COPLEY NEWS SERVICE

                      October 29, 1998

                      Muesli in the a.m., pasta in the p.m., schnitzel at suppertime. That was
                      the song I sang to myself on my Swissair flight to Geneva. Muesli,
                      because this cereal of oats, nuts and dried fruit is the quintessential
                      Swiss breakfast. Pasta, for the day I'd be skiing across the Alps for lunch
                      in Italy. Schnitzel because Zermatt is "Schwyzer-dutsch," Swiss-German,
                      with all that implies, including cuisine.

                      Five months earlier, I'd spent a glorious week hiking in Zermatt, traversing
                      steep mountainsides, scrambling up rocky inclines, walking across vast
                      meadows. Each morning I woke to a view of the Findel Glacier draping the
                      shoulders of the Rothorn and Gornergrat Alps like a great white shawl.
                      And, towering above town, the magnificent Matterhorn, with its tilted crown,                                            beckoning those hardy or foolish enough to try to climb it.

                      There were skiers already in the middle of summer on Zermatt's glaciers,
                      and I took the cable car to see them. My hiking guide, who had tried
                      them, told me that of all the places to ski in Switzerland, Zermatt was by
                      far the best. I had to see for myself.

                      The train ride to Zermatt from Brig is touted as one of the most scenic
                      in the world. Which is another way of saying it is also one of the slowest.
                      But when hugging cliffs and skirting gorges, slow is the velocity of choice.
                      From the diminutive station, my friends and I stepped into a plaza crammed
                      with boxy taxis and a lone horse and sleigh. Bags and ski gear were piled
                      in, and off the battery-driven vehicles whirred to the hotels, whose names
                      were imprinted on their flanks.

                      I had heard that skiing in Zermatt was segmented into four distinct
                      areas, each difficult to reach from the other. Not so, said ski guide
                      Roland Imboden. True, access to the gentle Sunnegga slopes, ideal for
                      first-time skiers and intermediates, was through a tunnel hewn out of
                      solid rock. And a separate 45-minute cog rail took skiers to the
                      Gornergrat runs, intermediate again except for the long, challenging Triftji
                      mogul fields.

                      A combination of gondolas and cable cars rose from the edge of town to
                      the Klein Matterhorn and breathtaking views of Switzerland, Italy and
                      France. Over the top was Cervinia, with more wide, intermediate trails.
                      Each of these areas was as large as most major ski resorts, but, Imboden
                      said, a combination of lifts and runs made it possible to ski all 73 of
                      Zermatt's lifts and 150 miles of skiable slopes without returning to the
                      village.

                      With our guide in the lead, we joined a multi-tongued clutch of skiers,
                      boarded the Gornergrat tram and gently lifted out of town. As we rose,
                      the sparse covering of snow gave way to a thick mantle of white. The
                      valley through which we'd come twisted into the distant mountains,
                      dotted with clusters of stone roofs huddling together for warmth.

                      Soon Zermatt was a sprawl of buildings seen through a forest of
                      evergreens. On the outskirts, tiny hamlets of old, weathered houses --
                      where farmers once moved with their cattle in summer -- sheltered little
                      restaurants and inns. Soon the first runs came into sight -- broad,
                      smooth thoroughfares where skiers carved neatly linked turns. Then the
                      lifts, threading across crests and valleys, and an endless panorama of
                      peaks flung against the sky. And always, nearer and nearer as we
                      approached our 9,500-foot-high landing, the magnificent Matterhorn, thin
                      and sharp and fierce.

                      Imboden, Zermatt born and bred, was model handsome. There was a
                      not-too-subtle change in the women when he was around, making the
                      male contingent wish he'd stayed in bed. But there was justice in the
                      world. It was decided that the men would ski with Imboden, the women
                      with Werner who, while very nice, was -- let's face it -- no movie star.

                      "Try to do as I do," said Imboden. "The more the edge you feel, the more
                      the control you feel," and he glided down a gentle decline with the grace
                      of Baryshnikov. We soon discovered that these were forgiving runs. With
                      the bumps smoothed out, the danger of falling was minimized. Even
                      relative beginners looked good, and for those more advanced, it was
                      possible to crank up impressive speed.

