Then there are the ubiquitous flowers: pink, blue, purple, white, yellow—in every conceivable colour, either carefully cultivated or growing wild in a little patch of soil. There are the Alps, the vineyards, the tranquil blue lakes with their elegant swans and their ducks with iridescent emerald heads. There are flower clocks and imposing old châteaux, and wooden chalets with window boxes full of flowers. There are waterfalls, quaint clocks, some of the best chocolate in the world, and fondue to die for.

As if that isn’t all, everything’s superbly managed: there aren’t any beggars or touts pulling at you; there are no pickpockets, almost no buskers (though I personally don’t mind buskers), and everything’s clean and well maintained. You don’t find yourself wondering whether your train/bus/boat will be on time (it will; I’m sure Swiss roosters also have a designated time for the daily cock-a-doodle do!) Lots of people understand English. And if, like me, you can get the gist of a little French if it’s spoken slowly, you should be able to manage in most of Western Switzerland, where French is always spoken fairly slowly.

All of which, of course, makes one wonder why I’m even bothering to write this section on tips. But spending two weeks travelling between Lausanne, Bern, Geneva, Fribourg, and Gruyères, I discovered a few things that just might help a first-time traveller, especially if you’re travelling on a budget. So here goes.

1. Get a Swiss Pass. This is my top tip. Even if you don’t look at the rest of my suggestions, consider this one very seriously. The Swiss Pass is available for varying durations and number of individuals, plus there are flexible passes. Tarun and I, for example, bought an 8-day pass for the two of us. This cost us €300, and entitled us to unlimited travel for a period of 8 consecutive days on any form of public transport—intercity trains, Metro trains, trams, buses, and paddle steamers. In addition, it allowed us free entry to most museums (the only ones not included are private museums like the Einsteinhaus in Bern) and to many other attractions, such as châteaux, show dairies, etc.

Soon after we arrived in Switzerland we realised just how invaluable the Swiss pass is. A round trip from Lausanne (where we were staying) to Geneva would cost the two of us CHF100 (The Swiss franc is almost the same value as the Euro). And Geneva is one of the nearest cities to Lausanne; going to Bern or Interlaken would’ve been even more expensive. Our itinerary—with daily trips out into the countryside, sometimes with travelling through most of the day—would have cost us a very pretty packet if we hadn’t been carrying our pass.

The Swiss Pass has to be bought in your own country, from the authorised dealer. You pay in your own currency, and once you get to Switzerland, you have to have the pass endorsed at the nearest travel office (a railway enquiry centre at a train station, for instance). The official will check the passport(s) of the individual(s) mentioned on the pass, and will then stamp the current date on the pass, thus `inaugurating’ it, so to say. Note that the pass entitles you to travel second class. Also, travel on special trains—such as the GoldenPass Panoramic—requires you to make a reservation, even though the actual fare is covered under the Swiss Pass. Similarly, for trains connecting Switzerland to other countries, although the stretch within Switzerland is covered by the Swiss Pass, you’ll still need to reserve seats for that stretch.

Do yourself a favour and get a Swiss Pass. The €300 we spent purchasing it back home in India (very efficiently delivered, in just two days) would, if we’d travelled on normal tickets, paid museum entry, etc, been exhausted in just over two days. Unbelievably good value for money.

2. Look for the i. The letter i, in white on a dark blue background, denotes (as it does in many other countries), a tourist information centre. In Switzerland, you’ll find these either inside airports or train stations, or in very close proximity. Our routine was to emerge from a platform into the central hall of a train station, look around to see if there was a tourist centre there (there’s one in Lausanne’s train station), and if not, to walk out onto the street and look around—in Bern, Fribourg and Geneva, for example, we saw signboards outside the station indicating the way to the tourist centre.

You’ll find loads of free tourist literature, including very useful maps that often have special tourist-oriented walks marked out on them. At least in the larger or more touristy destinations, staff at the tourist centre will also speak English. Our only encounter with someone who spoke "un peu" English was an enchanting and very helpful lady at Lutry whom I finally managed to converse with using sign language, whatever little French I knew, and whatever English she knew.

3. Try the wine. Swiss wine—rarely heard of outside the country, since nearly all is consumed within Switzerland—is superb. If you like wine, do try some. The vineyards along the shore of Lac Leman between Lausanne and Chillon, for instance, do their own bottling and produce some truly awesome vin.

