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Klaus Leuenberger, formerly chef at the Restaurant St Georg on the Dorfplatz, has taken over the helm at the ErnerGarten in the village’s all-new Generationshaus. I asked him to share his story.

Yours was a long history and solid reputation at the St Georg. Why the change?
The time was right. At the St Georg, I had a reputation as being a little too stuffy and high-end among the locals; with all the tables laid, cloths and everything, some of them didn’t even really trust themselves to come in. Here at ErnerGarten, deliberately, we never use tablecloths in the front part of the restaurant, so people realize right away that they can eat something small if that’s all they want. I also offer a substantial lunch menu for CHF 18.00 − price-worthy, generous, and regional, and that’s going very well.

So this is a new model?
Yes. Outside opening hours at the St Georg, everything just shut down, but here at the Generationshaus, we’re open seven days a week, so there are always people going in and out. What’s more, many of the residents here at the Generationshaus asked to know what they could do to support us, how they could help. So I suggested we try a “Walliser evening” every Monday, which they staff entirely themselves. Now, there’s always something of a “raclette battle” on that evening: two different raclette cheeses from two different providers are the contenders, and the guests assess their differences.

Are there any other “formatting” changes in store?
Yes, on Wednesday evenings, we’re planning to start a “Tavolata,” a surprise menu served around a big table as is often done in Italy. We’ll offer whole variety of foods based on local produce − the strength of this restaurant − bringing people together so that good discussion at the table ensues. I worked with the local Biobauer (bio-farmers) over a long period to promote local produce, and the idea now is just to intensify that a bit. From this new location, I’m even closer to the gardens, so I can go across the road to determine what is ripe or ready on any given day.

What motivated you to be a cook in the first place?
Training as a cook meant I would be able to go abroad and see a little more of the world beyond just Huttwil, in the Emmental, where I was born. Once I’d finished the training, I contacted a cruise line for work, but was told to get some real experience first. So I worked three or four years in a large hotel here in Switzerland, then went abroad, first to Canada, then around the world on the QE 2. Working in a big cruise ship kitchen is very hard, but they’re always in need of people since the staff turnover is so great.

And where did you go from there?
I sailed on three different ships: QE2, Royal Viking, and the Viking Sun over the next two years, but landed in Warsaw at the very end of the 80s, the time of the Wendezeit (re-unification). A British firm that had renovated and opened a 5-star hotel there hired me as head chef. Later, when the property was sold to Polish management, I travelled to Qatar to work for a wealthy sheikh, and managed the kitchen of his luxury resort and leisure facility, complete with a Gault Millau restaurant and huge banquet hall. While I was the executive head of operations there, we also catered banquets and formal state dinners for the Royal Palace − all in all, a huge organizational task. 

And what made you leave Qatar?
Well, eventually, I wanted a connection to something simpler again, and wanted to actually cook more. I might be told, “Hey, we’re not paying you to cook here, you’re supposed to manage. You've got people cooking for you!” which was frustrating. In addition to that, the attitude of the sheikhs was a very different one: the idea that if you pay enough, you can get anything you want. The word “no” simply didn’t exist for them. You might be asked to have a roast turkey ready for a large party in a hour; never mind if you were unable to get a turkey in that time, much less prepare and roast it! And if you vocalized that, you might be told this: “That’s not my problem, it’s yours!” 

That would have been hard. So you came back to Switzerland?
Yes, and the St Georg here in Ernen was looking for a cook, so I agreed to work here for a full year. That one year, though, somehow grew into eighteen. So it was a hard decision after so long to close up shop there. Even so, I wanted a crack at a new and more lively venture, one that would pull in people of all kinds all day long. The ErnerGarten location is good for me too, as are the landscape, the many bio-products available, and − above all − the Musikdorf Ernen. It’s made a tremendous difference, since without its draw, I might be never have had the same exposure. And when people come here from every part of the world in the summer, I get a good bit of international flavor – which is somewhat of a substitute for travel. Most importantly, I can assure our guests that the ErnerGarten’s products are of the finest quality. We’re still here in Ernen, we’re doing the same kind of cooking, and we may even be doing it a little bit better!

Interview by Sarah Batschelet, Ernen, Monday 24 July 2017

The Restaurant Erner Garten is located in the new Generationshaus, a 5-minute walk from the center of town (Tel. +41 27 971 11 28). For more information, click here.

Wrapped in white tarps and heavily scaffolded, Ernen’s lovely parish church St. Georg might easily be mistaken today for a Christo intervention, and entitled something like “Wrapped Church.” But no, not quite. For while the 16th century sanctuary was reconfigured into a neo-Gothic style church in 1860, and underwent total renovation in the mid-1960s, that “face-lift” has been its only major intervention since. Now, its roof and façade are being repaired and re-plastered, thus: the wrapped “Christo look.”

Given St. Georg’s parish history and its superb Baroque choir and altars, there are few sites better in which to stage a period concert. Undeniably, too, the Baroque weeks are at the “heart “ of the Musikdorf Ernen festival. The players come from a variety of backgrounds, their loyalty to the Ernen music weeks, long since proven. As in other years, Ada Pesch, Concertmaster at the Zurich opera and its superb Baroque orchestra, La Scintilla, takes the first seat here. And she slated a three-concert week of that genre ehoe repertoire pointed to the consummate skills of the various instruments.

The evening’s first piece was by Evaristo Felice Dall’Abaco, a Venetian cellist whose composition was indebted to that of Vivaldi and Corelli. His Concerti a quarto da chiesa op 2. in G minor began with a Largo that showed off the beauty of Mike Fentoss’s theorbe, the lute’s close relative, while the spritely Allegro e spiritoso saw the first violin infecting us with light-hearted vivaciousness. The Grave − like its name − featured long and sustained bow work that was both mellow and gutsy; the final Allegro was effervescent and light, and made an uplifting ending to the 1712 piece.

Antonio Vivaldi’s Bassoon concerto in A Minor, RV 499 began with a phrase that might have been scripted for a stalking scene in a movie, but soon showed the more jolly, even humorous profile of the often-underestimated orchestra member: the bassoon. Benny Aghassi showed virtuoso fingering, and embellished his work with superb variations in intonation. For me, there’s always something a little humorous, even Falstaff-ian, about the bassoon’s lower register, and accordingly, the Largo felt like a burly beast making a case for itself as an actor. Aghassi’s mastery of technique and the accompanying Baroque guitar’s counter melodies (Mike Fentross) made this a thoroughly enjoyable performance.

Mezzosoprano Maite Beaumont sang five different, highly animated arias in the course if the evening, three by the Italian composer Francesco Gasparini, − the teacher who was Domenico Scarlatti’s teacher, − and two works by Georg Friedrich Handel. In the first three, the singer was boosted by singularly melodic orchestration, the solo violin picking up some of the same themes the singer embellished with her well-rounded vocal skills. Beaumont’s Cor nemico, amante core showed the greatest animation of the three, although the singer was somewhat inhibited in her body movements, keeping her upper arms tightly braced and close to her body, and forfeiting some of the freedom that she might have enjoyed and imparted otherwise.

Lucas Ruiz de Ribayaz was a Spanish harpist who largely composed for the lute and guitar. His Panavbas and Xacaras were flawlessly played by harpist Siobhán Armstrong, accompanied by Mike Fentross, although for me, there was less here of the variation in color that that I heard from the other instruments. I was glad for the nuances of volume that gave the selections more heft and handle.

