August 19-21
The ride from Geneva to Bern was easy enough. We had to change trains at Neuchatel. I actually spent a day and a night in Neuchatel a few years ago and remember seeing some of its old city.
I was traveling with a group of people and many thought this is where the cheese comes from. But that’s Neufchatel, France.
Joanna and I didn’t even have to lug our bags up or down stairs on this trip. Neuchatel and Bern had ramps to and from platforms.
We had another vegetarian lunch at the station—in another Tibits, in fact—when we got to Bern.
We had another vegetarian lunch at the station—in another Tibits, in fact—when we got to Bern.
That was where I went wrong.
Our hotel, the Ador, is at Laupenstrasse 15, on the next corner.
I even confirmed the route by cursoring through Google street view.
We came out the main entrance of the station onto Bahnhofplatz and walked to the street in front. It was called Bubenbergplatz.
We were a quarter mile from the hotel and I couldn’t be sure of which way to turn.
I led Joanna to the right and in two short blocks we came to Schanzenstrasse. I was really disoriented by now, so I thought it was a good idea to drag the bags uphill to the station.
Only the station entrance was on the other side of the street. It wasn’t of course the main entrance, and if we had come out that way and turned right, it would have been downhill.
I went back down to investigate. Sure enough, Laupenstrasse begins where Bubenbergplatz leaves off.
Looking downhill I could see the intersection that I had seen on the street view.
It wasn’t too bad a detour. I was just embarrassed.
The hotel is fine. The room is very small, but also clean and shiny. The wifi works well.
There is a bar in the lobby, where I have been having a glass or two to finish off the evening. The Ador hosts a lot of business and professional meetings.
The greatest thing about it is the location, a short walk from the old town. The rail station is on the site of the last city wall. Remnants of two older walls, which were dismantled as medieval Bern outgrew them, are visible in the old town, too.
We checked in and took a rest. Then we walked out past the Bahnhof and entered a realm of high-end boutiques, pharmacies, and eateries.
All on tight ancient streets that feel so good to explore.
Lots of places were closed, though.
I couldn’t understand it. For some reason I was convinced the 19th was Saturday. Joanna knew better but I didn’t believe her.
We then hit a wide street several blocks long littered with tables under umbrellas.
We stopped at an Italian restaurant, Santa Lucia, where Joanna had a dish of eggplant stuffed with rice and peas. I had ravioli made with ricotta di bufala.
I really enjoy buffalo milk mozzarella. This ricotta was a first. And it was terrific.
There is a savory flavor in the buffalo milk that that can really boost the flavor of pizza, caprese salad, or ravioli.
I had it with a Sangiovese-Syrah blend called Fossolupaio. It was pleasant, smooth with enough flavor, but not terrific. I think any wine with any flavor at all would have been good with that ravioli.
Back at the hotel, the bar was closed. A group of people were sitting at a table on the terrace, but all the lights were out.
I asked the woman at the desk how that could be, on Saturday night. No, it’s Sunday she said. I told you so, Joanna said.
I felt better, anyway, because at least I hadn’t stumbled into a Puritan town or some place like Utah.
The bar was closed to the public but open to guests. So I was able to take a glass of Primitivo di Manduria, an Apulian red. It had a mild tang, almost a tartness and a fruit fragrance.
I also tried a Swiss wine, Humagne Rouge from Valais d’Or. Humagne Rouge, I discovered later, is a grape that comes from the Canton of Valais.
[Editor’s note: Just like the River Rhone.}
Monday we embarked on the city walking tour. It is marked on the tourist map with numbers that identify the sights, including several of the city’s more elaborate fountains. They include the Bagpiper, the Musketeer, the Ensign, and a bear in armor commemorating some aristocrat who founded the city.
The strangest one is the Ogre, a tall guy eating small children. Nobody knows what it represents (Greek myth, Chronos eating his children?) or why it’s there (to keep kids from climbing on the city walls?).
The route took us east through old Bern. It starts near the Bahnhof, and we walked through the sidewalk arcades in front of shops on a street that changes its name four times, Spitalgasse, Marketgasse, Kramgasse, and Gerechtigkeitsgasse.
The arcades reminded us a bit of the ones in Chinatown in Singapore.
We passed a sign that claimed a wine bar called Klotzli Keller had been operating since 1645. That’s almost as good as Gordon’s Wine Bar in London. So I wanted to go there for a drink.
Unfortunate for me, the place is closed for some heavy renovations. I guess they got tired of the decor after 400 years.
