We've just been to Switzerland. We almost didn't make it. Now here's a story for you: two trains leaving Milan at exactly the same time. One going to the Italian seaside resort of Genova, another to Geneva in the Swiss Alps. One vowel, 294km difference. As luck would have it, we got onboard the wrong one. What followed was all very Bridget Jones. Picture a loud 'oh shiiit', a frantic scramble off one train and onto another, with four minutes to run twenty-two platforms, unsuspecting bystanders were unceremoniously knocked aside and finally, a leap of faith onto the last train to Switzerland.
Red, sweaty and puffy. Who says travel isn't glamourous?
Zinal is a pretty little mountain town in the Swiss Alpine valley, Val d'Anniviers. It has all the familiarity and charm you might expect from a small alpine village. A boulangerie which remembers your morning order
(deux multi-céreales merci), the man at the cheese counter insists you try before you buy and absolutely everybody wishes you a
bonne journée!
The views are spectacular, the queues (almost always) non-existant. It really is the hidden gem of the ski world.
Meet the team. The Hewitts plus some
The usual suspects
Mama & Papa Hew having a natter
Brother bear & my beautiful mama
Off-piste in the Zinal bowl
Lunching
Here's our customary 'we're skiing, be jealous' instagram.
When I was little, Papa Hew used to say "if you don't fall, you're not trying hard enough". Now I'm older, this is both my insurance and assurance. Taking my bruises as proof of a hard days work, I treated myself with a glass of wine and a bubble bath.
The next day we woke up to clear blue skies, only to reminded of the old saying. Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. Sure enough, the clouds barged in and brought with them a snow storm.
Which could only mean one thing... Cheers to another hard days work! (Papa Hew's glass on the left, mine on the right)
Now for the real money maker. Fondue time. Pots of bubbling cheese, overflowing baskets of fresh baguette, cured meats, crudites. If it was American we'd call it disgusting, because it's French we call it
délicieux!
The last morning we padded around, filled a flask of Baileys coffee and went for a walk, before heading home, albeit less dramatically than the outbound journey.
If you're ever in Zinal you
must walk through the old town. The room-sized wooden chalets seem unliveable, but the smoke billowing from the chimneys say otherwise. It's unbelievably magical.
When you hear the jingling of bells and the smell of, well, mother nature, you've reached the cow shed. Leave yesterday's baguette. Because half a loaf is better than naan!
Soph the eskimo
Anyone else feeling like they're in Narnia?
Then at the end of the town, stop for a drink in the Alpina. Mix-matched chairs, juices and liquors
fait à la maison, every spare inch of wall filled with assorted pictures, paintings and prints.
'The reasons for living are worth a lot more than life itself.' If I were philosophically inclined I would've pondered this whilst sipping my jus de gingembre. As I'm not, instead I just admired the pretty pictures.
Selfishly I'd like to keep Zinal a family secret, but it's so breathtaking, up the mountain and down, that I really just had to share it with you.
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