Vers les sommets

Things were looking good. After a week of almost non-stop rain in Kandersteg, I had woken up on the day set for departure to blue-ish skies. I made my way to breakfast, up to the staff room for TFTD (the morning staff meeting) and farewell hugs, and back down to the dining hall for breakfast round two. I’d be needing it.

I eventually headed out around noon. The first part of the day’s route was great – all it took was maybe three minutes of pedalling, and after that all was downhill. Well, till Frutigen, anyway. I’d be paying for it later, because I needed to get back up to Adelboden at 1300m. And this time, taking a way nastier hill to get there. Alte Adelbodenstrasse, you’re a killer.

 

 

I next needed to head over the Hahnenmoospass at 1950m. After that first hill up to Adelboden, though, everything else felt easy enough.

 

 

 

 

Once over the pass, the road winded down to Lenk. I was there within minutes, and stopped to have a quick look around.

 

 

When cycling over this terrain, it’s better not to zoom the map out too far. The results are depressing – after a tough few hours of cycling, I was now around 15km from my departure point in Kandersteg, if even that. I like to think that it’s just the nature of crossing the Alps – you gain a whole load of elevation, only to lose most of it again. And repeat the whole process a few times over. Only, not exactly. It’s probably just the nature of the route I chose to take.

 

 

For a change, the last part of the day’s route was almost entirely flat along the valley floor, and I made it to Zweisimmen by sunset. Just as I was leaving Kandersteg I had received a message from the Liebi family, saying that they’d seen my couch request and could offer me a place to sleep for the night. Really nice of them, and just in time! All they did not mention was that they lived half way up a hill overlooking Zweisimmen’s town centre. Always a nice surprise when (you think) you’ve reached the day’s destination :)

I arrived, met Steff and Esther, the parents, and headed straight for the shower. As we were sitting down for dinner later on, I got to meet Simon, the son, whom it turns out is an avid long-distance cyclist himself (he’s now on a bike trip of his own from Zweisimmen to Amsterdam – good luck Simon, wherever you’ve arrived!). As it also turns out, while not on the road he likes to hang out in the family workshop and put together bikes from spare parts. I was in good company for the evening.

My plan was to head out at around nine the next morning. I got as far as leaving the house (more or less) on time, but still had a whole lot of couch requests to send out and emails to reply to. So I camped out in the Liebi’s garden for a few hours, making the most of wifi while I still had some. Once I eventually got moving, the day was largely a repeat of the last. Up, down, one insane uphill, followed by a long downhill and a few flat kilometres to finish off.

 

 

 

 

 

By the day’s end, I’d reached Martigny at 400m. And fell in love with it right away. The photos don’t really do the place any justice, but still – just by taking a look at them it’s easy to see what’s so great about it. The town’s at the crossroads of several Alpine passes, with one road heading over to Italy and another winding its way round to France. Mountains all around, of course, with vineyards clinging to the lower parts of their slopes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’d now crossed over from German-speaking to French-speaking Switzerland, and it showed. Martigny still felt distinctly Swiss, though this time with a somewhat more French/Italian twist to the architecture. And for a (welcome) change, I could now actually understand the language on the street. My German’s not too far off from my French, but Swiss German’s just totally a thing of its own. Swiss French, while still sounding kinda quirky, at least remains comprehensible for the most part.

 

 

It didn’t stop at understanding the language on the street. I was Couchsurfing again, this time with Francine and Moise who spoke almost no English. So for the first time ever, I found myself communicating entirely in French for three days. And surprisingly enough, I managed.

 

 

I spent my time in Martigny doing a mix of sightseeing and trip planning for the days to come. I’d spend the mornings at Francine’s place on my laptop, and then head out in the afternoon to have a look around.

 

 

 

In the meantime, I befriended Francine’s neighbour and she invited us to join for a dinner of fresh mushrooms she’d just picked from the forest. She must have regretted it when I told her she’d need to leave out onions and garlic from the dish, but we had a great time nonetheless and all worked out tasty in the end.

 

 

Also meanwhile, I gave the bike a full service and finally installed the new brake pads I’d been carrying around for weeks. Over the next two days, I’d be heading right up to the Great St. Bernard Pass over the longest and possibly toughest climb yet, so everything needed to be in shape. Francine had recommended that once I reach the top of the pass, I spend at least one night there up at the mountain hospice run by monks. A night’s stay cost 25 Swiss Francs – I’d be paying for accommodation for the first time on the trip so far, but it sounded too good an experience to turn down. Anyway, 25 Francs in Switzerland – that’s a total bargain. I looked up the hospice’s phone number and asked Francine to make the call (in Switzerland even mountain huts have telephone lines. And wifi, if you’re lucky). When we called, the person on the other end of the line asked if I was sure I didn’t want to join in for meals, and that if I wouldn’t be doing so because I was on a tight budget, meals were on the house. This was getting better already.

With the bike sorted, night at the hospice booked, and some extra food and drinks for the road courtesy of my incredibly kind hosts, I was all set to hit the road again. Direction – up.