After the break, the chamber works by Georg Friedrich Handel included the brilliant Trio Sonata in C minor for two violins and basso continuo, which I found the highlight of the evening. Violinist Monika Baer took a stunning lead, steering the work from its plaintive work to the spirited second movement, in which an animated cembalo (Francesco Corti) and the violin played off and around one another like two agile dancers. The strings set the tone of a kind of precious sentimentality that any Handel fan knows to love. It was sheer bliss, acoustically, though, somehow illuminating the Baroque church with its instrumental push-pull and golden resonance. Ada Pesch also gave greater dimension to the work with her animated full-body expression, and Deirdre Dowling’s viola, Catherine Jones’s cello, and Paolo Zuccheri’s double bass all shone like even more Baroque gold from the podium.

Maite Beaumont finished the program with two selections by Handel. Scherza infida is the sublimely tragic aria from the opera, “Ariodante,” that comes after the lead character learns that his lover has betrayed him. In his consummate sorrow and despair, he sings: “Betrayed by you, I go to embrace death.” Beaumont nicely imparted the utter devastation of such a loss, and was accompanied by a rich bassoon that simply yanked at the heart strings. What’s more, her final “Dopo Notte,” lifted us with its resplendent pageantry of a virtuoso coloratura, one which beautifully complemented the splendor of the Baroque decoration behind her in the church.

Ernen, 22 July 2017, by Sarah Batschelet

Lars Dederscheck, chef at the Gommerstuba in Niederernen, took time off to talk about the fine establishment where his classic French cooking is king.

You took over here only one year ago. What was it like to follow in your well-known predecessor’s footsteps?
It was daunting. Rolf Gruber had been here for 30 years when I took over. Sure, I’d already worked here for 16 years by then, but from last December, it was different to be the man at the helm. Fortunately, Rolf had been an excellent teacher. I knew the venue inside out, and lots of the clientele. That made the transition easier, as did −  and does − my wife Yvonne, who helps with operative management and does the bookkeeping so I can devote the greater part of my time to actually cooking.

What do you cook most frequently?
International cuisine, based primarily on classic French cooking. We offer the finest quality meats and in summer, prepare fish, which I like very much to cook. We get our small lake perch (Egli) from a fish hatchery in Raron, a place worth a visit in itself. We also prepare salt-water fish, and even high-end delicacies such as Canadian lobster. I try to incorporate local regional produce as much as possible… but lobster, for example, must be imported, and we have a definite client demand for it. Where can you get it otherwise?

Are there certain specialties we should try?
I change the menu seasonally, four times a year. The favorite now is the lake perch, and guests frequently order it à la carte, but we also have a 7-course menu, along with the option of ordering only 3 or 4 of them. Our wine cellar carries wines produced exclusively in the Valais, where our Cornalin, incidentally, is a superb local grape, and Humagne Rouge is also very good. Whatever the specialty, I like going around among our guests after they’ve finished their meals to get their impressions and feedback. I really depend on that, − especially if I’ve experimented with something new, − as acknowledging their satisfaction or suggestions is vital for our maintaining top results.

What’s the most difficult thing about being a chef?
Keeping calm. When lots is happening, and it gets stressful, or when there are fewer guests, in the dead of winter, say, you still have responsibilities vis-à-vis the staff. Earlier, I could count on my regular monthly salary; now, I’m the one paying the salaries and bills, so see the business from an entirely different angle. And there are concerns, of course, such as whether I can depend on all hands to keep their hours. That’s important, since we’re a team of only five; if one person’s missing, then everybody’s under a lot of pressure. I hope to be seen as a constant, though, strongly committed to drawing rather than pulling the very best out of us all. And I hope that continues to work as well as it has up to now.

Your German sounds native. How’s that?
I’m 39 years old now, and still a German citizen, although with our young son, who was born and is going to school here, we consider applying for Swiss citizenship. In any case, I did my training on the German-Dutch border, and in a hotel whose kitchen was large and very well-equipped, making it a great place to learn. My chef there, too, was a powerhouse: great at teaching us the basics, but covering a vast number of topics that in any way revolve around food and its preparation, too. At school there, it was always said that to make a career as a chef, one had to work at some point in Switzerland. So I was pleased to get that experience at the Gommerstuba, where I thought I would stay about a year. The Fates, I guess, thought otherwise. In any case, over the next 15 years, I took great benefit from working alongside Rolf Gruber. He gave terrific personality to this place, and even now, we keep in touch with one another regularly.

What three adjectives would you like to hear clients use to describe your cuisine?
Oh, that’s a tough one, but I think I’d say, delicious, sophisticated and completely satisfying to both the eye and palette. My aim, of course, is that every plate comes out as perfectly as possible; it has to look really appetizing, but has to taste very good, too.

Here in Niederernen, you’re in a largely rural area. Yet you stay here rather than go down into the valley. Why’s that?
Largely because the restaurant has a name, and we have regular clients. Compared to Brig or the valley, where the concentration of eateries is very dense, we have a unique position. The whole package of fine cuisine in this beautiful setting makes it an ideal location. What’s more, response to our website and Trip Advisor reviews have shown us that our clientele is very much behind us. That alone makes me makes me very proud.

Interview by Sarah Batschelet, Thursday, 20 July 2017

The Gommerstuba is open from Tuesday through Monday from 10.00 – 23.00. Closed Tuesday and Wednesday. Exceptionally, during the Musikdorf Ernen’s concert season (10 July −14 August), Monday only is closed. For reservations, call 027 971 29 71 or send an e-mail. For more information click here.

With the forest floor covered in a thick carpet of evergreen needles, “the patter of little feet” may have been harder to hear in the Zauberwald (Magic Forest) on 16 July, but that didn’t mean that any had stayed away. On the contrary: the village of Ernen chose that day to celebrate the tenth birthday of its marvelous children’s outdoor adventure playground with a festive jubilee, and a handsome number of children and their parents came.

My friend Martin and I got there early, and had a friendly welcome by Irisea and Talitha, two young women from the Ernen Tourist Office, who pointed us in the direction of activities. An information board at the entrance also gave us the cautions and rules. The path is suitable for children if accompanied by an adult. Look through the intermittently placed telescopes to find the next activity station. Observe the posted silhouettes of small red squirrels that stand for “Stop,” and don’t go beyond them. All points taken.

Enchanting from the start, the Zauberland forest itself was as striking as it was inviting. The forest path is soft with evergreen needles, but ancient red pines and gnarled or split boulders make the background close to bizarre, a film set for magical events that nobody does better than Mother Nature herself.

Given that spread, all order of natural materials − stones, water, branches, pine cones, moss − are the building blocks for a host of activities and experiences in the forest. There are some two dozen stations that invite interaction, each one designed in accord with the landscape where it’s placed. Figuring among them is a mini-mountain pulley like those used to bring supplies up to higher altitudes in alpine regions. Here at the Zauberwald, kids can load the carriage with favorite stones, leaves or pinecones, for example, then draw the load up and down over the side of a steep incline. There’s also a balance beam nearby that sways some 6 inches above the ground and offers a chance to “walk the plank,” but has cords around it to make it harmless. Further, a colorful slippery slide invites a good “swoosh” downwards, and a log-covered cavern invites “secret meetings” or just a moment’s rest.

I especially loved the simply made “chimes” near the slippery slide: different lengths of small logs hung vertically from a rafter, with a mallet that could bring out the sound engineer in any of us. What’s more, the crunchy bed of pinecones and woods roughage set out to tickle the feet was good fun to step over.

The makings for all kinds of art projects were also at visitors’ beck and call for the jubilee. Coloring and cutting, pasting and assembly kept little hands busy at a number of tables in a central area, where some 15 large picnic tables offered refreshments and simple fare from barbeque grill. Not surprisingly, the good-spirited grill lads also clearly liked their work!

Near the end of the event, visitors could follow the story of Brüna, a little red squirrel who has found her place in the rich catalogue of Ernen legends. In Andreas Wiessen’s story, Brüna undergoes all kinds of adventures while looking for her winter store of food within the magic forest, and makes a fascinating discovery at the end. Set in the Zauberwald itself, the story nicely hit home.