                      At the bottom of the Gornergrat's "standard" run, we grabbed a T-bar
                      and skied the more difficult Riffleberg. Then we followed Imboden down a
                      steeper, but still perfectly groomed, run, with our skis accelerating into
                      puffs of snow that curled over the edge. Occasionally, one of us skied off
                      the trail, off-piste as they say, into fresh untended snow, igniting plumes
                      of powder in his wake.

                      A cable car took us to the beginning of the Klein Matterhorn area, an
                      entirely different ski field with its own complex of lifts and runs. By the lift
                      station stood a billboard trail map embedded in snow. Last summer, I
                      stood in a meadow at this very spot, wondering what winter in Zermatt
                      would be like.

                      We joined the women for lunch at one of the 38 chalet restaurants
                      situated on the slopes where skiers stoke their furnaces for the afternoon
                      runs. Imboden took off his jacket and sat down near a window.

                      "Look at his chest," the woman sitting next to me whispered in my ear.

                      "I don't want to hear it," I said.

                      Among the items on the menu were such rib-sticking dishes as rosti mit
                      schweiken und ei (Swiss-fried potatoes with ham and egg),
                      aelpler-macaroni, a local specialty of macaroni and cheese, potatoes and
                      ham and, of course, wiener schnitzel. Imboden offered us slices of
                      roggenbrot.

                      "Fifty years ago, they made enough of this bread to last all winter," he
                      said. "It got so hard they had to break it with an ax."

                      "We went to school from November to April," said a local man who joined
                      us. "Then we were the whole time above with the cattle. I got up at 5 in
                      the morning, went to the stable. In the day, I worked putting up
                      avalanche barriers for the town. With that money I could buy a pair of
                      skis. In the '50s," he said, "we discovered it was easier to milk tourists
                      than cows."

                      Which is the reason for the proliferation of hotels in Zermatt, more than
                      200 at last count, and restaurants, discos, shops both smart and simple
                      and joints like the North Wall Bar.

                      "If the DJs can't find what they want, they come to us," said co-owner
                      Chris Patient, pointing to the racks of CDs stacked behind the bar. In the
                      next room, young skiers and snowboarders downed beers and ate pizzas
                      while rock videos played on the big screen.

                      The Hotel Post is the other place in town where English-speaking visitors
                      hang out. Inside the former girls' school is an amazing complex of
                      restaurants, dance floors, jazz club, cyber cafe and 21 guest rooms
                      where the likes of David Bowie have stayed. The creation of an American
                      ex-Marine, there's only one like it in the world and a must-see, especially
                      when it snows, which it did that night.

                      Continuous snow means no skiing next day, right? Wrong. In the morning,
                      Zermatt was still being pelted, but Imboden had told us to meet him -- so
                      like obedient students, we did. Up we went on the Sunnegga lift through
                      a whiteout that boded ill for our immediate well-being. Then we crested a
                      ridge and, through a break in the clouds, the sun streamed down on
                      pillow-soft expanses of untouched snow.

                      As we dropped off the lift we knew we were skiers blessed. Some of us
                      skied the freshly dusted designated runs. Others blasted off-piste,
                      carving brand-new trails in deep powder. Incredibly, in anticipation of the
                      next splendid run, it was possible to lose sight of surroundings that were
                      almost painfully beautiful. Every now and then I had to stop myself, look
                      about and say, "I'm here, I'm actually here!"

                      Finally, the day came to ski to Cervinia. The plan was to take the
                      Matterhorn cable cars to 3,820 meters, the highest ski station in Europe.
                      Then we would ski down to the Plateau Rosa on the border with Italy,
                      show our passports to the officer who might (or might not) be on duty,
                      and then ski four miles on the famous Valentina run to town. The day
                      came and the day went, but we didn't.

                      Winds in the pass that morning varied from 50 to 60 mph. Cervinia and
                      "pasta in the p.m." were out. But we had our revenge. At exactly 1:10
                      the next day, a train pulled out of the Zermatt station and we were on it.
                      Three and one-half hours and one van ride later we were in Courmayeur,
                      a fairy-tale town with a French name on the Italian side of Mont Blanc.
                      Monte Bianco to us.