While on the subject of wine, it’s probably appropriate to touch on food as well. Traditional Swiss specialities like fondue, raclette and Bernerplatte are all very rich in cheese, meat and potatoes—great if you’ve been cycling, hiking or skiing and need to shore up your strength. If you’ve been sitting in a train all day or strolling leisurely through a museum, go easy on the cheese! Or, as my cousin’s husband suggested, wash it down with a good swig of wine.

4. If you’re in a hurry, don’t use the boats. The paddle steamers on Lac Leman are very picturesque and should be experienced at least once—but not if you’re in a hurry to get anywhere. We ended up spending nearly two hours doing the Ouchy-Chillon crossing, when a bus and train could’ve got us there in less than an hour.

5. Pack food for long hauls. If you’re going on a longish trip that’ll involve frequent changes of train, bus or boat, carry your own food. This point was brought home most forcibly for us when we went to Jungfrau, and changed trains at Ouchy, Montreux, Interlaken Ost, Grindelwald, Kleine Scheidegg, Lauterbrunnen, again Interlaken Ost, Bern, and Lausanne in a little over 12 hours. Each train arrived just in time for us to disembark, run across to another platform to catch the next train and settle down in our seats before the train started. Not all trains have dining cars, either, so if you aren’t carrying your own grub, you may end up hungry. In any case, if you’re on a tight budget, eating in a dining car isn’t recommended.

Another tip for when you’re buying food: many train stations have counters that dispense pastries, sandwiches, aerated drinks, juice and coffee—but you’ll also be able to buy almost the same stuff at food stores, at a much lower price. And many stations either have a food store within the station, or you’ll find one nearby.

6. Swiss francs, not Euros. Some—a very few—restaurants or retailers in Switzerland accept Euros. If you aren’t going to use a credit card or ATM card, but will be carrying currency you’ve brought into the country, make sure you bring Swiss francs, not Euros. You lose some money in the way of exchange rates when converting Euros to Swiss francs.

Which brings me to our day trip from Lausanne to Jungfrau. This, as we realised during the course of a very long day that we spent mostly travelling, isn’t a good idea. It’s comfortable enough, and the views are out of this world, but it’s too much to pack into one day.

We began at about 8 AM by taking the Metro to Lausanne Ouchy, from where we changed to an intercity train for Montreux. Montreux, because our relatives had recommended the GoldenPass Panoramic, a special train that does the Montreux-Interlaken circuit, following an especially scenic route along the shores of Lac Leman and then into the Alps. At Montreux we made our way to the GoldenPass Panoramic (you can’t miss it: the carriages are white and gold, with the name emblazoned along the sides) and boarded it. Swiss passes are valid here too, but passengers are required to reserve seats in advance—at CHF10 per person.

The GoldenPass Panoramic has huge windows, and glass panels set into the ceiling, so there’s plenty of scope to admire the scenery, which is truly panoramic. On the three-hour run from Montreux to Interlaken, we passed neat vineyards sloping down to Lac Leman; cows, each with a bell dangling from its neck, grazing placidly in meadows yellow with buttercups and dandelions; pretty wood-fronted chalets with window boxes full of red and pink geraniums; coniferous forests and copses—and the snow-capped Alps rising in the background. The closer we got to Interlaken, the prettier it got, with waterfalls cascading down mountainsides, the woods getting denser and more extensive, and the meadows becoming even more full of wildflowers—particularly daisies—than we’d ever seen.

Having left Montreux at about 10 AM, the GoldenPass Panoramic pulled into Interlaken Ost at 1 PM (remember, don’t get off at the Interlaken station; you need to disembark at Interlaken Ost to catch the train to Jungfrau). From Interlaken Ost, trains leave every hour for Kleine Scheidegg, the next halt on the way to Jungfrau. The next train, we discovered, would leave in 3 minutes’ time, which would’ve been great if we hadn’t been feeling so hungry. We therefore decided to go have lunch—at the Co-op Department Store opposite the train station—and then catch the 2 PM train. Tip #1: Carry your own food; sandwiches, fruit or pastries that you can consume while you’re travelling.