In sum, whether you have children, or have a child in you, the Ernen Zauberwald is a place of exploration, adventure, and bizarre beauty, and its entrance is only a mere 3-minute bus ride from the Dorfplatz in Ernen. The discover park is highly recommended!

Ernen, Tuesday, 18 July 2017, by Sarah Batschelet

Click here to visit the website of the Zauberwald (Magic Forest)

Note: Thanks to Linda Mooser, trainee at the local newspaper, Walliserbote, for her additional help with these photographs. She supplied the last four shown here.

Don’t you meet people under the strangest of circumstances? Last Saturday, I took part in a moonlit-walk between Ernen and Mühlebach that ended at “Amy’s Schafstube,” a delightful restaurant and terrace just this side of Mühlebach’s hanging bridge. Even late as it was, Amy herself was there to greet our group with homemade savories and sweets, and we all settled in to enjoy them over drinks at wooden picnic tables. My table neighbors included the gifted Andreas Weissen, the specialist in local legends who’d led the hike; a sociable and good-humored couple from nearby Naters; and a rather quiet woman, Paula, who was sitting alone at the far end my bench. She and I only struck up a conversation around midnight, when a fat old full moon first showed its silvery light over the opposite hill, then slowly rose in all its glory − a spectacle of the first order.

Turned out that Paula lived in Mühlebach, and was almost a neighbor to Leander Locher, the artist I interviewed for this blog last year. I knew her neighborhood, and we also shared a couple of other friends, but her generous invitation to come visit her and her husband, Roland, at home was more than I expected. As was the house, and the welcome they both gave me.

Theirs is one of the so-called wooden “Heidenhäuser” (heathen houses), a designation often given to houses so old and unusually constructed that they were thought to be built before the spread of Christianity. Typically fairly low to the ground, they often feature a small loft and a wooden cross that supports a gabled façade, but is integrated into the outside wall. And this particular house enjoys a beautiful position; it backs up to the brook from which the town took its name, but with room for a lush garden and sitting area in between.

The house had belonged to Paula’s Grandfather Seiler, whose portrait engraving hung in a prominent place in the living room. The long history of the house, however, goes back far beyond him; indeed, the houses like this one in Mühlebach are the oldest intact wooden structures in all of Switzerland. Built in 1497, renovated in 1767, the Seiler house cellar is a massive block base that supports the 2-floor wooden residence. The rooms are small and almost warren-like; and each one has a number of doors, likely for good circulation. As a child, Paula remembers, a whole gaggle of children slept in bunks in what today is the upper drawing room. Reamarkably, the house’s age-old small-paned windows look out over the meadow to Ernen, and the spire of its landmark church, St. Georg, which looks like a like a little flag signaling back to its nearest village. 

The Seiler house has undergone changes over the centuries, though. A small roof was placed over the steep entrance stairs to make a gathering place between main house and an ancillary building that was once a separate structure. Interior improvements for convenience, of course, were also made in the kitchen and washroom. But one thing that remains for its its historical value is the double “Plumps-Klo” the wooden, double toilet seat at the far end of the adjacent pantry. Somebody, apparently, had to clean the refuse beneath it away about every three months, or all hell broke loose.

Roland is an architectural historian, Paula, a graphic artist and painter, perhaps the finest combination of talents to insure the house’s integrity. She shared some of her recent paintings with me, and he brought out books he had published about Switzerland’s historic hotels, of whose prestigious expert association he is a board member. But one detail I loved about the house was hardly academic: Hanging over a day bed in a tiny room off the upstairs kitchen was a caution stitched in simple embroidery: “Geh nie im Zorn von deines Hauses Herd; Gar mancher ging der nie zurückgekehrt.” That loosely translates: “Never leave your house and home angry; Some have left and never returned.” So be it!

Ernen, Saturday, 15 July 2017, by Sarah Batschelet

The Gorsatt family enjoys a long history in the Binn Valley (“Binntal”), and Ewald Gorsatt kindly spoke to me this week about the passionate hobby he turned into his profession. His own father, he explained, was an avid mineral spotter (“Strahler”), a hobbyist who “brought home a rucksack full of 50 kg of stones every day.” As a boy, Ewald often joined him to look for crystals, taking a liking to it from the start. Once a teenager, he also assisted the “pros” in other mineral-hunting expeditions. Fast forwarding: After a number of years in his trained profession − mechanical engineering − he turned back full time to his passion for spotting crystals. And today, his enterprise offers a host of mineral-related activities that appeal to people of all ages and with various levels of skill and alpine experience.

The crystals Ewald Gorsatt seeks in the Binntal are likely the products of some 15-20 million years of geological history, and one that transpired some 10 km below the surface. Over the millennia, changes in pressure and the earth’s ambient temperature caused shifts in the ground surface, making a hot bed for the generation of mineral deposits.

Equipped with hammer and chisel, spud bar (“Strahlstock”) and gap hook (“Clufthaken”), now with many years’ experience under his belt, the 49-year old hobby Strahler Gorsatt knows what he’s looking for when he starts out. He uses the gap hook to pick out surface lime and refuse from a long mineral vein he recognizes as promising, or pursues a shine of mica that likely hides something beneath. He knows the feel and even the “little squeak” that a crystal gives off when the gap hook passes over its surface. In the rarest of cases, the crystal simply presents itself on the surface. One of his greatest finds, he says, was spotted on a glacier from some 300 meters away; “There was just a glimmer, almost like a small spot light as I approached it, as if it just wanted to be found.” Some luck!

In his simple but orderly shop, he offers a full range of the specimens, large and small, that stem from this rich valley. Smoky quartz is considered a “surface mineral”, but the specimens from the Binntal are legendary. It was some years ago, that his colleague Werner Schmidt, a professional Strahler, uncovered the “largest smoke crystal in the Alps” in the Oberwallis alps, which was 1.11 meters long and weighed in at 800 kilos. By comparison, Gorsatt’s finest specimens are modest in size and weight, but his magnetite crystals are precious because they’re so rare. Measuring 3 cm across at the most, the tiny little “gems” of the kind found in the Binn Valley are considered the world’s very finest of those specimens.

Gorsatt has discovered that mineral spotting has great appeal to young people, and the same applies to the craft of cutting and polishing their finds. In addition to excursions, he offers an introduction into the world of rocks and minerals to school classes, and also offers youngsters a chance to experiment at his well-equipped and spotlessly clean studio in Binn. Complete with cutters and polishers that he himself fashioned, “Safety First” is the rule of the day. Importantly, too, the machines are installed at a level easy for youngsters to operate. And no question: if passion for a subject makes a good teacher, then Ewald Gossart deserves his own school.

Ernen, Thursday, 13 July 2017, by Sarah Batschelet

From the beginning of July through mid-October, Ewald Gorsatt offers excursions that focus on the fascination of crystals for groups of 8-15 people (Note: Mandatory registration, and suitable for children above 8 years). From the beginning of May through mid-October, he offers cutting and polishing courses (for 5-10 people, and children above 10 years). A fine selection of crystals, polished stones, and small domestic objects made of stone are also available at Ewald Gorsatt’s small shop in Binn. For information: Tel. +41 79 347 54 30 (irregular hours, advisable to ring about 17.30 p.m.). To register click here. Website of Ewald Gorsatt. Also highly recommended to visitors interested in minerals is a visit to Werner Schmidt’s superb museum collection in Mörel. For a virtual tour of the museum click here.

