The first night we were woken up by revelers and railroads.  Another source of noise at the Bellevue was the wooden flooring, which generated noises the likes of which I never have heard nor will again.

 

You can feel the wind in your face as you accelerate toward death each time you acknowledge that some experience will never happen again, but there is no denying that we have passed our peak when it comes to creaky floors.  I suggested to Chiara at one point that we make a game of trying to walk across the floor without startling ourselves, but the impossibility of it justified a single contemptuous head-shake.

 

It took 20 minutes to walk to the Interlaken East train station, then we waited 15 minutes for the train to Wilderswil. From Wilderswill, we crossed from the normal gauge platform 2 to the narrow gauge cog train platform 3, and boarded the cog train for Schynige Platte.

 

The Cog Train to Schynige Platte

Pronounced SHIN-uhg-kee PLOT-uh, Schynige Platte comprises hiking trails, alpine gardens, and a restaurant high atop a mountain just outside Interlaken. The main point was to ride the cog train to the top of the mountain for more views, but there was a suggestion in the marketing materials that we might also get to see Swiss horn blowers blowing their legendary eight-foot-long Swiss horns, which I was earnestly hoping for, as well as an Alpine Garden.

 

The cog-train was steady and strong, but it still took almost an hour to get to the top. As expected the cog train went through tunnels and clung to the edge of dangerous precipices. We got terrific views of Interlaken and the two lakes on each side.  Thunderstorms were in the forecast for the day, but the views were good.

 

Schynige Platte

At the top of Schynige Platte, the main draws turned out to be (1) Drop-dead stunning views of the valleys below, and (2) An impossibly extensive alpine garden.

 

The views down into the valley looked like they were taken from an airplane.  The views across to the Eiger and JungFrau weren’t as good, because tall clouds had begun moving in, which, by evening, although we did not realize it then, would turn into thunderstorms and downpours across Switzerland.

 

The Alpine Garden

The Alpine Garden consisted of a maze of paths up the hill, across the hill, and around the hill, peppered with engraved metal signs providing the Swiss and Latin names of whatever was growing.

 

It’s not clear whether they planted a thousand flowers and then signed them, or noticed a thousand flowers already growing and then planted the signs, but whatever it was, two things were clear. First, there were a huge number of flowers blooming; second, they were all consciously weeded. Unless, of course, the plants were just weeds with signs.  But if so, they were very pretty weeds.

 

The Hills Were Alive with the Sound of Music

From the garden we heard a strange cacophony of percussion. If you can imagine a grunge band beating garbage can lids of every size, and marching, but not marching in unison or to any particular beat, you would know what this band sounded like. It was loud, and it was out of sight.  It took a while for us to figure out that this was a band of Swiss cows playing Swiss cow bells, somewhere beyond the horizon.

 

Swiss Horns

Next we heard the Swiss horns and, summoned like rats to the pied piper, we eagerly crested a hill to find two costumed horn blowers warming up their giant instruments near the Shynige Platte restaurant. 

 

Swiss Horns are like bugles in that they have no keys, but they are better than bugles in that they can summon seven different notes, if you have very subtle ability to vibrate your lips at seven different rates. 

 

The horn blowers blew their horns in harmony. We photographed them blowing their horns. They blew scales. And they taught me how to blow the Swiss Horn, too.

 

“It’s like a trumpet, right?” I asked.

 

She said, “If you can play a trumpet, you can play the Swiss horn!” 

 

I can’t play the trumpet, but I didn’t let her know that, and pretty soon I had summoned a long, lazy, belch from the thing. It sounded like a cross between a French horn and a conch shell. Chiara took a photo.

 

Back Down the Mountain

The weather continued to deteriorate, and we needed to catch a train to Chur (pronounced “KUHR”) later in the day, so we headed back down to the Shynige Platte train station and waited for the next cog train back down the mountain.

 

When our cog train arrived, it was full of passengers who were greeted by the mellifluent sounds of the Swiss horn blowers, who had moved to a perch just above the train station.  On a different day, we might have had a meal overlooking the valley, hiked around the mountain, and gotten a clear view of the Eiger.

 

If you are into jaw-dropping views of the Alps, or you want to see the largest Alpine garden you will ever see, or you need to hike around the Alps at the top of an hour-long cog-train ride along perilous cliffs, or you need to cross “Blow a Swiss Horn” off your bucket list, Schynige Platte is a smart choice.

 

We checked out of our hotel, grabbed a train to Bern, transferred to Zurich, then transferred to Chur. We spent the night in the ABC Swiss Hotel across the street from the train station, and were up first thing the following morning to catch the Bernina Express through the Alps.