Lakes and Lions

August 12-13

By Sunday we needed to wash some clothes. So I walked around the block to Jet Wasch and found it closed.

Since this wasn’t going to be wash day and, what’s more, rain was in the forecast for Monday, we decided on a change of plan.

We’d take the boat ride on Lake Luzern while the sun was out. We bought two tickets to Weggis at the Tourist Information Office in the railroad station. It was a little more than a half hour each way and we’d kill an hour in Weggis.

Luzern is right on the edge of the Alps. Lower mountains, maybe the Jura, which give the Jurassic Period and “Jurassic Park” their names, are on one side of town and the Alps on the other.

Mount Pilatus looms over the city.

Much of the lake is framed by Alps. The water on Sunday afternoon was covered with sailboats. 

The mountain peaks, the sails pointing toward the heavens—I wonder if that is the inspiration for the way they make up the bed at Rothaus. 

We passed a beach, probably artificial, full of people. We stopped at a landing called Hertenstein, where several passengers in wheelchairs got off the boat.

A lady who could have been 60 was wearing the tiniest bikini I have seen in a while and tying up her kayak at a small pier. She looked terrific.

Weggis was the next port of call. What we saw consisted of a small stretch of shops and restaurants. Most of the shops and some of the bars were closed.

The Reformed Church was open, so we went inside. It was a very spare, cool interior, wooden pews and white walls. Three stained glass windows stood in the apse behind the communion table. 

Each was a portrait. The one on the left may have been Ulrich Zwingli in his floppy hat. The right-hand man could have been Martin Luther (judging by his Buster Brown haircut). 

The middle figure was a rather angry-looking Jesus shown over a passage from Matthew’s Gospel: “Come to me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

I can’t remember for sure, but it may have been Luther’s translation, which I looked up and reads: “Kommet her zu mir alle, die ihr mühselig und beladen seid; ich will euch erquicken.” I remember that the words “beladen” and “erquicken” were in the passage on the window.

A little farther along the street in Weggis was a restaurant called Zee, where Joanna had white wine soup with fish from Lake Luzern. It was essentially a chowder, not a strong flavor but not bad. I drank an Eichhof, the locally brewed beer that seems to be everywhere here.

The boat back was a different story from the one we took out. We were standing in a long line winding around the building and couldn’t see the boat, but we heard unusual music, slow, distant, and mysterious sounding. 

The line began to move. When we came in sight of the boat, we found a trio of Alpenhorns playing some of the most interesting music I’ve heard on this trip. It’s where Joanna got the photo of the day.

The boat was a side-wheeler and it may have been driven by a bona fide steam engine. At least, the exposed pistons and the rhythm of operation suggested as much.

After we got off the boat that the pigeon hit my arm. And my hat. We were right by the lake, so I just dipped the hat in and then took a little water to rinse the sleeve of my shirt.

After a rest at the hotel, we went out in search of the Lion monument. 

This is a large figure of a dying lion carved into the side of a cliff. The inscription reads: “Helvetiorum fidei ac virtuti.” 

That is to say, “To the faithfulness and manhood of the Helvetians.”

When they want to be inclusive, the Swiss write in Latin and call themselves by the name that the Romans gave them, Helvetii. That way no one of the languages of the country—German, French, Italian, or Romansch—is favored.

The country’s official name, I understand, is also Latin—Confederatio Helvetica.

The monument commemorates Swiss mercenaries who died during the French Revolution. They held the Tuileries against the revolutionaries for several days. Most were killed or executed.

They were fighting for money, but they had sworn to fight for the king, and so they did to the end.

The monument is more impressive than I had expected. I had seen photos and thought it would be a carved piece of stone on a foundation.

Not so. This is a deep bas relief in a niche carved into a sheer face of living rock. 

We tried to go to that local bar, Cafe Suisse, for dinner. But it closes early on Sunday. The chairs were already on the tables and the lady was sweeping up when we got there.

A short way up the street was Restaurant Fritschi, right across from the Stadtkeller. Fritschi actually had fondue at a reasonable price. 

Most places want to charge $60 to $80 per person. For the pair of us that would come to more than $100 for a pot of melted cheese.

This one was under $30. The menu also had traditional Swiss mac and cheese, which Joanna remembered was recommended by Rick Steeves. So she opted for that.

The fondue came with brown bread. Both dishes were very cheesy, of course, and also very good.

Monday, Jet Wasch turned out to be not a laundromat but a wash-and-fold service. I left the laundry there and, not needing to wait for the washer and dryer to finish, I went straight back to hotel. 

It was time to visit yet another church. This one was founded by the Franciscan Order and the building dates back to the late 1200s. 

First we stopped at a clothing store called Creative Art, which was closing out summer merchandise. Joanna bought a stylish take on a bomber jacket.

The Franciscan church starts off Gothic enough. There are ancient-looking frescos surrounding the door.

But inside, a variety of Baroque decoration has been added to the original Gothic architecture. The altarpiece and two side altars flanking the sanctuary are elaborate fantasies in marble. The altarpiece is crowned with a dove backlit by a window, which reminded me of Bernini’s Dove Window at St. Peter’s.

The wooden pulpit is billed as one of the most elaborate in Switzerland.

There are several plazas on the north side of the river. They have names like Muhlenplatz, Hirschenplatz, Weinmarkt. The buildings that front the squares have striking frescos. So we went in search of them.

We also visited Pandora and Swarovski in search of a charm for Joanna’s bracelet, but came up empty.

Rain started as we were walking along Hertsteinstrasse so we ducked into a pizzeria called Einhorn to drink some wine and wait out the storm. 

We wound up having dinner there—spaghetti Bolognese and antipasto, a variety of hot and cold appetizers. I had a Primitivo and Joanna a Nero d’Avola.

We came back across the Chapel Bridge and stopped for more wine at Cafe Wirtshaus, at the junction of Burgerstrasse and Pfistergasse. We had to try it because it always seems busy whenever we pass. 

They had three reds by the glass. One is from France and is called “You Fuck My Wine?” No, really. It is.

So I had to sample that one. I have not seen “Raging Bull,” but in “Waiting for Guffman” one of the men trying out for a part in the Blaine, Missouri, musical pageant does a scene from “Raging Bull”: “You fuck my wife?”

I tried to explain it to the waitress. I don’t know if she got it or not.

Anyhow, the wine came across as very acidic. Maybe it sat in the open bottle too long. Maybe it’s acidic by nature. Been there, done that.

The second glass was a Tuscan, a little less sharp than a conventional Chianti, and very good.

Good night, all, and may your fondue always be reasonable. 

Harry