The seven promising young artists chosen to show work in the village-wide summer exhibition “Zur frohen Aussicht” (“To the Happy View”) came to Ernen in March earlier this year. In inclement weather, they had to be convinced that the village was more than just a sleepy alpine town. The main square was void of people, the residents hunkered down inside their wooden houses because of the rain. But each artist had come to determine what their installation would be, and where it would best be placed, so each one would look at the village with a keener eye. For together, artists Moritz Hossli, Thomas Julier, Andreas Kalbermatter, Céline Liebi, Celia und Nathalie Sidler and Kathrin Zurschmitten − hailing from other places in Wallis and the rest of Switzerland – had been asked to reflect Ernen’s unique pulse in new works of art.

What is Ernen today, and how does present itself? What motivates and inspires its residents? In a wide variety of artistic forms – video art to architectural sculpture, sound installations to performance – what resulted was each artist’s answer to those enquiries. What’s more, their installations sharpen perception and boost appreciation of various aspects of the village and its inhabitants, not just for visitors from out of town, but also for those who live here year round.

At the official opening of the “Zur frohen Aussicht” on Saturday, July 8, Francesco Walter, who heads the cantonal Cultural Advisory Board and is also Vice-President of the Ernen municipality, introduced the exhibition’s Curator, Josiane Imhasly on the scenic Dorfplatz. Some 100 people joined to hear her speak about the artists and their achievements, and afterwards, toast the success of both over local cheese, smoked beef and Walliser wine.

The artists Celia and Nathalie Sidler also colored the opening with political presence in their “Reclaim the Streets!” performance. The sister’s multicolored banners hung prominently around the center of the village, but the event’s call to activism was even more spirited, complete with the raised fists that recalled the two Afro-American athletes at the Munich Olympics. Here in Ernen, their faces hidden by yellow masks, the two artists scrambled onto the Platz and mounted the Cardinal Schiner monument to question the background of the village’s building boom and the rules and regulations that order the Ernen community. Broadcasting through two large megaphones, they reminded us that the Dorfplatz had once been the very center of village life, alluded to the shrinking number of youth in rural communities, and the suspicions of one’s neighbors. The overriding message: “Why not organize ourselves differently? Build a slippery slide on the Dorfplatz!” It was as entertaining as it was thought-provoking.

On Sunday, July 9, the public was also invited to join the artists on a tour through the installations, and get a real feel for the spaces their interventions filled. Artist Moritz Hossli shared the technical details of his insightful “golden bird, “Galgenvogel” a timepiece that he said “stands for all birds” and emerges from the round window at the very top of the historic Rathaus’s façade to chirp its two-tone announcement of every hour. Given that the Rathaus served historically both as high court and prison, the metaphor of the bird as symbol of freedom was nicely chosen. Later, Hossli presented “Warteräume” (”Waiting Rooms”), his second installation (of three) in one of many small and empty Spycher once used to store hay and farming implements. He had labored hard to clear the space and pay tribute to its laboring past, exposing its merits in ancient wood, its 13 individual storage bays for as many parties, and the soft daylight streaming in through the cracks. Admired for its inherent sculptural beauty, though, the empty Spycher also stands as a symbol of an uncertain future.

Having grown up in the area, Thomas Julier deliberately chose to show his work in the space of the old Youth Center, a few modernized, white rooms in the bottom of the historic Kaplaneihaus. He remembered the gathering place, he said, as one “where things were done,” not all of them, good. He drew for his work on recent historical events that were dark, mysterious, and sometimes inexplicable. One of these was the accusation of arson leveled at one local young man who later contended he had spoken with the Devil in the nearby Bonn Valley. In “The Arpeggiator of the Mind,” Julier also points to the excesses of Pan, the iconic images of the late ‘70s, and the “flight” of the modern hang-glider, often contrasting the tenets of Hedonism with those of Catholicism.

Two floors above him on the upper floors of the same building is something of a different kind. Céline Liebi’s elegant installation “Zu Besuch” (“Visiting”) contrasts short citations that Ernen residents gave about their village with photographs of personal treasures in their homes that Liebli thought deserved attention. Whether printed with word or image, Liebi’s white fabric panels are strung taut on lightweight white cords, and apportion the space into neat horizontals. Again, the setting chosen had a tremendous impact on the work; the Kaplaneihaus has been beautifully restored, and its upper windows let in streams of warm light. In the village itself, Liebi’s banners are placed in more unexpected places. To me, a fabric photo that depicted a “Mother of Pearl Madonna” spanned against a simple woodpile was especially ingenious.

Andreas Kalbermatter’s In turn, work captures all the intrigue of Ernen sounds, some of them subtle, some as familiar as the horn and movements of the Postautobus. His work “Echo Chamber” juxtaposes those sounds with hollow, abstract house models that surround the viewer in a primarily dark room. Ours is the circle of “home” within, but over and beyond that, the work invites a catalog of other interpretations. He had pointedly asked for a space that was at street level, so that it could be – like one’s home ought to be − easily accessible.

Finally, Kathrin Zurschmitten’s video work also lives and breathes in a Spycher below the church, and adjacent to the recently restored Hüs uf der Flüe. On a woods walk, the artist said she had marveled at the patterns of change and decay among the fallen leaves, and wanted to incorporate that same sense of transience in her work. In “up wind up,” she plays with the visual and soothing sound effects of hot air on tissue paper, the single material used in the poetic intervention. And her installation also made a case for the exhibition triggering change: For safety’s sake, this Spycher got its very first hand-railing shortly before the exhibition.

In sum, the second “Zur frohen Aussicht,” which links the past to the present, shows as many artistic genres as there are interventions. Charting the artists’ installations makes a delightful way to visit the hidden nooks and crannies of the village, and to appreciate the approach that seven different talents took as they expanded on − and mastered − the challenge given them.

Ernen, Tuesday, 11 July 2017, by Sarah Batschelet

Visit here the website of the exhibition.

The Swiss know a thing or two about moving up, down, through and around mountains, and I have to trust that their expertise includes modern bridge construction. But for 280m, a single layer of wooden planks on this painfully simple-looking, swinging, swaying contraption is all that keeps me from a 92m plunge down to the River Rhone. Every creak and groan underfoot adds weight to my regret for every solid kilogram gained from gorging on cheese fondue and fried potatoes for a week.

The newly opened Goms Bridge is the quickest way to reach Muhlebach, a village nestled in the Alps in the Swiss canton of Valais. Disembark the train at Furgangen-Bellwald and walk across the hanging bridge; what lies on the other side makes this queasy high-wire act worth it.

There are countless mountain villages in Switzerland and many boast the same selling points as this one. Think alpine scenery, fresh air, old-world charm and locals speaking their own version of Swiss-German, a dialect that sounds as if the German language has been hijacked by drunken elves. Zermatt, the celebrated ski town, is also in the Valais, and many visitors flock there, but Muhlebach is pure magic.

On the flanks of a fecund river valley, set within an amphitheatre of glorious peaks, Muhlebach, with its hardy mountain living and pastoral loveliness, is just what the doctor (or, these days, wellness guru) ordered. Timber chalets and barns dot the verdant slopes. In summer, the air smells of warm grass and earth, the scent carried by a cool breeze sweeping down from snow-capped summits. Clean, refreshing mountain water runs from fountains throughout the village, like taps drilled right into the essence of nature; it is the best water you will ever taste. And there’s the precious sound of nothing — a mountain silence made tuneful by the jangle of cow bells. The cows have soft fuzzy ears, a terrific mop of curls atop their heads and expressions of indifference. They are an exemplar of what Muhlebach does for your health. Across the valley is the Eggishorn-Bettmerhorn range, immense and meaningful, reminding me of my insignificance in this world, a feeling both fearful and liberating.

Some visitors come to take advantage of the hiking trails through old pine forests on the upper slopes, but the simplest pleasure is a solo wander. Muhlebach has Switzerland’s oldest village centre constructed in wood, where nine houses date from the late Middle Ages (14th and 15th centuries), the earliest from 1381, and several from the 16th to 18th centuries. Each traditional dwelling has a square stable at the bottom and more storage or living quarters stoutly perched on top, the entire structure built without nails. Remarkably, they are still lived in and used, guarded by stupidly happy garden gnomes. Terrifying wooden tribal masks, an ancient tradition of Valais, all shaggy hair and faces contorted into grotesque expressions, serve to ward off enemies and spirits.

If you believe in spirits, or have an over-active imagination, take care while walking to the neighbouring village of Ernen. A stroll along the beguiling trail of spruce and maples is deeply calming until suddenly you come upon the gallows, three pillars in a clearing atop a hill. The strategic position was obviously chosen to afford all citizens a good view of the execution of witches and thieves. It’s at once a strangely peaceful and haunting spot. The fact that the last hanging was in 1764 doesn’t stop me from wishing I had my own voodoo mask and hurrying on.

With a huge population of 530, Ernen is the larger town. It offers the same quiet pleasure and inspiriting beauty; few tourists ever come and the town is humble and authentic to the core, retaining some of the character of its past life as a stop on the mule trade route, during the era when all roads led to Rome. The main square is charming, even on discovering the stone building in the middle was a prison. The bars on the windows provide a clue, the bolts in the wall that were used to string up and torture prisoners are another sign. Today the building is the town hall and archive, a testament to the practical and sanguine nature of the Swiss.

Situated on a rise, Ernen’s snow-white 16th-century church is a beacon, gleaming still when mist and a drizzling rain settle over the valley. It’s home to a summer-long classical music festival, a smart way to entice visitors. There are many towns like it struggling to remain relevant as younger generations move to the cities and urban dwellers buy holiday cottages that sit empty most of the year. There are no flashy apres-ski lounges here, no vibrant nightlife nor shopping for luxury goods. At a tiny mountain village in Switzerland, be astonished by pleasures that are simple, to delight in nature that is raw, architecture that is old, and to feel alone and whole again.

By Cindy Fan, The Australian, October, 1, 2016
(Link to the article)

In Ernen, the "Bergland" is something of an institution. Most visitors to the village saunter at one time or another past the shop marked "Waren aller Art", (Wares of all Kinds) that features a host of healthy food products, cards, and beautifully crafted handmade gifts. Since it has all the charm and freshness of a pop-up store, many don’t realize that it’s at the heart of a busy farm and bio-dynamic marketing enterprise that’s almost as old as the town’s famous music festival.  

Bergland is an agro-tourist operation and way of life that three Erner families founded 27 years ago. Their intention − then as now − was to steer an awareness of home-grown produce, including herbs and flowers, in their little alpine village, and to share a sense of community with their kin. The two brothers and their wives still live in the large family home just behind the Restaurant St. Georg, which is a fine culinary locale. The third couple lives not far away.

It was in 1989 that Ruedi Schweizer and his brother Stefan took up job as part-time foresters in Ernen. Historically, the job been subsidized by the municipality, but at the time, the erection of avalanche protection has emptied the village coffers, so the foresters worked on a free-lance basis. At the same time, and with the engagement of the third family, the brothers purchased their first herd of sheep. The preservation of age-old Walliser traditions was always in the foreground, meaning that animals threatened with dwindling numbers − both wild and domestic − would be protected, and that various cultural traditions related to land management would be maintained.

In 1992, the three associated families owned only 6 hectares of land collectively, but ten years later, they were able to add another 50 hectares to their holdings. It was then, under the name of "Bergland Produkte," that produce gardening for profit began. In light of the amount of sunlight hours in Wallis compared to other parts of the country, renewable energies were considered, and ultimately, collectible assets were turned into the then-pioneer solar technology.

The interest in a collective living model is one they would cultivate actively even as their families grew. The two brother’s children grew up, as one told me, as "brother and sister," although they are cousins. Meals are still taken together; responsibilities, divided. The older of the two brothers is head of the enterprise today, and both wives, Daniela and Pia, are employed full time managing the kitchen, apprentices, tourist offers, and gardens.

At the same time, the families’ commitment to "soft tourism" grew. The Schweizers opened two rooms to house four to five guests. They began riding and mule-trekking trips for visitors of all ages, who delighted in riding the animals over rudimentary woods trails and at alpine heights, much as their ancestors had once crossed the passes to get to farther reaches of the country. Most recently, a number of 1-3 day treks, and a culinary offer that explores various local specialties have been added to the catalogue of activities. Further, the guest rooms have been completely modernized (one now has a kitchen unit), and Bergland even sponsors a low-key "KulturGarten" music program for hardy souls who don’t mind sitting outside.

Further, the association raises and markets Hinterwälder beef, lightweight, but hardy animals that are raised and slaughtered under humane conditions. Bergland’s Walliser sheep (Landschaf) and wooly outdoor pigs (Wollhaarige Weiderschwein) are among the species protected. And what began as a first investment in lamb has expanded over the years to include young veal, German edelschwein, various sausages, and dried meats. The association also manages some 50 beehives, and produces a sweet honey that is available – as are the other products – in the shop or online.

As a visitor staying in one of the two newly renovated rooms on the Schweizers’ third floor, I can always see visitors to Ernen looking in at the shop downstairs. No wonder: there are always fresh vegetables in large crates on offer, a bouquet of nasturtiums to decorate a table or to sprinkle over salads. The "Spycher" storehouse is serviced every day, since, invariably, the Bergland apprentices are hard at work in the fields that surround the village. Every morning from 6.30, one of them can be seen scurrying up and down the Spycher stairs with the crates full of greens. Later in the day, there is pruning and harvesting to be done.

One of the perks about having a room at the Bergland house is that I breakfast with the family and the apprentices. The hosts have treated me like a welcome guest, generously shared the stories of their work model and village through the years, and given me the benefit of deliciously fresh farm products: cheese and herbs, lovely bread and honey. Each of the apprentices is here for a different reason; the two young women are committed to careers in agronomy; the young man is doing civil service in lieu of soldiering in the army. To what degree the members of the next generation of family will share the responsibility of the house and bio-dynamic farm is still up in the air. But for the moment, the model for living, three-family ownership, and shared administration – with a couple of holiday visitors to Bergland thrown in the mix − make it not only a lively and prosperous enterprise, but a promise for a healthy diet and a wholesome peace of mind.

Ernen, Friday, 5 August 2016, by Sarah Batschelet

Website of Bergland

While by profession, Leander Locher has been a social worker for many years; he had already begun painting − watercolor, acrylic, and mixed technique − as early as in the 1970s. Looking to achieve a more animated surface, he chose to “leave the second dimension,” and began adding more and more material to his paper and canvas surfaces: sand, chips, and small found objects. It was just that, the pursuit of the three-dimensional experience, that led him naturally to the figurative and three-dimensional expression of sculptural form. As he explains, “sculpture offers you multiple point perspective if you want more than one constant visual”. In other words, if you shift any sculpture even slightly to another angle, you can enjoy a greater number of visual experiences.

It would seem simplistic, but given the materials Locher works in today, he is entirely right. In addition to his small works in soapstone, he has been crafting life-sized sculptures in wood and metal. Since the greater part of his material comes from nature, his primary platforms to date have been Land Art exhibitions like the one held here in the Binn Valley annually. From the resonance he had there, he’s been asked to show father afield, and will be participating in two Land Art shows in the French-speaking part of Switzerland within the next few months, one in Biel/Bienne, and the other in Neuchâtel.

