- Other Train travels with Tara
- Click on images to view larger
Introduction: This is part of a series of mini-travel photo stories on Switzerland that will run for several weeks. A very special 16-year-old named Tara takes the train on Saturdays or Sundays to explore the country where she has grown up. Her mother, GL editor Ellen Wallace, goes along for the ride.
The high end of the Upper Valais, The Goms (Conche in French) is a place of mystery to me, despite several trips there. It sits like a kind of saddle high between the rest of canton Valais and canton Uri, which is home to the mountain resort of Andermatt. The Goms is separated from Uri, Bern and Ticino by high and inhospitable peaks. In summer the Nufenen, Furka and Grimsel passes connect them. In winter, trains miraculously get through most of the time.
The Goms, famous but mysterious
The Goms is famous as home to the magnificent Altesch Glacier, which is Europe’s longest and a Unesco World Heritage site. The Glacier Express that runs between Zermatt and St Moritz cuts through here. This is also where Cesar Ritz was born, the man of hotel fame, and it’s home to the Rhone Glacier, the start of the river by the same name.
These facts do not interest my daughter, whose disabilities make her indifferent to history or for that matter, current events, a problem she shares with some others her age, but at least in her case it’s because she doesn’t speak or read or absorb this kind of information.
Despite several reasons for fame, The Goms remains a mysterious area because it is isolated. In winter, cross-country skiers love it, but they tend to arrive on the train, ski off into the distance and disappear, leaving quiet little villages of old wooden houses that are tightly knit together, with few people on the streets. The Goms is known throughout Switzerland for getting large piles of snow dumped on it and, as a result, being cut off from the rest of the world for days on end. In fact, two weeks after we visited, that is exactly what happened.
Tara and I elected for a mid-point destination in the Goms Valley, a village called Fiesch, for a day trip. I remembered that you spend a long time trundling to the end of the valley, only to turn around and see the same scenery again when you come back, so going part-way sounded good. I wanted to avoid a too-long ride on a wintry day with a girl who loves the train, but could become bored. Our options for alternative entertainment would be limited.
It was a fine if cold Sunday two weeks before Christmas when we caught the train from Sierre to Brig, the last CFF rail company stop on the Rhone Valley floor. CFF ticket offices sell Matterhorn Gotthard (MG) Railway tickets for trains up to The Goms. We had plenty of time in Brig, with 25 minutes between trains, to buy cookies and fruit in a small Coop supermarket inside the station before we walked outside to the separate rails used by the MG trains. Traveling with Tara and without a good food supply is to be avoided, I’ve learned the hard way. Eating and traveling go hand in hand for her.
The Matterhorn-Gotthard Railway
The quai was filled with families, most of whom looked like they were headed up for an afternoon of cross-country skiing or sledding. Strollers, sports gear, backpacks and bags of shopping from the relatively big town of Brig: these are trains designed to absorb whatever travelers bring with them, and people don’t complain at others’ oversized gear.
Some but not all of the trains on the MGR are the sleek Glacier Express trains which, for a supplement, climb over the Alps in spectacular fashion. The company was formed in 2003 when two rail companies merged: the Furka-Oberalp (The Goms) and the BVZ (Brig-Visp-Zermatt), which owned the Glacier Express.
We were part of a less touristy crowd, locals and people from the rest of Switzerland who were mostly doing day trips.
Our train
The train heads slowly up the steep narrow and twisting valley where little light reaches the towns in winter. I wonder how people live with so little direct light for weeks on end. The rail line passes close to homes and farms. We see fine horses with steaming breath, a herd of goats and several donkeys.
Villages with mirage-like churches and dark wooden chalets that look inaccessible suddenly appear on an opposite slope and then disappear as we move around a bend.
The young man across from us glances at Tara and her noise despite his earphones and MP3. A few minutes later he notices the couple behind him: adults who can manage on their own, but they are clearly mentally disabled and very loud. LOUD! I wonder how we ended up in the same train carriage and I’m impressed that the young man decides to ignore all of us and settle down with his music.
