I’m on a stiflingly muggy tube in mid-July. After months of dismally cold weather, London has decided not just to become pleasantly warm, but transform itself into a heavily polluted sauna, bringing the toxic dregs of the city to the surface. Ever the contrarian I am heading for Gstaad in the Swiss Alps. Of course I may be foregoing the possibility of experiencing any warm weather this year, but if being in the sun means being surrounded by people, I’d rather be hypothermic.
To get to Gstaad you have to take a mountain train from Geneva via Montreux. It’s a dramatic journey complete with receding views of Lake Geneva in the valleys below. During the summer months Switzerland is green; a rich, dark green, the luxuriance of which is almost an impudent taunt against the harsh blanket of the winter snow. This, combined with the epic scale of the landscape, instills a sense of serenity on which I feel almost drunk as my train pulls into the small Swiss hamlet of Saanenmöser on the outskirts of Gstaad.
My hotel is the Saanewald-Lodge. During the winter months it functions as a very popular ski chalet with an outdoor terrace and jacuzzi allowing its guests to soak as they watch the skiers carve down the mountain. In the Summer, however, the hotel has a more laid-back atmosphere. Paul and Jean, the owners, are two brothers based in Geneva who had no previous experience of the hotel business. But this inexperience in the industry is not to their detriment. What the brothers have set out to do with the Saanewald is create a space which, fundamentally, they themselves want to be in. The result is that the chalet has character; it’s fun, zany, and cool.
As I get into my mountain-view room I’m overwhelmed by a sense of calm, so contrary to my state of mind on the muggy tube ride a few hours before that I immediately start to worry. Why should I be so calm? Something must be wrong! And, then, in a flash of the uncanny, I see it perched neatly on my bed: a copy of Carl Honoré’s book In Praise of Slowness…
The first time I came across Carl Honoré was about three years ago at a Haagen-Dazs press conference in Madrid. Haagen-Dazs were plugging a new brand of ice cream and their PR had decided the best way to do this was to fly in Carl Honoré from London to talk about this very book.
To this day I still can’t quite understand the logic behind this rather bold move. Particularly given that all of the assembled journalists, excluding myself, were Spanish, and that, ironically, Honoré had no intention of slowing down his native English patter for them anytime soon.
Perhaps because of these bizarre circumstances I initially dismissed the Slow Movement as, at best, an excuse for laziness, and, at worse, a way of justifying one’s mediocrity. This acrimonious reaction may also have had something to do with living in Madrid. I probably felt the idea of slowing down any more than I already had done would have resulted in death through inertia.
But now, standing in my room in the Saanewald Lodge, after these coincidental set of circumstances and the fact that I feel calm for the first time since I left Madrid three years ago, I think maybe I should give Honoré another go. Maybe I should slow down a bit…
Gstaad may not seem the most obvious place to “slow down”. During the winter months royalty, oligarchs, hedge fund managers and other members of the Jet Set descend upon the little Alpine village to ski and be seen. In the summer, however, the town has a very different atmosphere; cow-bells can be heard clanking in the distance, and a soft breeze wisps itself around your hair.
It’s a great little town to just meander through. For the fashionistas among us boutique shops and designer labels abound. For the conversationalist there are plenty of good cafes to stop off at. And for the more contemplative minds there is the Yehudi Menuhin Philosopher’s trail; a footpath with 12 stop-off points where brief adages from the famous violinist are inscribed on boards. I wasn’t quite sure how this last option came to be in existence given that Yehudi Menuhin wasn’t known as a philosopher, and didn’t come from Gstaad. But in a way the bizarreness of this footpath actually makes you even calmer. What does it matter if he wasn’t really a philosopher? It’s still a nice walk.
To finish off a sleepy amble through Gstaad, a great place to eat is the Rialto. It’s set on the main thoroughfare and from what I understand, during ski season it’s a very trendy place to be seen. But in summer, like everything else in the region, it’s more laid-back. One of the reasons for this is the truly brilliant service. Ivan, the manager, used to be the sommelier at the Michelin-starred Chesery, just up the road. As a result he knows a thing or two about wine but, more importantly, he knows how to take care of his guests. After a delicate perch and artichoke amuse-bouche, and a salade de crevettes, the crevettes of which were phenomenal, Ivan emerges with a board on which rest two beautifully marbled slabs of cote de veau and cote de boeuf. Not knowing which to plump for, Ivan agrees that it’s probably best to serve up both.
In the cool, Alpine air with several bottles of wine, exquisite food, jocular service and laughter, I feel all the worries and anxieties of London life slip away from me. Reader, I would abjure a hundred clammy British summers for a life led in this state of unhurried contentment.
The next day I’m still pleasantly woozy from the previous night’s indulgences, but a quick remedy is a hike up the glacier to the Quille du Diable. If, like me, you want to detoxify yourself through a masochistic tramp through the snow, then it’s about a half hour walk before you reach the Refuge L’Espace, a tiny restaurant perched on the top of the glacier. There, sitting above a precipitous descent of 3000m, they serve up homely, regional specialities. It’s wonderfully peaceful as you watch the birds of prey swoop down around the cliffs with hardly a soul in the world around you.
Indeed the area around Gstaad is perfect for walking. The air invigorates you, and the scenery is, simply, spectacular. We hiked from the Saanewald Lodge to our next hotel, the Hamilton Lodge near Zweisimmen. The walk leads you over the Rinderberg which stands at 2000 metres high, providing a panoramic view of the region. What’s more the rich diet of cheeses, hams and chocolate means you have to exert yourself somehow, or face never being able to move again from the combined weight of tranquility and over-indulgence.
After a four-hour tramp through the mountains, the Hamilton Lodge is exactly the kind of hotel you want. It’s modern yet set within an old ski chalet. The owners are Dutch, and you can tell. The hotel does not have the austere furnishings of most Swiss hotels, but is fashionable and comforting. I sit outside on the wooden terrace and have a coffee and apfelkuchen. And in that moment I think to myself, how can I let myself do this? How can I indulge in this moment without any sense of guilt?
And this lapse into anxious introspection makes me start to think about what the whole notion of “calmness” rests upon. Honoré is right on one thing: we need to take things slowly, but we also need to be doing something. The reason why Gstaad is such a tranquil place is not only because of the pace of life, but because there’s always something to do. The majestic walks and the indulgent food are the ultimate relaxants when set against such beautiful scenery. There are only a few places in the world where you can truly unwind and this is one of them.