By the same token, his inventive, seemingly inexhaustible palette of works in and near the garden of his own house in Mühlebach is on permanent display. Since Locher’s wife Erika (Jentsch) was native to that part of Ernen, the couple moved back from Brig-Glis to her childhood home when her parents passed away. The Jentsches had been farmers, and their home had a large kitchen garden filled with flowers and vegetables that the Lochers still maintain immaculately today. The property also had a hay-stall whose square storage space − as customary in this region − was equally divided among three to five other farmers. Additionally, an auxiliary building that served as a kind of tool shed/garage is still just opposite, separated from the house and stall by a narrow, public walking path.

As such, anybody wanting to get from the lower village to higher areas might pass among the Locher buildings. And what a series of interesting encounters they would have! Turned over today to studio/workshop space and work-in-progress project storage, the one-time stall is witness to an extraordinary imagination. In the form of hand and power tools, bark, wire, stone, nails, axes, brushes, tacks, varnish, and paint cans, labels, and parts of used furniture, the place is just teeming with visual impulses. In the hay-loft, you might come across a whole host of half-human, half-beast figures whose beady eyes are fashioned from parts of scrap metal, who have pierced holes for ears, and then sheep’s horns. Likewise, you might notice an elegant single 8-foot stick that hangs in the garage like the backbone of a tiny whale, a miniature version of those we see suspended in natural history museums. Yet here, this is simply the elegant curve of a long wooden branch, one fashioned with hefty thorns rather than lateral bones, and its tiny hand-knit wire rings “will shine in the sunlight,” says Locher, when the piece is hung outside.

There might be a face made of old cake pan, slapped onto a stick-neck like a death mask with its two crude poked through for eyes. Or over there, an obese, polyurethane, red-haired lady in a moss swim suit is batting a small jewelry box in one hand with the floor brush she holds in the other. The lady aludes to Niki de St. Phalle’s luscious Nanas, as well as red hair of the witches − even of Ernen – who, well into the 18th century, when suspect of concourse with the Devil, were tortured into a confession, and ultimately burnt at the stake.

Locher’s work is not without its mystery, nor its occasional splash of obvious humor. The use of mixed media, particularly the metal, sometimes produces an effect that looks super-galactic. Yet the call of underbrush being transformed into a 6-foot wide bird’s nest and fitted with great white boulders as “eggs,” is well deserving of a smile. The most poetic of pieces, perhaps, is an installation of underbrush and rubble worked into a wooded area last autumn, where Locher and his wife fashioned a simple stone-lined path. It led to a magical bed made of wooden staves and moss, its four bedposts even finished with elegant little finials. Snow White herself couldn’t have asked for anything more inviting.

Wednesday, 3 August 2016, by Sarah Batschelet

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The garden and outbuildings around Leander and Erika Locher’s house in Mühlebach are open to visitors. To schedule an appointment, ring +41 79 230 76 82 or contact the artist directly by e-mail.

Diana Pavlicek has long had a passion for historic architecture, and the stories that buildings tell of the people who once lived and worked in them. While curator of a major corporate art collection in her daily job, she has a keen eye for design, and an ability to juggle a lot of moving organizational parts. In 2013, she renovated an 18th century hay stall in a scenic Swiss canton of Graubünden, working with an architect to make a cozy holiday retreat, and learning more about the demands of historic restoration as she went. Here in Ernen, she recently began a major restoration project on a house that has been authenticated as one of the oldest dwellings in the village. Located right below the scenic parish church, “Uf dr Flüe” was built on an outcropping of granite that gives it the most solid of foundations. The house was last in the hands of Jules Carlen, an elderly “Erner” who was born and had lived in it all of his life.

Even at an old age, Jules wasn’t bothered by having no hot running water, nor having to use an unheated outhouse off the south side of his simple bedroom. He had never known anything else at home. Long retired from his job, he took lunch every day with his sister at her house in the village, in no small part because his own kitchen had only a woodburning stove – inscribed with the date 1576 – that needed firing up, and the few electrical implements he owned were, by today’s standards, entirely antiquated. By all accounts, the life he led would seem a time warp for many of us, but his humor and common sense made him good company, and they certainly spoke well for the values and generous spirit that marked this Walliser village in times gone by. And while he himself knew little about the house’s structural history, Jules took a keen interest in the project that a young woman from Zurich conceived of for his home, namely, bringing it back to its original state, for however far back that might go.

Nobody knew exactly how old the house was until Diana commissioned an archeologist to do a dendrochronological examination of the wooden beams and planks used in it. No fewer than 22 samples were taken from cellar to attic, and the laboratory results were startling: parts of the house could be dated definitively to 1453, almost half a century before Columbus discovered America. Even more surprising was that much of the original structure was still entirely intact. The door frames had been raised by some 7 or 8 inches − people have gained in height through the centuries − and the living space had been rearranged to accommodate different numbers of children, but only modest renovations had been done over the four centuries.

Remaining in situ on what was once an outside wall was a “Heidechriz,” the crucifix typically used by the people of Wallis to safeguard their homes. Near it, another elongated cross had also been pierced through the planks, making a slim vent (a “Seelenglotz”) by which the souls of the dead were to leave the dwelling. While a badly charred area found behind one oven tells of the ever-pending threat of fire in villages such as these; a large breakthrough in the wall at knee level shows the place another oven once stood to heat both the kitchen on one side of the wall, and the smaller, single sleeping chamber on the other. Further, a hollow beam, or “Balkenkopfkamin,” running the full length of the uppermost ceiling funneled the kitchen smoke out of the house, but left the beams and ceiling covered in an oily stain that is still clearly visible today. “All these details tell stories,” says Diana, “which is why I find this project – as big as it is − so rewarding.” In the cellar, too, are a handful of niches with pediments that resemble cult altars of much earlier settlements. Last used here for cheese storage, the carefully constructed niches might, I thought, have been used to house votive objects that “supported” the foundations of the house, as is also debated on the oldest dwelling in nearby Mühlebach. 

From his offices in Visp it was architect Pascal Abgottpon – resident of Ernen and with specialized in historic restoration − who showed Diana the house and introduced her to Jules and his family. Restoration work began at the end of 2015, uncovering unexpected “finds” from the very beginning. In the smallest room off the kitchen, for example − soon to be a bathroom on the first floor − wall paneling had been applied over an insulating layer of newspaper whose pages carry dates in the 1890s. Likewise, in the largest living space, installing modern electrical, water and heating cables revealed an almost 500-year old floor that was in fairly good shape, but had been covered up by other floorboards just to suit an owner’s fancy.

Tackling a job such as this one presupposed doing lots of archival and architectural history research, which Diana has done tirelessly to support the project. But she was only able to share some of the discoveries she made with Jules. He settled into an old people’s home in 2014, but sadly, died this past February, so never saw the greater part of the work accomplished. The good news, though, is that in the past year, Diana and her husband Michael became the parents of a healthy bouncing boy, so the roster of children in the house expands yet again.

Diana’s purchase of the property included a classic Walliser “Spycher” (a hay loft on “stilts”) whose usage, given its location in the zone so near the historic church, cannot be transformed in any way. The great fortune is that the lot around in front of the house is off limits to new building projects of any kind, meaning that the spectacular views the house enjoys can in no way be compromised. Looking down the full length of the Rhone valley − the broad flank of the Binntal beneath the towering Breithorn to the south − the view stretches all the way to the alps, a good many miles away. With that, and the house’s prime location in town so close to the principal venue of the Musikdorf Ernen’s annual summer festival, a stay in the “Uf dr Flüe” would be nothing short of a stay in a true alpine paradise.

Monday, 1 August 2016, by Sarah Batschelet

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To make enquires about spending a holiday in “Uf dr Flüe” – one of the oldest houses in Ernen − contact Diana directly through her website. Two 3.5-room flats will be available from the spring of 2016; taking both together might be a perfect arrangement for an extended family.

