus and boat as well as Free admission to more than 500 museums throughout Switzerland. For more information, visit mystsnet.com.