The route took us past the Prison Tower, a holdover from the second city wall. It was used for a time as a jail.
We walked up the Barenplatz and beyond to the end of the street. We saw a large phallic structure of earth covered with dead grass in front of the police station.
I have read that it is a sculpture by a surrealist artist, and that nobody likes it.
The oldest city wall included a tower with an elaborate clock called the Zytglogge. I gather that is local dialect for Zeitglocken. I think that translates as “time bells.”
The wall’s gone, or maybe has been converted to apartments, but the tower’s still there.
The western face has a clock much like others we have seen in Switzerland. Impressive in a lot of places, but not in Switzerland.
The other side, which would have faced onto the city in the old days, is where things get really complicated. It reminded us of the astrological clock in Prague’s old town.
It has mechanical figures, bells, several faces showing astrological signs, time of day, and who knows what all. It’s too busy to figure out.
But somehow, somebody understood all of it, and actually put all those gears together.
We crossed the Aare at the Bear Park and saw the city’s mascots in their habitat.
We came to the Munster, the city cathedral. It suffered the same kind of assault by iconoclasts that befell the cathedrals in Zurich and Geneva. So we didn’t care that the building was closed. There wouldn’t be much to see inside.
The showpiece is an elaborate carving over the door that shows the Last Judgment. Lots of people being thrown into Hell. Even the Reformers liked that, so it stayed.
We were wearing out, but managed to get to the panoramic views from the terraces behind the Parliament building.
The banks on both sides of the Aare fall steeply to the water. You look across a canyon at wooded hillsides, a palace, rolling meadows.
Across the street from Parliament is a fountain that shoots water up at intervals. Kids run through the jets.
Uphill from there is the Barenplatz and all its places to eat. And we were hungry and thirsty.
We chose Brasserie Chez Edy, which specializes in moules frites, one of few garlicky dishes I like. Joanna likes it too, so we shared a plate. I had a Valais white, which had a small bite and, like most whites, was otherwise mild and fruity. And it was cold.
That wasn’t quite enough food. Not after the exercise we’d had. I hadn’t walked so far in a long time. We started around one and it was about seven now.
So we had a second course, a plate of tripe in tomato sauce. Along with a Swiss Pinot Noir for me. That was OK. There was a mild spice edge rather than fruit, which was a good thing, but overall the flavor wasn’t inspiring.
Tuesday we took some advice from Rick Steeves and rode the train to the town of Murten, about a half hour from Bern.
As Steeves said, Murten, also known by its French name, Morat, is a small town with a well-preserved medieval center. Much of it dates to the 15th century and earlier.
You climb up a steep street from the rail station and pass an old castle with its requisite clock tower.
Murten’s shopping street has arcades that provide shelter from sun and rain, like many streets in Bern. We walked there and looked into a few shops mostly offering overpriced polyester.
We had lunch at a place called Chesery, where we shared a plate of hand-made ravioli that may have included mushrooms in its filling. I tried Pont de Gassuc rouge from Languedoc. It had a flavor of mild spice and slightly tart fruit.
Part of the city ramparts are intact and are open to anyone who can climb the uneven wood stairs. It was on these walls that in 1476 the Swiss Army won the Battle of Murten.
The city was attacked by Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy. I think Charles was trying to get back some of his territories that had broken away and joined the Swiss Confederacy.
He didn’t have much luck. He was beaten by the Swiss in March, and it was June when he tried again.
Murten was besieged. A large Swiss force came to the rescue and attacked the Burgundians and their allies somewhere outside town.
The fighting ended with a full rout of Charles’s army.
The Swiss general was named Bubenberg. It could be that Bubenbergplatz outside Bern’s Bahnhof is named for him.
Swiss history is starting to fit together for me.
Later, back at Bern, we went to Boky, a Chinese restaurant a block from the hotel. We started with duck with pineapple and a plate of bok choi. Second course was steamed chicken.
The duck was terrific. There was chopped garlic in the dish, but not enough to spoil it. The meat was tasty and the pineapple was a perfect fit.
The chicken was all right, but I prefer it the way Joanna steams it. And her sauce, very salty with cilantro and chives as well as ginger, really makes it superb.
I had a Swiss red and then a white, which were OK, but nothing special.
I drank some more Humagne Rouge at the hotel bar and slept very well.
Good night, all. And like the sign said in Pennsylvania, don’t pet the bears. They’re too damned big.
Harry
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