                      There were many differences between Courmayeur and Zermatt, perhaps
                      best summed up by the lunch menu at the Ristorante Christiania at the
                      base of the slopes. In addition to 18 types of pizza, the antipasti
                      included grilled vegetables, slices of wild boar and porcini mushrooms.
                      Two of many first courses were oven baked polenta and gnocci with
                      basil. Veal in white wine and stewed venison with herbs were among the
                      main dishes. Black currant tarts or profiterols for dessert and, of course,
                      local red and white wines.

                      When the three different grappas arrived (blackberry, basil and honey),
                      someone said, "This is where you learn that skiing is not about work. It's
                      about fun."

                      "Thirty years ago, Courmayeur was for the elite," said Luigi Pascal,
                      Imboden's Italian counterpart. "You have to divide the Italians from the
                      foreigners. The Italians are here to show what they have. The foreigners
                      come for the sport. Americans, British and Swedes try to find the feeling
                      of a new way of life," Pascal said. "When you're at home you think you
                      know everything."

                      And sport there was at Courmayeur. Though smaller than Zermatt, long,
                      wide runs had been cut into both sides of the mountain. Mostly above
                      tree line, they were an intermediate paradise, an ego-building delight.
                      Whether because of the Italian disposition or the southern situation, the
                      days in Courmayeur were cloudless and brilliant.

                      "Amazing," said an appreciative foreigner. "We've skied under the two
                      most famous mountains in Europe."

                      True, but while the Matterhorn was a solitary spike in the sky, Mont
                      Blanc -- excuse me, Monte Bianco -- was the crown of an enormous
                      massif that encircled the runs like an open jaw. As the sun arched
                      westward, first one, then another peak was rimmed with light until in late
                      afternoon the whites and blues deepened to a breathtaking intensity.

                      Considered part of Courmayeur's ski terrain, but an entirely different
                      experience, was glacier skiing in the Vallee Blanche, the White Valley. Led
                      by Pascal, two of our party braved the 15 miles between deadly
                      crevasses, amid icy seracs jutting up from the glacier, across the Mer de
                      Glace, the Sea of Ice. Surrounded by mountains more than 12,000 feet
                      high, they finally skied over the railroad tracks in Chamonix.

                      "It's spectacular, but not death-defying," one said. "It's just a lot of fun.
                      I'm exhausted."

                      Unlike Zermatt, Courmayeur was only partly designed for tourists. Large,
                      handsome houses sat alone on wide snowy lawns. In the pedestrian
                      center, locals bought food for dinner, while visitors checked out the
                      latest Italian styles. Fabulous breads were sold at Il Fornaio, beautifully
                      bottled vinegars, grappas and candies at Valentodeli, wines at Goio,
                      artistically displayed salamis at il Salumiaio.

                      "Let's get the skiing over with so we can go shopping," a woman was
                      heard to say.

                      As frosting on the cake, we spent a day, the final one, at La Tuile.
                      Twenty minutes from Courmayeur, it was similar in its miles of broad,
                      perfectly groomed runs, but with more black-diamond trails for experts.
                      Other runs crossed into France.

                      "Do we need passports?" we asked Gino, our guide.

                      "I'm the border guard," he answered as we slid over the line. "You give
                      them to me."

                      If Courmayeur was small, the village of La Tuile was tiny, its center
                      packed tight with ancient stone houses. But most spectacular was
                      standing on top of the highest lift. From farther away, Monte Bianco
                      appeared even more massive, dominating the peaks that spun off on
                      either side. Below our feet were unbroken miles of snow, falling and rising
                      and falling again. And off on the horizon, north by northeast, rose the
                      unmistakable spire of the Matterhorn, 30 miles away.

                      A spontaneous thrill gripped us as we gazed at our old friend, nostalgic
                      for the beginning of our trip even before it had come to an end.