There are two routes to Kleine Scheidegg: one via Grindelwald, the other via Lauterbrunnen. Tarun asked one of the engine drivers (all speak pretty fluent English on this touristy stretch) which was the shorter route, and was told that both were about the same distance. We opted for the Grindelwald route, and soon found the train riding steadily up a thickly wooded mountainside. This was where I started getting a wee bit frustrated, because I’d see the most tantalising banks of alpine flowers—brilliant stretches of blue, purple and white—and would know that we couldn’t spare the time to get off, take some photographs, and then get on to the next train. Tip #2: Stay overnight at Interlaken, so you can do the trip up to Jungfrau in easy stages.

At Grindelwald, we got just enough time to hop off our train and on to the next, which would take us up to Kleine Scheidegg. Grindelwald is at an altitude of 1,034 mt while Kleine Scheidegg’s nearly double that, at 2,061 mt, so the rise is steep and spectacular: within a few minutes, we’d left the tree line behind us, and the only signs of vegetation were scrubby grass and occasional patches of wildflowers that looked like crocuses. Soon banks of dirty snow started appearing, and then we were at windy, bleak Kleine Scheidegg, to switch to the Jungfraubahn, a small two-carriage red train that goes up a special track which has an interlocking mechanism along the centre of the track, to provide extra traction. It’s needed—the Jungfraubahn goes in about 90 minutes from 2,061 mt to 3,454 mt. The initial few minutes were unexceptional, and then the train entered a tunnel cut right through Jungfrau’s neighbours, the Eiger and the Mönch. This can be a harrowing experience if you’re prone to claustrophobia, because from this point onwards the train remained in the tunnel. It stopped twice, for 5 minutes each time, at Eigerwand and Eismeer, both basically viewing platforms screened off with glass, and with toilets nearby. By this time, the train was on such a steep gradient that I, sitting opposite Tarun and facing the back of the train, found myself sliding inexorably forwards!

At about 4.30 PM, we finally arrived at our destination. The Jungfrau station is small and dark and gloomy, with bare rock on all sides. We discovered to our dismay that the last train down to Kleine Scheidegg is at 5.50, so we had just a little over an hour to see what we had to of Jungfrau.

The `Top of Europe’ appellation tagged on to Jungfrau is misleading since Europe’s highest mountain is Elbrus (5,642 mt), and the highest mountain in the Alps is Mont Blanc, at 4,810 mt: Jungfrau’s 4,158 mt. But this is high enough for people like us, who’d never have the time and energy to actually trudge up there on our own steam.

Jungfrau is tourist trap through and through, and it seems to be specifically geared to trapping Indian tourists! We saw large groups of our fellow countrymen (the only other significantly large groups were Japanese tourists), making their way to the souvenir shops and the Bollywood Restaurant. This wasn’t quite our cup of tea, so we headed for the Ice Palace, a short meander through an all-ice tunnel. The curving walls, the floor, the roof—everything’s ice, though there are sturdy metal railings along the side. The floor, fortunately, wasn’t slippery. At regular intervals in the Ice Palace are displays of ice sculptures: a family of penguins, a bear, and a particularly fine one of fishing eagles.

That done, we made our way past the watch shops (yes, they’re here too) and through the door that leads out onto the Plateau. The Plateau is just that: a virgin ridge of snow and ice on the Jungfrau, fenced off on all sides by a heavy nylon rope, and with a Swiss flag flapping in the breeze. After hours of constant traffic, the snow had become slush and then turned semi-frozen and slippery in the extreme. The wind howled and snarled about us, so that within 5 minutes we were pretty much semi-frozen ourselves and ready to get back inside. Walking back down the (admittedly gentle) slope to the door proved to be an exercise in balancing: it was so slippery, we nearly went down a couple of times. But, despite the bitter cold, the lashing wind and the slippery snow underfoot, we both thought the Plateau was the best part of our Jungfrau trip. Tip#3: Wear your shades—the sunlight on the snow can be blinding.

Back into the building that houses the station, souvenir shops, restaurants etc, and we took the elevator up to the Sphinx. This is slightly higher than the Plateau, but is a more sanitised version: it consists of a glass-enclosed viewing platform, from which a door leads out onto a sturdy platform of metal grids, with railings all around—so no chance of slipping. A metal panel set into one side of the railing marks each peak visible from that point, so you can identify the mountains you’re looking at.

We were now nearly at 5.30 PM, so we nipped down to the main tourist centre, which also houses a post office. Here, we let ourselves succumb and bought a postcard which we hurriedly scribbled and posted before making our way to the station to begin the hour-and-a-half journey to Kleine Scheidegg and back, via Interlaken, to Lausanne. This time around, though, just for a change of scenery, we took the Lauterbrunnen route from Kleine Scheidegg to Interlaken. There are waterfalls galore along this stretch, woods and dense banks of bright blue flowers: prettier than the Grindelwald route, I think.
We’d already decided that we’d not use the GoldenPass Panoramic to return, since it takes much longer than ordinary trains. Interlaken, unfortunately, is served by precious few trains, the only major city to which it’s connected being Bern. So we ended up going first to Bern and then catching a train to Lausanne—we got home past 11 PM. A long day and too much train travel, but also an unbeatable experience.

George Gordon, Lord Byron; Sonnet on Chillon

François Bonivard (1496-1570) was the prior of St Victor, near Geneva, when he opposed the efforts of Charles III, Duke of Savoy, to control Geneva. After imprisoning Bonivard for 3 years at Grolée, the Duke released the monk—only to later re-imprison him, this time at the château of Chillon. Bonivard was incarcerated till 1536, when the Bernese captured the château. Less than 300 years later, Byron, touring Switzerland with friend and fellow poet P B Shelley, visited Château Chillon and was inspired to write The Prisoner of Chillon.

By the time we arrived at Chillon after a long boat ride, we were so hungry, we wouldn’t have known inspiration if it hit us on the head.

I don’t remember whose idea it was to take the boat from Ouchy to Chillon. Yes, Lac Leman’s paddle steamers are pretty; but they take an awfully long time to get anywhere. Having left Ouchy at 11.45 AM, we reached Château Chillon at 1.30 PM, starving and irritable. Fortunately, the pier’s near the château, so a short walk brought us to the castle’s snack bar where we bought sausage rolls, coffee and jam doughnuts: not gourmet fare, admittedly, but adequate.

At the turnstile leading into the castle, we were given a free tourist guide in English, and were told that our Swiss passes were valid, so we wouldn’t need to pay the CHF12 fee per person. The guide—a single sheet folded into a concertina—suggests a route, with detailed instructions on where to turn, climb or descend, etc. Since each section of the castle also has a number at the entrance, it’s easy for visitors to make their way around by themselves. Audio guides are also available for a small fee.

We began by reading through the history of Château Chillon. The castle stands on a rocky island and has been a fortification at least since the 12th century, when it was occupied by the Dukes of Savoy. By 1536, the Bernese had ousted the Savoyards (freeing Bonivard in the process). In 1798, the château became part of the canton of Vaud. Excavations and restoration of the castle began in the 19th century under the aegis of the archaeologist Albert Naef. More on this gentleman later.

Making our way through the first courtyard, we went down into the cellar and the storehouse, which in its present condition dates back to the 13th century. It has a vaulted roof supported on stone pillars, but the architectural finesse seems to have been restricted to the top half: part of the floor consists of the rock—without any attempts at levelling—on which the castle’s built. They’ve made an attempt to recreate a medieval cellar, with a rack full of sacks, baskets, barrels and casks. Cute.

Beyond the cellar and storehouse is the prison, and then (more specifically), Bonivard’s prison, which inspired Byron. Near the entrance of the dungeon, the plastered wall is decorated with an illustration of the crucifixion, and if you look towards your right as you walk along away from the entrance, you’ll see a plaque dedicated to Byron, embedded in the rock that forms part of the wall. And one of the pillars has a little bit of graffiti scratched into it by Byron. Not a good tourist, this man.

Following the instructions in our visitors’ guide, we made our way through the relatively nondescript crypt (which contains traces of an altar), through the second courtyard, and into the first of the more sumptuous chambers of the château: the Constables’ Dining Room. Lavishly painted, with a wooden ceiling, and tapestries woven with animal and heraldic figures, the room is set with rough tables and chairs, each `tablecloth’ being a printed sheet that has lots of interesting information (also in English) about banquets in medieval Switzerland: menus, etiquette, entertainment, and the like. Nearly each room in the château has boards or other signs with additional information, illustrations or trivia pertaining to the room, written in French, German and English.

On the floor above the Constables’ Dining Room, we arrived at the Aula Nova, a ceremonial room which the constables used. The vaulted ceiling was restored by Naef and gang in the 1920’s, and the paintings on the wall are also not original—they were inspired by murals elsewhere in the château. What we liked about the Aula Nova was the display of arms and armour here: gleaming, fearsome, and definitely dangerous.

A little further, and we arrived at the small but attractive Bernese Bedroom, with its four poster bed, carved chests (which, by the way, are abundant in the château—all exquisite examples of woodwork), and prettily painted fruit, flowers, vines and birds on the plastered walls. Past the Bernese Bedroom, the next major chamber was the Coat of Arms Hall. This, as the name suggests, is liberally painted, all along the top half of the walls, with the coats of arms of the Bernese bailiffs who resided at Chillon when it came under Bernese rule. We had a fun time examining the tiny bears painted above the coats of arms: there’s a regular regiment of them, using lances and swords and whatnot to fight each other. And, as if to push home the fact that Bern equals bear, the hall is dedicated to the animal. A large statue of a bear stands near the entrance, there’s plenty of trivia about bears all across the room, and the central section is devoted to teddy bears. Neither Tarun nor I are especially keen on teddies, but there was information here on how the toy got its name (we have Theodore Roosevelt to thank for that); how they were originally manufactured; and—of course—a large collection of teddies, including old rag-stuffed ones with boot-button eyes. There was even a very jazzy teddy covered with what looked like rhinestones!

Having had our fill of bears, we moved on to the Camera Domini, known for the murals of animals painted on its walls; and, beyond, to the Latrines. A wooden board with strategically placed holes above stone funnels line one side of the room, and (as in all the rooms), there’s additional information on a board on the side. In this case, the trivia consists mainly of some pretty graphic and disgusting medieval illustrations, so if you’re even slightly sensitive about stuff like that, avoid peeking!

From the latrines, we made our way down (a staircase!) to the Wooden Room, probably once used to house the ladies of Savoy. Then, past the chapel and through the third courtyard, we arrived at the Aula Magna. This hall, with its distinctive black-and-white painted walls, was originally used for banquets, and is back today to being rented out for functions and parties. The black marble pillars of the hall are 13th century, as are the tall windows that line one side of the hall, offering a fine view of Lac Leman.

The next interesting room that we came to was the Torture Room (our guide was cautious in referring to it—ungrammatically? —as the `Called Torture Room’). The guide went on to say that this was probably used as a small sitting room or dressing room during the Savoy period, though the Bernese used it to torture people. We found no signs of blood-curdling torture devices; instead, we learnt that the pretty green-and-white pattern of the central pillar is in an unusual 13th century style.

Beyond this, we went through another set of latrines, past the Camera Nova (where the restoration committee headed by Naef held its meetings), and into the Models Room, which contains models of the château at different stages. This room also has photographs and information about the work carried out by Naef and his team in the 1920’s to restore Château Chillon.

Looming above these chambers are the Sentries’ Galleries, long wooden corridors that run along the periphery of the castle and were constantly patrolled. After walking down a couple of these, we thought of turning back, but a quick glance at the guide showed us that the galleries lead up to the 11th century keep, so we decided to persevere—and were richly rewarded. Not that the keep is exceptional. It’s a tower divided into a series of rough wooden rooms one atop the other, linked by sturdy ladder-like staircases. If heights aren’t your thing, or if you have a problem with balance, this isn’t the place for you. But if you want a breathtaking view across the castle, Lac Leman and the surrounding areas—Montreux, the vineyards of Chillon, etc—there’s no beating the keep.

Château Chillon is a must-do if you’re in this part of Switzerland. It’s well maintained, easy to get to, and both fun and informative. Don’t miss this.

