After a Sunday in Luzern, spent along the lake, and then by the concert hall, designed by Jean Nouvel, we fetched a family member, became a trio, ate in the pub of the hotel where clear chicken soup and a quail egg preceded a kind of typical Luzern puff pastry stuffed with veal, accompanied by a 2004 Bricco Rocche (what will those Ceretto brothers think of next?), we left today, Monday, for the high mountains.
It is a three hour train ride to Braunwald, reachable at the end strictly by funicular, and it is as quiet and breathtaking as it is remote. We arrived in a torrential mountain storm with high winds, lightning, and thunder. An elderly man, German by birth, in his nineties, found us a “taxi,” as the village is car free. Our daughter had carried his suitcase for him.
Having shopped for porcini, chanterelles, ravioli, pappardelle, and vegetables at Globus and Coop in Luzern, all we needed here was milk, eggs, and butter. We found that in the one village store where a girl stood barefoot.