                      IF YOU GO

                      Swissair, (800) 221-4750, flies nonstop to Geneva from New York and
                      Washington, D.C. Also to Zurich from Boston, Atlanta, Chicago, New
                      York, Philadelphia, Los Angeles and Cincinnatti. Balair, (800) 322-5247,
                      flies nonstop to Zurich from Miami and San Francisco. Delta, (800)
                      221-1212, is Swissair's partner airline in flights to Switzerland and flies
                      some of the same routes, as does Austrian Air.

                      Ask about Swissair's extremely convenient "Fly/Rail Baggage" plan which
                      enables passengers to check their luggage from the United States
                      directly to their final Swiss destination. Upon return, bags can be
                      checked in at local rail or bus stations and picked up in the states. At 24
                      major rail stations, passengers may also check in for their flights.

                      If traveling to Zermatt by car, it takes about four hours from Geneva and
                      five hours from Zurich to Tasch, where trains and taxis operate a shuttle
                      service the three miles to Zermatt. If traveling to both Zermatt and
                      Courmayeur or only Courmayeur, a rental car is most convenient and
                      allows short day trips to nearby ski resorts in the Aosta Valley of Italy.
                      About 1 ½ hours from Geneva to Courmayeur. By train: From Geneva and
                      Zurich to Brig, where you change to the train to Zermatt, about four to
                      five hours.

                      ZERMATT

                      Accommodations. Large luxury hotels: Mt. Cervin, telephone 966 88 88;
                      Zermatterhof, 966 66 00. Small luxury hotel: Alex Tenne (very homey),
                      967 17 26. Four star: Shweizerhoff, modern and traditional, 967 67 67.
                      Alex, more contemporary, 967 17 26. Bed and breakfast, Post Hotel, 967
                      19 32, for those who want something different. Budget: Mischabel, 967
                      11 31, with breakfast and dinner. Zermatt does not have to be expensive
                      because there are many budget hotels that are simple but nice.

                      Dining. La Broche, 966 66 00 (in the Zermatterhof), gourmet and
                      expensive. Midprice: Walliser, 967 11 51, for good honest food at decent
                      prices. Budget: North Wall, 967 28 63, for pizza. Banhoff (railroad
                      station), buffet. Good choice at good value.

                      COURMAYEUR

                      Accommodations. Large luxury hotel: Royal e Golf, 842093, 90 rooms.
                      Small Luxury hotels: Gallia Gran Baita, 844040, great restaurant. Pavillon,
                      846120, close to lifts. Three star: Dolonne, 846674, in a small castle.
                      Triolet, 846822, some of best rooms in town. Two star: Dei Camosci,
                      842338, for atmosphere. Miravalle, 869777, near cross-country runs.
                      Budget: Verney, 841150, favorite for low price.

                      Dining. Cadran Solaire, 844609, lovely brasserie and popular for apres ski.
                      Du Tunnel, 841705, for fantastic pizzas. La Maison de Filippo, 869797. An
                      institution with a huge fixed menu; expensive. La Piazzetta, 844150, for
                      fine fish dishes. Mont Frety, 841786, good food at reasonable prices. On
                      the slopes: Christiania, 843572, and Chateau Branlant, 846584. Great
                      food, reasonable. Christiania also has five rooms to let (with two
                      bathrooms), which are magically private when the lifts are closed.

                      All-inclusive packages (air, hotels, meals and ski passes) can often be
                      less expensive in Europe than in the states. Adventures on Skis, (800)
                      628-9655. Internet: www.advonskis.com. Central Holidays, (800)
                      935-5000. Mountain Tours, (800) 669-4453. Internet:
                      www.russeltours.com. Swisspak, (800) 688-7947.

                      For further information about Zermatt, contact the Swiss National Tourist
                      Office, in New York, (212) 757-5944; Chicago, (312) 630-5848; Los
                      Angeles, (310) 335-5982; Web site: www.zermatt.com.

                      About Courmayeur, contact the Italian Tourist Office, in New York, (212)
                      245-4822; Chicago, (312) 644-0996; Los Angeles, (310) 820-0098. Web
                      site: www.courmayeur.com.

                      About the Alps: the Alpine Tourist Commission, (800) 262-ALPS. Internet:
                      www.alpseurope.org


                           Robert Ragaini is a free-lance travel writer.




  
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