Join me in Gryon, a tiny village in the French-speaking part of the Swiss Alps that is — just as my Rick Steves Switzerland guidebook says — perpetually shrouded in mist (and a fine example of the Swiss charms that await the driver who ventures off the main highways).
I’m home now from my spring trip to Europe — a busy month and a half of travel across Italy, Switzerland, and Ireland. It’s been fun to stow you along with me — and I hope you can stick around, because I’ve still got a few more little videos to share with you.
I was just in Zermatt, high in the Swiss Alps. I’ve been here twice now, and I have yet to see the fabled Matterhorn. I spent a day in my hotel room writing — and constantly wondering if she’d peek through the clouds…
Hello from the Swiss Alps! I’m in the shadow of the mighty Matterhorn, in the little town of Zermatt. Zermatt is extremely touristy, but once upon a time, it was a humble village of farmers. Walking down into town from the high lift stations, you pass through hamlets with 300-year-old buildings of stone and larch — and it’s easy to imagine a simpler time.
An advantage of being here before the summer peak season hits is that there are no crowds. While high-country hikes are snowed in, lots of low-elevation hikes through little farm hamlets (which are filled with Airbnb guests in the summer) are empty and evoke the old days. Join me as I imagine Zermatt once upon a time, long, long ago…with more cows than tourists.
I suppose there are people higher than me right now in Europe, but nobody who is just stepping out of a lift is higher than me. Joined by local guide Amadé Perrig, I’m in a whiteout on top of the Little Matterhorn, looking at where the big Matterhorn would be on a nice day. We’re 12,740 feet above sea level, high above Zermatt — and higher than the lifts above Chamonix and the Jungfraujoch.
Amadé, who’s climbed the Matterhorn many times, spent his career promoting tourism in Zermatt, perhaps the ultimate Alpine resort. Even in a whiteout, he couldn’t help himself and broke out into a yodel. Of course, it’s a touristy show, but it’s also real. Amadé worked in a village farm with cows and goats, carrying milk down from the high Alps. He yodeled when his Alpine spirit was doing flip-flops then, and 60 years later, he still does.
I generally try to do my guidebook research when things are hopping and in season — but my timing is a bit off this visit, and I’m here in the downtime between skiing and hiking seasons. The high trails are snowed in, and lots of places (restaurants and activities) are closed. I’m scouting for a new episode about the best of the Swiss Alps, and I’m getting some great ideas for the crew — at the wrong time of year. I’ll be back in August, and maybe then I’ll actually see the Matterhorn. Stay tuned…
To celebrate the season, I’m sharing clips, extras, and behind-the-scenes notes from Rick Steves’ European Christmas. Today we travel to the Swiss Alps, which seem to shout the glory of God. Up here, where villages huddle under towering peaks, Christmas fills a wintry wonderland with good cheer. Traditions are strong and celebration comes with families, friends, and fun. It may be cold outside, but as the sun sets, it’s impossible not to linger in this cozy setting.
Through the seven countries where we filmed our the special, six were snowless. The Swiss Alps were our one last hope for a white Christmas — our worst-case weather scenario backup. I simply had to get snow in the Alps…and just barely did.
My key support person in the fairy-tale village of Gimmelwald was Olle, the village schoolteacher. He had emailed me photos of his beautiful, snow-covered village a month before. But that December was unseasonably warm, and on the days leading up to our arrival, the town was bare and wet. Thankfully, a strong snowfall hit the day we came to town, giving us the white Christmas of our prayers. By the time we were leaving, it was all but melted.
Gimmelwald was a folk festival of Christmas traditions. Olle arranged everything. He planned a sledding expedition to cut down the tree, arranged a cozy fondue in a remote hut, and lit our torches as we skied and sledded back down the mountain into his village. Olle’s parents came by (Grandpa even grew an old-fashioned big white beard for the filming) as they pulled out all the stops to celebrate a traditional Swiss family Christmas Eve…on December 21.
The Alps would also be a great place to rendezvous with my family. (Other holiday shows I’d watched, where the host was without family, seemed almost mournful.) My family flew in for just three days and performed heroically (especially considering the jet lag).
After 15 years of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameos in our TV shows, my son Andy got a serious part. This year he was Samichlaus — that’s Swiss German for “St. Nick.” Andy’s sidekick, the black-clad henchman Schmutzli, was Olle’s son, Sven. And the donkey played himself. We filmed Gimmelwald’s children enjoying the annual visit from this dynamic Christmas duo. This year, Schmutzli translated because Samichlaus spoke only English. Ignoring the language barrier, the cute little village children just promised they were nice and not naughty, sang their Swiss Santa a Christmas carol, and eagerly dug into his big burlap bag to get their goodies.
That night we filmed a hot-spiced wine party in the frigid open-air gathering around flaming tree trunks with villagers — one of the coldest evenings I’ve ever experienced. And it didn’t make the show. But it was a delight to play the piano as the family sang (they have the same kind of piano as me… a wonderful German make called Sauter, from the Black Forest). And I just love the shot of Grandpa’s weathered fingers on the dog-eared family Bible — beautiful as a Rembrandt painting, but real and now.
My favorite bit of the entire Christmas special was the joyful sleigh ride with the entire gang frolicking down the mountain with torches. Again, this was a nerve-wracking afternoon and evening, as we had lots of elements to film: tramping around in snowshoes, cutting the tree, having fondue in the mountain hut, and then — just as twilight was upon us — romping down the mountain. The crew ran ahead at intervals, catching us as we frolicked by. I got to ride the comedic wooden snow bicycle, and our laughs and giggles were honest joy. No acting there!