Home » Switzerland » European Tales: Switzerland 1996, a lengthy tale

It was now 7pm. I was exhausted following the ten-hour hitch and getting a bit desperate as car after car passed me, despite the placard I held which read 'FRANCE: £10?' Just as the streetlights began to buzz a van screeched to a halt a couple of hundred metres down the road, I grabbed my impossibly heavy rucksack and lurched after them. "Ten Quid?" he asked, before opening the door of their small van. I was to share the back with several crates of beer that they'd just bought in the duty free...

European Tales: Switzerland 1996, a lengthy tale

Joseph Tame
2006-06-30 17:53:26

Displayed times (last time: )

we had little work. The hotel was closed to overnight guests, and the number of Japanese tourists lunching with us on their way to or from the Jungfraujoch 'Top Of Europe' was limited - eventually, in early December, most of us were allowed to have a week off. During this time, as I got to know the other Scheideggers, I kept myself entertained by writing many letters to friends and relatives. I also started to read once more, something I'd wanted to do for years but never made the time for. Now, I had all the time in the world. There was always something to do, even if it was just hand washing my socks and shirts in the pig trough provided. I soon got to know the owner, Frau von Almen, who had given me the job. It turned out that some of my friends didn't even know her name, and just called her 'The Old Woman'. The seventy-four year old was not popular, being renowned for her absurd rules and customs (such as hiding the handle for the hot water tap, it was far too expensive to use hot water for washing up), all of which were surely designed just to make our lives more difficult. Generally, if you saw Frau von Almen ahead of you, you turned around and ran the other way. She also kept two decrepit Alsatians, who always insisted in lying in doorways in order that they got trodden on, and terrorising every guest that walked in. They were far more welcome than she was however, as we could shout at them to tell them to shut up.

To compliment our Swiss boss, we had an irate, middle aged, Italian manager. He wasn't too keen on listening to us, but preferred to pump his amazingly high stress levels even higher by screaming wildly in rapid Italian. Over the eight months he did improve as he got to know us, and on some occasions he was even pleasant towards us. Thankfully our headwaiter, Jaime, was much more human, not so much of a Scheideggerous (although his twelve years up the mountain had clearly taken their toll). Born in Portugal and ...