It's a heartbreak to leave Mürren on such a razor sharp day; the tips of the peaks glow white against the impossibly blue sky. I think I could spend months here, walking, sitting, drinking it all in. With a sigh I turn my back on the Jungfrau, and take my last breaths of the crisp air as I trudge to the little train station. Even the chamois came out to bid me adieu.
You could write a song about traveling here: we took a little train, cable car, slightly larger regional train to the regular train to Luzern. The little green and yellow regional running from Interlaken to Lauterbrunnen is such a throwback. Walking back through the cars to the only WC, you can just picture train travel in the old days. Red velvet seats in each car, and to move car to car you actually open a door, hang on and step on a platform, then to the other car's platform and in that door. The WC has a hole open put the bottom of the train, you can see the ties rushing by. A sign advises you, in four languages, to not use the WC while the train is stopped at the station. Ahhhh! The luxury of the good old days.
We ate lunch between Meiringen and Brünig-Hasliberg, on the way to Luzern; bread, cheese, wine, apricot, chocolate and a Swiss and German favorite, wasabi peanuts. The train strained to pull over a pass, then dropped into Lungern, with a beautiful turquoise lake: I decided right then that we will stop here on our next trip to Switzerland. Three young American girls boarded, cranked up their iPhone and sang along, first entertaining, then annoying the other passengers.
We got to Luzern and found a beautiful little city by the lake waiting for us. I guess the most famous landmark here is the Kapellbrücke, a wooden bridge across the Ruess River, built with an angle at each end and connected to an old stone water tower. It's beautiful, flowers line the sides. Our hotel is right on the river walk, looking down on the bridge; we have a room on the top floor with a balcony so we can see the lake as well. There is another, older mill bridge as well, these are two of Europe's oldest surviving bridges. Inside the bridges, in the rafters, are old paintings telling the history of Luzern, filled with skeletons to remind us that we will all die soon. Oh, those fun loving, wild and wacky Swiss!
Well, happily I have lived just long enough to make it here.
Luzern is another one of those clean, beautiful cities in Switzerland, more compact than Zurich (the train station is right there, across the bridge), surprisingly traffic free like Bern, lots of paintings on the buildings, a tree lined promenade walk along the shores of the Waldstättersee (Lake Luzern) and a fun section of little crooked cobblestoned streets with fountains and squares. There is a great little beer brewery two doors down from the hotel, the Rathaus Brauerei, brewing two wheat beers that you can only get here. We stop in for a sample of each (Gail gets a lady-like 2dl size, while I get the manly 5dl, or half litre, mug) and a warm pretzel. Sitting under the arched stone porticos looking out at the people going by... This, this is living.
Maybe I need another stroll through the bridge to remind me I will die soon.
Everything is closed, except the cafés and train station, for the national holiday. So we just walk and look, take the time to take in each painted building and admire the snow capped alps ringing the lake, standing tall over the city. Eventually hunger finds us and we stop back by the brewery where I get Munich style crispy roasted suckling pig (pork roast with crispy skin) and Gail plants the Swiss flag on Mount Salad. It's an early dinner and we are done right before eight, which is fortunate, because right as we walk over to the lake shore all hell breaks loose: church bells start their thunderous tolling, train whistles toot and steamboat horns blast out low, mournful sighs that echo through the valley. It goes on and on, six steamers circling the harbour, the cathedral bells; we just sit on the lake shore and take it all in.
Back in town behind us we can hear alpenhorns, in their resonant harmonies, playing songs that now remind us of our friends in Mürren under the clear blue alpen skies. The red and white flags provide the perfect contrast, and then the first fireworks start to explode. Like the Fourth of July, this is a holiday big on explosions, and the fireworks continued well on past midnight when we finally fell into bed. From our window we could see at least four major displays going on, and on the most prominent peak a big red cross is outlined with lights; it soon disappears in the gunpowder smoke.