Tarun and I therefore decided to see part of the château in the half-hour we had before the show. According to our guide, the château was built between 1270 and 1282, as a square fortification like that of Savoy. In 1476, the reigning nobleman, Count Louis, fought for the Confederates in the Burgundy War; his heroism was rewarded by modernising the château and converting it into a stately residence. By the 16th century, the counts of Gruyères had become bankrupt and the last of them, Michel, was forced to give up the château, which passed into the hands of the cantons of Bern and Fribourg. Fribourg’s bailiffs (and later, its prefects) occupied the castle till 1849, when it was sold off to the wealthy Bovy and Balland families, who made it a summer resort for themselves. Fribourg bought back the château in 1938 and subsequently opened it to the public.

We exited the visitors’ centre and crossed the gravelled courtyard, past a quaint covered well (with gloriously cool water—we drank some!) and entered the castle. The first room we stepped into was the kitchen, which looked appropriately medieval, with its pot hangers, mechanical skewer, and ovens. From the kitchen, a low, wide arched doorway leads into the adjoining guardroom, the main feature of which is a huge fireplace.

Having admired the guardroom, we retraced our steps through the kitchen and made our way up the spiral staircase (built, according to our free guide, "by Count Louis towards the end of the 15th century"). The staircase itself didn’t impress us much, but some of the rooms leading off it are very historic. The Burgundian Room on the first floor, for example, contains displays of armour as well as three 15th century velvet capes, heavily embroidered in gold thread. These were captured by the Swiss Confederacy at the Battle of Morat against Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy.

Outside the Burgundian Room is the prosaically named Corridor, which though it has some wall paintings, has—as its main attraction—a yucky mummified hand! As I’ve admitted earlier, I am definitely squeamish, but even I steeled myself to get a closer look at this blackened and shrivelled relic, supposedly that of an Egyptian mummy, though it’s been linked with various tales (most of them tall) over the years.

At the far end of the corridor, we entered the Bailiffs’ Room, with its broad, 17th century panels of painted foliage. The bailiffs who occupied the castle over the centuries used this room as a study, and the coats of arms of some of them can still be seen around the room. Among the heraldic devices is also that of the Counts of Gruyères: a white crane on a red background. The story goes that the first of the Counts, when he arrived at this spot, saw a crane (in French, ‘grue’) flying by, so derived the name Gruyères from it. We saw the crane motif all across the château: in stained glass, in murals, even in wrought iron sconces sticking out from a wall.

Next to the Bailiffs’ Room is one of the château’s most famous chambers, Corot’s Room, which was a pleasant surprise for Tarun and I, since we hadn’t expected to come across one of our favourite Impressionists here. This, we discovered, was a mid-sized room, carpeted and with lovely old furniture, which in 1852 was redecorated in a big way by Daniel Bovy. Bovy moved in artistic circles and invited his friends to do up the place: they painted each wall with large medallions depicting lovers, landscapes and more. Corot painted four landscapes. They’re not as good as some of his other work, but adequate enough.

On the same floor, a little beyond Corot’s Room, we entered the Room of the Counts, which is home to a large canopied bed, carved chests, and opulent furnishings. Next to this is the weirdly-named Room of the beautiful Lucy. According to legend, Lucy was the lovely mistress of a 17th century Count. The room has some old murals, depicting legends and stories from Greek mythology and history (there’s one of Ulysses meeting Hector in front of Troy), but we’d have liked to see at least one likeness of the legendary Lucy—did she have a face that could launch a thousand ships?

We then ascended the spiral staircase another flight up, and arrived at the Fantastic Art Room. We’d been sceptical about this; anything that blows its own trumpet so shamelessly couldn’t be that fantastic, we thought. But we were, I’m glad to say, mistaken. This is really fantastic, because it consists of depictions and views of Gruyères by modern artists, with each painting using some element of fantasy in it. Very colourful, beautifully executed, and interesting. A 10 on 10!

On the same floor as the Fantastic Art Room is the green-panelled Music Room, hung with portraits and containing a piano made for Franz Liszt in about 1835. Adjacent to the Music Room is Furet’s Room, which contains paintings both by Francis Furet and by Jules Crosnier, as well as portraits by Auguste Baud-Bovy; beyond that is the Hunting Room, with more paintings and (to bear out its name), some 17th century bird-catching equipment.

Also on the second floor is the Knights Room. The walls of this chamber are covered with paintings that depict the history of Gruyères, along with the many legends that surround it. Quite interesting, especially as we are able to make sense of each painting: the little pocket guide from the visitors’ centre explains the significance of each section.