Seven stops and we arrive in Fiesch. Two people lean out the window and talk to us; its the disabled pair from our carriage and I think he is saying we are walking on snow, but my German is weak. He is annoyed that I don’t answer. A woman gets off behind us and tells him in English that the snow is beautiful, but she has a German accent, and he clearly doesn’t understand English. I’m puzzled. Tara is indifferent.
One other person gets off the train: the young MP3 man. He marches off briskly, Tara and I more slowly, down the hill from the station. The train pulls out and we’re left to navigate the little hill on foot. It turns out to have black ice, a thin and invisible layer. I take Tara by the arm and caution her to walk slowly but at that moment her feet shoot out from under her. A moment of shocked silence and then she howls. And howls. I sympathize: falling on ice is a miserable experience that rattles your teeth and hurts your butt and scares the wits out of you!
We creep down the hill and I promise the comfort of a warm cafe, but I’ve forgotten that in Catholic Valais this is a feast day as well as a Sunday and nothing is open. Tara spies a pizzeria and heads towards it: closed. Same with the pub and the hotel.
We head towards the sunshine, which means the base of a cablecar, the one that leads up to the Eggishorn, reputed to have the best view of the Aletsch Glacier. It’s packed with skiers and Tara isn’t interested in views, so we walk a bit further and I take photos.
The sky in Fiesch is very busy, with several paragliders sailing down, cablecars going up and down, low clouds moving swiftly in and out, and a magnificent moon calmly climbing higher.
Tara tugs – it’s time for the promised hot drink. But where?
We turn around and happily find a dark little bar with young lads playing some kind of noisy game at a table. I ask for orange juice in French and it’s delivered in German, with the small group of men in the bar smiling at Tara, who is joyous – there is no other word – now that she has potato chips and juice.
We maneuver our way back to the train station and I realize I forgot to check the return train time, a mistake considering that they run once an hour. Cars drive past and skiers hike with us, all headed for the station, so I think we are in luck.
The station is packed and as the train pulls in the regulars run onto the track in front of it. This seems foolish to me, but I soon realize they know what they are doing.
There is barely room for us on this train, which is carrying a Sunday crowd back home after a day outdoors, doing sports. I wonder how I could have forgotten that this would be a busy travel time, when I planned to have us do train trips during quiet periods.
Weary people are silent, some dozing. Tara and I find two seats, but not together. A woman offers us her seat, in excellent English. The woman on the other side of Tara smiles and shakes her head – don’t worry! – as Tara animates the carriage, excited and delighted. She is the only person making any noise and she is making up for the silence of the rest of us. I suddenly spot the MP3 man, who’s caught this train back after just time enough to take the cablecar up to look at the glacier and return. Was he seeking a peaceful Sunday out?
People around us start to smile and when I apologize to the man in the seat behind Tara, who has started to rock and bounce and giggle as the train rolls along, he just shakes his head and says, “happy, happy – good!” Even the MP3 man has a small smile.
A woman across from us says she is from Bern. She’s an American who has lived there for years. She and her husband, sound asleep, have been out on cross-country skis all day and now they are headed home. She asks frank questions about Tara – is she autistic? I say yes, because it’s clear that the woman knows something about autism and I won’t have to explain that Tara has atypical autism or what that means (mostly not much).
She tells me she hasn’t been skiing for six years and I suggest she’ll ache tomorrow. Oh yes, she says, but it was worth it. It’s so beautiful.
We all watch the late sun streak across the snow-frosted landscape, with a giant moon rising early. A niggling anxiety grows as I wonder how well we’ll handle the crowded CFF train in Brig. The Swiss travel more kilometres a year on the train than anyone else in the world, and Sunday evening is peak time, especially during the ski season.
Tara claps her hands, beams and enjoys the crowd. I decide to follow her lead.
Other sights we saw during our train trip to The Goms: