An impossibly picturesque journey
Justine Tyerman arrives in Tirano breathless, bedraggled and bewitched after a magical experience on the Unesco World Heritage Bernina Express.
There was nothing wrong with the seats inside the train – they were plush and luxurious with massive panoramic windows and hostesses serving gourmet food and champagne. We had paid a premium for the seats ... but we never actually sat in them.
We spent the entire 21⁄2 hours from Samedan in Eastern Switzerland over the Bernina Pass to Tirano in Northern Italy standing in an open carriage at the rear of the train, lurching from one side to the other, spellbound by the staggering landscape and the utter perfection of the cloudless autumn day.
My heart rate started to ramp up as soon as the bright red Rhaetian Railway locomotive with the Bernina Express sign slid into the station in Samedan, hauling a string of panoramic carriages which looked like glass capsules.
In fact, my pulse began to accelerate early that morning when I opened one eye and peeped through the curtains in our Bever Lodge bedroom to discover the eye-wateringly bright blue sky and the silver veneer of frost on the grass.
I had been planning this Unesco World Heritage train ride for years and to strike a magic day like this in late autumn was beyond belief.
A smartly-attired Bernina Express hostess met us on the platform and showed us to our deluxe seats. On a cold, snowy or rainy day, travelling in comfort in the warm, panoramic carriage with huge windows that extended along and up the walls and across the roof would have been the ultimate in luxury and scenery viewing.
But that day, the carriage was nearly-deserted. Reading my mind, the hostess pointed to the rear of the train.
‘‘Everyone is in the open carriage today ... because of the beautiful weather."
There were a handful of passengers in the wagon-like carriage which had hard wooden bench seats and no protection from the elements.
‘‘Ahh, perfect,’’ I thought, as I scoped out the scenario for manoeuvreability and photography. ‘‘Nothing to stop me from swapping sides at will depending on whether the primo sights are left or right, less chance of trampling anyone who gets in the way and no glass reflection.’’
The problem was the primo sights were everywhere on this trip.
We set off along the valley directly below the magnificent Panoramaweg, a 7km alpine pathway from Muottas Muragl to Alp Languard we had hiked the previous day.
The wagon was noisy, blustery and far from comfortable, positively Spartan in fact, but I was so happy. Golden autumn foliage crept up the mountain sides swallowing up the dark green conifers.
The spectacular, pure white Bernina Massif shimmered on the horizon like a mirage in the morning sunshine. It was astonishing to think our train was about to climb over this high alpine pass and end up in Italy. Such things are huge novelties for Kiwis.
As we got closer, I nearly fell out of the carriage trying to get the perfect shot of the mighty Morteratsch Glacier and 4048m Piz Bernina towering regally above.
Near the summit of the pass lay the beautiful twin lakes of Lago Bianco (White Lake) and Lej Nair (Black Lake) named for their pale aqua and ink blue colours. Rivers flowing from the lakes head off in opposite directions – the Nair tracks northwards to the Inn and Danube and ultimately the Black Sea, while the Bianco flows south to the Adda and Po and the Adriatic. Glacier tongues reached down towards the lakes, waiting for the winter snow and ice to replenish and reunite them.
At Ospizio Bernina, 2253m above sea level, the highest point on the trip and the highest altitude station on the Rhaetian Railway, I was in a state of euphoria, perhaps a little lightheaded with the altitude. I was entranced by the strongly contrasting colours of the landscape – the intense, infinity blue of the sky; the blinding phosphorus of the sunshine; the pale, milky green of Lago Bianco; the dazzling white snow against the dark, muscular torso of the rocky massif.
Ospizio marks the boundary between the Italian-speaking valley of Val Poschiavo and the Swiss Engadin valley where the inhabitants speak Romansh and German. From there we skirted the shore of Lago Bianco and began our long descent. Being in an open carriage at the back of the train, I could watch the massif slowly recede into the distance.
Soon after, we stopped at Alp Gru¨ m, 2091m, built in 1923. The old stone station houses a lovely restaurant and hotel where white duvets were airing in the windowsills in typically-Swiss alpine fashion.
The passengers piled out and gazed around in wonder at Palu¨ Lake, an exquisite turquoise jewel fed by melt waters from the glacier beneath Piz Palu¨ .
Hiking and biking tracks leading towards the glacier were dotted with hearty, fit-looking, older couples who waved to us. I heard a yodel in the distance. I had an insane desire to abandon my Lake Como plans and join them. Such thoughts make me feel traitorous to my Kiwi homeland, but Switzerland’s mountains and glaciers are higher, craggier, snowier and so much more