Past the Second Corridor—mostly decorated with some fine paintings by Auguste Baud-Bovy—and we went out into the Galleries, the covered wooden walkways looming above the central courtyard. The galleries overlook the ramparts on one side and are partly decorated with old engravings and lithographs of Gruyères. Along the way, a narrow spiral staircase winds its way up a somewhat claustrophobic shaft called the Tower of the Prisoner. One peek up this and we decided that claustrophobic or not, this merited a look. The sides of the shaft have been covered with back-lit works by the artist Patrick Woodroffe. These fantasy works blend photography with painting in a vibrant, beautiful style of bright colours, clean lines and fine detail. Hanging on to the staircase, making way for people ascending or descending, and admiring Woodroffe’s work took some doing, but it was worth it.

Back at ground level, we briefly admired the ramparts, strolled into the unimpressive little Chapel (originally built in the 13th century but renovated in 1480), and then went on out, walking carefully down the steep gravel path from the château.

And yes, just in case you thought we forgot the sound-and-light show: no, we didn’t. Midway, we went back to the visitors’ centre, above which in a darkened hall, the show is projected onto a large screen. Headphones are provided to each viewer, with a range of languages to choose from. We liked the show, which presents the history of Gruyères, and of the château in particular, in an interesting way (shadows of cranes flap their way across a wall and past the top of the screen; flashes of light and the clash of arms act as a backdrop for a narration of a battle; and a brief but enlightening film features a fictitious old man from medieval Gruyères). Informative, but thankfully not pedantic—and it certainly helped us appreciate the castle better.

The château is open daily from 9 AM to 6 PM between April and October, and from 10 to 4.30 the rest of the year.

We got off the La Gruyère, stepped out of the train station, and there, across the road, was the 40-year old fromagérie known as La Maison du Gruyère. It doesn’t look much on the outside, but La Maison du Gruyère is a delightful little `show cheese dairy’: you can see the cheese being made, you get to understand the entire process; and of course, you can buy and taste the cheese.

We’d wanted to visit the Château de Gruyères first, so by the time we made our way back to the village and entered La Maison du Gruyère, it was already almost 5 PM—and the dairy closes at 6 till May (from June to September, it stays open till 7). The motherly lady at the counter had a look at our Swiss pass, informed us that it was valid in the dairy (yippee!), and handed us a pair of free samples of Gruyères cheese, a complimentary for all visitors. A small sample—15 gms each of cheese matured to different ages—but very welcome. She then guided us up a couple of steps to where racks hold audio guides in German, French, English, Italian, Spanish and Japanese. A quick how-to on using the guide, and we were on our own.

Our luck being what it is, the day we visited happened to be Ascension, so the dairy itself was empty—not even a mouse was to be seen (thank heavens). So we didn’t get to see the cheesemakers at work. On the other hand, we were more or less by ourselves, so didn’t get jostled by other tourists. We began listening to the commentary on our audio guides. This is well designed, with the `narrator’ being a cow called Cherry!

Against a backdrop of photographs of cows and countryside, along with close-ups of flowers, grasses, etc, `Cherry’ took us back from cheese to milk to a cow’s diet. A cow, we discovered, consumes 100 kgs of grass (yes, that’s one hundred) daily and about 85 lt of water. Included in this incessant champing are odds and ends like wild cumin, violets, vanilla orchids, and other wildflowers. In front of the photographs of each of these herbs and flowers are little steel tubes, which we were instructed (again by Cherry) to lift the lid on. Each one contains a chemical representation of the fragrance of the corresponding botanical, so we got a whiff of a lot of the stuff that eventually forms milk. Connoisseurs of cheese, we were told, can scent these in the cheese too.

Next, `Cherry’ went on to tell us how the milk is turned into cheese: the milking, the churning, the addition of the rennet, the separation of the solids from the whey, the process of forming into wheels, and the ageing of the cheese. 400 lt of milk goes into a 35 kg wheel of Gruyères cheese, so a kg of cheese is actually about 12 lt of milk. Impressive.

