swissit

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.