Snow

In the cold twilight, tiny pin pricks of gold emerge on the far edge of the lake dwarfed by the vast bulk of the mountains that rise up precipitously from the water. One solitary light way up beyond the tree line, where the dark forest gives way to looming rock and ice, glows warmly. I imagine a single timber cabin, ‘drawn back against the black frost night’, fire burning, kettle on the hearth…and pour myself another red…

Today was delightful. We broke our fast in the hotel breakfast room on meats, cheeses, boiled egg, bread and yoghurt. The walk to Territet railway station took maybe 25min with views down across Lake Geneva glimpsed between the stone and wood buildings of the old town. The funicular takes us way up to the small village of Glion, Lac Leman reaching out to the horizon as we rise.

A workman in classic tradie trousers, boots and an honest-worn winter work jacket, talks on his phone as we ride and when we reach the top, he suggests we head this way, ‘tres jolie’. We wander not 200 yards in the suggested direction to the old Hotel Righi-Vaudois, closed some 20 years, now a tired and worn shadow of its Belle Epoque grandeur.

The Hotel garden is level and massive, maybe the long half of a soccer field, hard to conceive on such steep slopes, with views of the lake from Martigny to Lausanne and across to the Alps. The garden is kept, the groves of plain trees neatly pruned and conifers topiaried, in stark contrast to the cracked stairs, tree-root crumbled pavers, rotting timber and peeling paint. As we happy-snap breathlessly, our funicular companion, it turns out the caretaker, beckons us inside.

We pick up maybe 10% of what he says, but his warm desire and pride in sharing this once grand hotel are unmistakable. ‘Historique, magnifique, très jolie’. For some reason, we don’t quite understand he’s very keen for Di to try every chair we encounter as we wander through the palors, dining room and bar all with breathtaking views down over the gardens to the lake. In each room, he encourages us to take photos ‘pas de problem’ and wants to take our phones and take pictures of us ‘comme ca (like that), oui, oui, magnifique – click, click’. The suites are truly astounding, massive, high-ceilinged with deck-views out across the lake to the mountains. ‘Jack Nicholsan’ stayed in this one, he tells us, and some princess from Belgium in another. Di and I both feel like we’re in some weird movie scene from ‘Hotel Budapest’. Beautiful period furniture pieces still fill every room, beds, desks, bedside tables, chaises longues etc etc. He takes us up three of the five stories before showing us the two other buildings, the Nestlé hotel (former home of Mr Nestlé) and the Clinique (health spa), all built at a similar time, all in various stages of disrepair and bought as a job lot by someone in the Emirates for twenty-four million francs. They intend to renovate the three to their original condition, but it will take at least the purchase amount to do that. Their 2-year time frame seems optimistic. Our friend escorts us to the rack-railway station for the next leg of our journey, and we enjoy a coffee at the railway cafe, somewhat amazed at our unexpected tour. Apparently, you can see the building in the Netflix movie, ‘Winter Palace’.

The rack railway takes us up to 2045m, up through timber-challeted villages, garden shed-sized railway cabins, and pine forest until last night’s dusting of snow becomes a thick blanket and we rise above the tree line, emerging from the cloud to brilliant white with rugged rock peaks thrusting up like teeth, row upon row into the distance. The train winds around the mountain contours, over bridges and through the rock of the mountain to Jaman, where a single stone building serves fondue and beer to skiiers seated outfront on wooden tables and finally to the Rochers-de-Naye.

There’s a single lift here with maybe four people skiing. The train terminus serves as a resturant and a tunnel runs maybe 300m through the mountain where a second restaurant (closed today) enjoys views down the snow-covered slopes to the lake below. We do the tourist thing; snacks, photos and brief walk in the snow, before taking the train back down to Glion. A little boy on the train in a one-piece ski suit and a helmet has given his all to the afternoon’s skiing, head nodding gently before he completely conks out.

Hopping off at Glion, we find a trail down through the woods and the old town back to Montreau. The one thousand or so downhill steps provide spectacular vistas and quad burn in equal measure, and we’re very content to finally recline and watch the day close over the lake from our room. Tomorrow, “Golden Pass” (and maybe the 3 days that I missed writing up). Scenes coming back down the rack railway and walking down through the old town.