Had the dairy been open, we’d have been able to see some of the cheesemaking for ourselves: the dairy’s in the basement, and glass windows all round the corridor on top allow you to see what’s going on below. But we needn’t have worried; there was a video too, which we could easily synchronise with our audio guides, to see the entire process. `Cherry’ guided us on to a whiff of the milk (delicious!), and to more information about Gruyères cheese. There were some staggering facts listed here: 27,500 tonnes of cheese are produced from 330 million lt of milk annually across 200 Gruyères cheese diaries, which spread across the cantons of Vaud, Fribourg, Jura, Neuchâtel and Berne. Two-thirds of the cheese is consumed within Switzerland itself.

A quick look at the stacks of golden cheese ripening in the cheese cellar, and we were ready to hand in our audio guides. A manageable tour, this one: less than 40 minutes, and both informative as well as entertaining. That wasn’t the end of our visit to La Maison du Gruyère, though. Beside the entrance is a shop that specialises in Gruyères cheese, though it also sells chocolates and a few souvenirs. After much debating and looking at different ages and sizes of cheeses (and examining our budget), we bought ourselves a wedge of Gruyères and a few chocolates. Opposite the shop, beyond a life-size multicoloured statue of a cow, is a large informal restaurant, though we didn’t explore its menu.

On the whole, a great place to visit. If you like cheese—as we do—you’ll probably find this great fun, and educational too. Entrance fees, in case you don’t have a Swiss pass, are CHF7 per person.

The large cobbled square that forms the `vestibule’ (well, sort of) to Château Gruyères is chockfull of restaurants, souvenir sellers and the like. Among these, we found the Café-Restaurant des Remparts. This is the first restaurant on the right as you enter through the towering gateway of the castle.

The façade of the restaurant, facing the square, is whitewashed and punctuated with lots of pretty shuttered windows and a balcony, all in lovely dark wood. The balcony is hung with the coat of arms of Gruyères (a white crane on a red ground—we saw a lot of it around), and the window boxes, now that it was summer, were overflowing with red geraniums. A red-and-white striped canopy stretched over a small section in front, but the tables here were all occupied. Inside, though it was a little gloomy (lots more dark wood and only natural light), there was space. Best of all, to our delight, there was space on the terrace overlooking the ramparts! This is the most popular section of the restaurant, something like a wide balcony, but with walls and a ceiling—all made mainly of glass, so you get a great view across the countryside, but without having to brave the elements.

One of the restaurant’s waitresses (all of them dressed in traditional Swiss costume which they wear without looking cheesy!) came to hand us our menus. The Restaurant des Remparts’s menu is extensive, with Italian and French dishes, and all the signature Swiss delicacies every guide book will tell you about; raclette, fondue, even horse steak. After much pondering, I ordered a fondue while Tarun asked for a steak. For drinks, Tarun ordered a beer, I a glass of white wine, a Mont sur Rolle.

Every table on the terrace was occupied, and I think the restaurant was short-staffed because the waitresses seemed a little hassled, and our order took quite a while to come. The beer and the wine were brought within a few minutes, but the rest of the meal came after about 20 minutes or so. But what a meal! My fondue came, fragrant with a mixture of Gruyères and Vacherin, in a pretty rust-red saucepan-like dish sitting on a tabletop burner. Along with it, the waitress placed a large plate of boiled, thin-skinned small potatoes, and a bread basket full of thickly sliced bread. I could’ve never imagined that something as simple as boiled potatoes dipped in a sauce of melted cheese and wine could taste so heavenly. The bread, dipped in the fondue using the long, two-tined fondue fork, was also delicious. This portion was supposedly for one person (larger fondues for up to four people are available; they come with more things to dip, including meats); I found it too huge, though, and Tarun had to help me finish it off.

Tarun’s food was equally good, and equally adequate as far as portion size was concerned. The medium steak he’d ordered came beautifully seared, juicy and just right, with a serving of herbed mayonnaise on the side. Along with it, he got fries and sautéed vegetables—carrot, green beans, courgette, broccoli. Eaten with the complimentary bread (and having to help me cope with the fondue), Tarun too was quite full by the time we finished, so both of us skipped dessert. Our bill came to CHF57.40, which we thought extremely reasonable, considering the excellent quality of the food.

Most waitresses at the restaurant speak passable English or can at least understand it. The menu too is in French, German and English. Note that the terrace of the restaurant seems to be very popular with families—we were one of the few couples without children here.