Travelled even in prehistoric times, the Twingi gorge runs along the length of the Binntal and gives access to the Albrun pass, which became a key alpine transit axis for trade. In the 19th century, the arrival of the English lay ground for tourism as we know it in the valley today; it was the enthusiastic mineral seekers who discovered hidden treasures in the cliffs and came to know the thrill of ascending the Ofenhorn who brought many others to the area. But it wasn’t until the 1930s that the one-time mule path up from the Goms was tarred, and only some 30 years later that a long tunnel was built to insure accessibility to the Binn valley’s villages even in snow.

Jumping ahead some 50 years, a half-day hike in the Binn valley was on my own roster earlier today. Along with just a handful of other travellers, I took the small local bus from Ernen right after breakfast. Once in Binn, I sat near the village’s arched stone bridge (1567) long enough for a coffee, then started out towards the Twingi gorge, taking the path beneath the whitewashed parish church in the direction of the town reservoir. I had been told the hike back to Ernen would be a special one, not only because of the majestic views and imposing cliffs, but also because of the art installations that sprinkled the heights where I’d be walking.

For the “Land Art” exhibition’s 10th anniversary year, I learned, twenty portfolios submitted for consideration were pared down by a jury to the 13 projects actually realized. The natural materials and physical presence of the gorge were the artists’ inspiration; inventiveness and ingenuity, their guiding principles. Ambling down the road, I found it a treat to come across the interventions of works such as Barbara Jäggi’s “Hanging Grass – Dripping” (“Hängendes Gras – tropfend), thin metal assemblies that hovered over the path and made a puddle to mirror the piece’s “stalks” and the bright sky above them. Likewise, the work of pupils at two schools in nearby Brig showed took up a variety of natural materials and concepts: Kerstin Zumthurm and Adrienne Arnold’s first graders had fashioned their “Land Art” from driftwood, pine cones, stone slabs, and moss. Their efforts showed great imagination, and brought a whole new perspective to the notion of “outdoor play.”

Anna Schmid’s was an installation in a hollowed-out space on the side of the path, which I might have missed altogether had I not seen its label plaque. “The Secret” ”(“Le secret”) was the most cerebral of pieces, perhaps: a dry wall that fills a deeper space with stacked natural stone slabs, except for a narrow and open vertical crack. It serves both as a refusal “to let go” too much, too fast, and as a metaphor for the secret of female sexuality. That aside, and depending on the viewer, it might well be seen as a home for trolls and elves.

Others of the works are marked by contrasts. Kari Joller’s “Secure − Protect” (“Schützen – Beschützen”) consists of a single sapling with a spindly trunk and outstretched branches that − stripped of all bark − extend out towards the valley like the crooked strings of a harp. Against the dark, rugged rock face behind it, the work speaks of vulnerability, and might be seen as a call to awareness of the complex relationships that hallmark the natural world. Also in contrast to the rock, and perhaps as the most lyrical of the installations, is Barbara Gschwind’s “Umbelliferae,”  (“Doldengewachs”) the ghost-white silhouettes of stemmed starburst-like flowers in the parsley family that the artist painted in proliferation near − and inside − one of the shorter tunnels on the route. The naivety of her work made it close to endearing.

After “Land Art,” the circuitous route back to Ernen took me down to the rushing brook that Roman soldiers had once bridged, through the little hamlet of Ausserbinn, and past views of the great Eggishorn (2926 m) that towered overhead like a seamless argument. One of my last stops was at the site of the “Cheerful Outlook” (“Zur frohen Aussicht”), a now-dilapidated outpost − perhaps once an inn or restaurant − that is only accessible on foot. There’s nothing showy about it, and it would have had little appeal even years ago to people seeking more than just some simple pleasures. Yet it sits on its little rise like a “place apart,” making it easy to conjure up how others, now gone, might once have also found it inviting here. A place apart, indeed. Come to think of it, I could describe Ernen and the whole Binn Valley that way, too.

Saturday, 30 July 2016, by Sarah Batschelet

Landschaftspark Binntal

The Many Delights of the New Chäserstatt

“It’s that place way up there…where the last spot of sun is still shining,” my hostess pointed out the evening I arrived in Ernen, “that’s Chäserstatt.” I could see the newly opened seminar hotel from the distance, but wanted to see its purportedly fabulous views, stunning interior design, and first summer’s art exhibition first hand. More importantly, the chef cook was Janos Schweizer, a 27-year old Ernen “son” whose menu promised young and creative cuisine. When I heard that he came down to the village every morning to pick up fresh produce, I called to ask if − on behalf of this blog − I might “hitch” a ride back up with him. I could, and with the vegetable crates loaded, we started up the mountain in a solid Range Rover.

Had this been winter, it might have been on a snow cat; ascents on the road then can be “iffy” for most wheeled vehicles. Even in summer, while the drive starts off innocuously enough, the gains in altitude, dozens of hairpin turns, the drop-offs to the valley side – much less the chance of meeting another car – would be too much of a challenge for a city boy. Janos, though, had grown up travelling this road; “Nothing to worry about,” he explained; “I sometimes do the 20-minute drive down and back up again twice in a single day.”

And sure enough, I was in good hands; Chäserstatt came into view on the prow of the hill with me still in one piece. House and conference center manager Maya Belzer welcomed us at the back kitchen to take in the produce over the windowsill, easily sweeping up even the dozens of fresh eggs that were stacked 10 layers high.

While Janos changed into his chef’s gear, I took a few moments to visit artwork that Swiss artist Marcel Hischier was showing on the building’s lower story. His paintings were largely alpine landscapes painted on site; his pieces of sculpture – usually from found objects – included pinwheels, pylons, and driftwood variations, minimalist work that was modest in size and reasonably priced. The seminar rooms were on that level, too, as state-of-the-art, glass fiber cable-connected spaces that faced breathtaking views out over the valley.

The Chäserstatt restaurant sits above those meeting rooms: no frills, no alpine “schnick-schnack,” but a structure with clean lines, good light, and muted colors that speak of honest simplicity instead. The walls are white, but some of the ceilings are painted deep terracotta red, “warming up” the rooms and nicely containing them. The four hotel rooms in an adjacent building are equally purist in bed and bath, but comfortable; with such a backdrop, what else so you really need? In short, the place was infinitely inviting.

It was still early in the day, so Janos sat with me over coffee to tell me a little about himself. He’d always enjoyed everything mechanical, he said, but came into his own when he started learning to cook. Over the three years’ mandatory apprenticeship, his teacher was Klaus Leuenberger, the celebrated chef de cuisine at Ernen’s own Restaurant St. Georg, the 15-point Gault-Millau point kitchen whose mantra has been the highest quality regional cooking for many years.

Janos Schweizer has already been called a “creative perfectionist with his own unique Goms (valley) signature.” That’s one tall accolade, but one rightly awarded, I hear, for he, too, uses only the freshest of products, and those native to the region wherever possible. Convinced that stress-free conditions improve meat quality, Janos diligently follows the story of his supply-animals’ treatment. His description of the four Galloway beef cattle he “personally” visited on their farm before they were humanely put down would make even a Temple Grandin proud. Equally likeable is his lack of presumption; he regularly makes the rounds to greet and thank the restaurant’s patrons, sometimes even bringing their meals to the table himself. His willingness to wear as many hats on the staff as are needed is also commendable. If the grass needs mowing, he mows it. If the snow needs removing, he plows it away.

Maya Belzer underscored the same mind-set. “The days are long up in the mountains,” she said. “If you’re not behind it with all your heart, then you shouldn’t be running an alpine place.” To her great credit, she is someone who embraces challenges, convinced that− with determination, commitment and well-honed skills − a solution for every problem can be found. That includes realizing the most obvious business target: running Chäserstatt at a profit.

