A new week and a new country called. The journey south
down the A5 was fast-moving amongst heavy freight registered to Poland,
Germany, Italy and Switzerland. We stopped at the German border town of Weil am
Rhein – a hub of transportation and industry – to stock up on foodie and
bathroom essentials having been warned of high prices in Switzerland.
We also
got a helpful mechanic to check out one of Bertha’s tyres which had cut
slightly on debris on the road. We didn’t want a blow out in the Alps! He
declared ‘alles gut’ and we were on our way, relieved, and through the Swiss
border post in minutes.
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| Solothurn camp in the shadow of Weissenstein mountain |
With a new vignette (a pass to use Swiss motorways)
proudly attached to the windscreen we drove through green fields and valleys to
Solothurn, Switzerland’s ‘most beautiful baroque city’.
It is indeed breathtakingly lovely. On the glistening glacial
River Aare at the foot of the last ridge of the Jura it has an ornate centre of
17th and 18th century pristine mansions, merchant houses and public buildings
housed within fortified walls protected by circular watch-towers and large arch
entrance gates.
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| The astronomical clock |
Arriving on bikes at 5pm, the weekly market was in full
swing in the winding streets and bustling with an international crowd of
sellers and hawkers.
The colourful stalls made it difficult to fully see the
ornate and painted shops and houses but looking up at rooflines we made out
painted gables and steeples, oriel windows decorated with wooden carvings, ornate
ironwork signs and weathervanes and a richly decorated astronomical clock on
which Death cheerily waggled his head at 6pm.
At street level we meandered through the stalls and past
the many fountains that boast 16th century painted figures. This was a first
taste of a style of public decoration we would see much of in the major Swiss
towns. The lively figures represent local heroes, saints and allegory and are
grandly painted in bright colours and gold.
Back across the river we meandered amongst locals
enjoying a glass of wine or beer at riverside bars with views of the old town.
The early evening had a busy cheerful feeling and there was a definite ‘after
work’ feel amongst the gangs of laughing and gossiping suited men and women.
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| Early evening view across the Aare River |
We
pedalled along the riverside passing boys fishing in the river and greeting
families out for a stroll along the banks in the warm sunshine. Back at Bertha
we saw the sunset over the last mountain of the Jura, the Weisssenstein, which
we planned to climb the next day.
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| Van Gogh's portrait of Trabuc |
The morning’s sunshine meant we could do some washing and
cleaning before heading into town to visit the art gallery.
A first taste of
the Swiss masters showed powerful and expressive landscapes, allegorical
figures, sweet rural scenes, striking portraits and early symbolism.
The Vallotton, along with old favourites such as Van Gogh, Matisse and Klimt were our highlights.
Taking the yellow ‘Post Bus’ up to the Balmberg we hiked
along the bike route that wound up and through forests to reach the
Weissenstein ridge at 1,284 meters.
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| The Post Bus winding precarious bends |
It was easy-going but continually uphill
and we kept up a quick march to reach the top and allow time to return two and
a half hours later for the bus. If we missed it, we would have a four hour wait
for the next one.
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| A misty view of the Jura valley from 1200m |
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| A quicker way up - but not today! |
A popular way to reach the summit is by cable car but
this was closed for works so very few people were about and we saw only a
couple of other hikers and two mountain bikers.
The rising mists made it
difficult to see the valley below but the River Aare shone silvery along a
series of ox bow bends and a break in the gathering clouds suddenly revealed Lake
Neuchatel mirror-like and gleaming to the west of us.
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| Storm clouds gathering |
Our descent down the ‘wanderweg’ or hiking trail took us
across the plateau through groups of grazing and bell-ringing taupe-coloured
dairy cows. Light rain began to fall as we heard thunder rattling towards us up
through the valley. All went well until we crested the ridge and plunged
suddenly down a steep and slippery rocky path.
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| Still a long way to go to catch the Post Bus... |
Relying on gravity to keep us on the mountainside we
gingerly found footholds in the loose and slimy stones that may or may not have
been an intended trail.
The need for speed made it a determined descent and it
was a relief to cross into forest and then come out at the top of a grassy ski
slope.
The speedy jog down its steep bank was a childish delight and we were
rewarded with the sight of the yellow bus winding its way up to collect and
return us back to river level far below.
The sun shone for our cycle back to
the camp where we looked up to the mountain we had conquered!