That rich chocolate praliné that came with my coffee had been Heaven, but I had to get back to town by noon. Coming down any Swiss alp is notoriously harder on the knees than going up. But three things made my 2-hour hike back to Ernen easier. First was the consummate beauty of the alpine landscape unfolding before me at every turn. Second were the hundreds of perky butterflies that repeatedly crossed my path with their delicate colors. And finally, there was the anticipation of returning to the Chäserstatt for lunch as soon as I possibly could.

Thursday, 28 July 2016, by Sarah Batschelet

Visit the webside of New Chäserstatt

As luck would have it this morning, I ran into pianist Charl du Plessis on the lovely Dorfplatz, the central square in Ernen that’s more or less the aorta of the village. Last evening, du Plessis and the other members of his trio − Werner Spies, stick bass, and Hugo Radyn, drums − had knocked the socks off listeners in the jazz program they brought to this year’s Musikdorf Ernen festival. Performing in the main concert venue of the village church, the three musicians came on stage in elegant tuxedos, a modern take on the chasubles and miters clerics might have worn before their Catholic parishioners earlier. Given the repertoire they broke into, however, the three musicians shone just as brightly as the gold gilt alters that stood behind them and also flanked their stage.

The trio had performed a year ago here in Ernen, and had cut a CD in the meantime to commemorate that performance. Du Plessis’s introduction was in German; He explained to the packed pews of the concert audience that he would play the classical pieces that were the trio’s springboard material first, then explore new territory with the rhythms and nuances of a newer genre. He then sat down to play cross-over jazz in a way I’d never heard before, and that on a piano that once belonged to the great conductor, Bernard Haitink!

An adaptation of Vivaldi’s “Autumn” was first on the program. The familiar melody of the Allegro was given its delightful due, even if within minute or two, the pianist pulled in syncopated rhythms to foreshadow what was to come, where the bass that would “ground” the baroque sound with tremendous pulp and resonance. The piano periodically entertained a dialogue with the otherworldly; the tinkling of keys being a reminder either of magical days gone by or still yet to come. What struck me in the slow movement, Adagio molto, was base player’s Spies’s fluid and able finger work on the neck of his instrument: indeed, his long digits looked almost like those of an underwater creature scuttling across the ocean floor. The final Allegro alternated elements of free jazz with what felt like the strains of easy listening.

Two of du Plessis’s original compositions – Waltz sum more” and “Pay with Samba” came next, each one a little more than 5 minutes long. The pianist had said the first would be a kind of “massage for the ears,” the second might be “a dance with the heart.” Rightly so; while each required terrific instrumental competence, both were built around a degree of saccharin romance I mostly associate with feature film scores. Their beauty, though, was in their “sing-able” feature, namely those kind of melodies that travel with you wherever you go.

Next was an adaptation of Bach’s double violin concerto in D Minor (BMW 1043), something du Plessis hoped would be “so good that Bach wouldn’t recognize it.” That was partly in jest, of course; the pianist readily gave us enough of the Baroque master to see us settle down in our seats first. But in short order, he let the classical genre slip into a tight-fitting dress of a smooth and satiny groove. The center motif focused on the sonorous bass, before the piano reassumed the lead. In the second movement − likely the most well known in all of the Bach violin repertoire – the contrast in jazz was even more daring; the drummer gave us hot castanets and raspy cymbals, and the piano offered us something I would even call show-like. In the dynamic third movement, the floor underfoot kept time with the beat on stage − even at the back of the church. All I could think was, “Move over, Hilary Hahn!”

The jazz suite that finished the program drew it inspiration from the scores of clerical texts that Bach set to music in the 18th century. But it also interwove the animated music of Bach’s gifted jazz “friends,” Billie Strayhorn, Charlie Parker, and Chick Corea. Oddly enough, the seams among the two centuries were loosely sewn; one genre swung into the other. Rocking shoulders and tapping feet, the audience was visibly moved. But there was something even more exciting that befell us. In the middle of a spirited rendition of Strayhorn’s “Take the “A” Train, a vertical slice of light fell into the nave through the South window and slowly passed over the altarpiece next to the musicians. For more than a minute, it illuminated the cross that one of the plaster-cast female saints held firmly in her hand. If that isn’t a true “cross-over,” I don’t know what is.

Tuesday, 26 July 2016, by Sarah Batschelet

Webseite Charl du Plessis

Cited for the first time in the 15th century, the Trusera brought water for centuries from the Milibach in the Rappen valley to irrigate land at lower altitudes. In recent decades, the channel had fallen into a sad state of disrepair and was no longer being used. From 2006, however, in great part because the regional Landschaftspark Binntal took it on as its first major project, the water way was revived and restored, so water now rushes through it again. The system is fascinating, and well worth walking along, especially since it runs through a scenic, almost magical area on the forested flank of the mountain above Ernen.

Interesting, too, are the various constructs designed for directing the flow. There are the modern pipes and industrial vats in the lower terrain, but more striking along the way are the descending wooden trestles and the hollowed-out tree limbs that represent hours of hard manual labor. Occasional back-ups occur, given the natural debris of seedpods and soft gravel. While I was underway, I came across a man diligently picking out modest amounts of clogged leaves and sticks from the channel with a small 6-tined rake. From far down the path, I had spotted a long-eared wild hare watching the man, too, but keeping a safe distance from him. As soon as the poor hare got one glimpse of me, though, he dashed into the underbrush.

The easy Trusera stroll to the nearby town of Mühlebach takes about 2 hours; it starts from the Am Wasen bus stop, the first stop up into the Binn valley from Ernen.  By some lucky fluke, I ran into a duo of Alphorn players just as I started out. They were practicing to play at a wedding the following Saturday, so gave me a private concert of 4-5 solemn tunes. Gaiety is not the alphorn’s middle name, I find, nevertheless, it set my course for more of the unexpected. The farther you walk, namely, the more you see “faces and figures” along the way: tree trunks or brush that look uncannily like human sentinels, or show expression, albeit in the rough. I had a ball recording them, and making up suitable titles: “A Case of Disarray,” “The Three Graces,” “Is that a Pistol in your Pocket?” “Seriously Down and Out,” “A Little Fanfare,” among them.
As the path wound alongside underbrush and flora, the clear water made a sweet sound accompaniment, and a robust wooden bench overlooking the valley at the halfway mark made a nice resting place. Taking note of the woods fragrances as I came towards the village, though, I was suddenly struck by the distinctive smell of grilled sausages: someone having a picnic in the woods, perhaps?

But no, crossing the bridge into Mühlebach, tents had been set up, a good-spirited crew was busy turning Würste over the coals, and others were serving up tables with sausage, beer, soft drinks and cheese raclette. Again, just by chance, I’d stumbled across the annual celebration of the town’s Backhaus (baking oven house), where 15 or 20 townspeople had also dropped by to bake rye bread in an ancient oven. I’d have to come back for lunch!

First, though, I wanted to see the town’s 15th and 16th century houses. Having been spared destruction by fire, the Mühlebach settlement likely has the oldest wood-framed houses in Switzerland. Some two dozen dwellings had plaques dating them, several, to as early as the mid-15th century, even before Columbus discovered America. Others had huge, flat stone roundels on the corner posts to keep vermin away from their larders. Many of the solid, dark wooden houses also had carefully tended gardens and neatly stacked woodpiles. Steeped in history, they were a sobering reminder of times when among the townspeople, a sausage on a grill and a chunk of house-baked bread might have been the very definition of well fed. That said, once back at the fête and with a cold bottle of Feldschlösschen beer in hand, the Wurst and the home-baked rye from the old Backhaus still went down very well.

Ernen, 21 July 2015, by Sarah Batschelet*