Ernen

Account of the trip to sing with Ars Cantata, singing weekend version, in Ernen - music details in a separate post.

Arrived safely at Basel, after a little Stansted hassle (they held the plane while someone found a person-with-key-to-the-lift - Stansted, argh). The flight was smooth but cloudy so no view of the country we flew over. It was warmer than UK, and I was happy to lounge around in Mon and Jackie's huge apartment full of books and music, while Mon finished preparing for the workshop.

Wednesday was even warmer. Mon and Corinna and I went by train to Valais; I wouldn't have tried it alone - I can speak about ten words of German and understand zero words of Schweizerdeutsch, and there are inevitably complications. Swiss trains are high, and the platforms are low, so there are mobile lifts to load wheelchairs. Odd that staff at some stations didn't seem clued up on using them - Fiesch especially, where the guard pounced on Chariot, planning to lift both it and me down three steps. I wouldn't permit it, being very fussy about being picked up or carried, and slid down the steps. Mon was annoyed, because she'd phoned up and made all the arrangements for assistance. She was even more annoyed after we got off, went round the corner, and saw the lift. Apparently it was "too heavy to use"!

The journey was beautiful. Going through Bern there is a view of the valley and a gorgeous bridge, which you see twice as the train goes in and comes out again. I need to visit that bridge. As in urban train areas everywhere, there are spray-decorations on the concrete walls, but here they look like comparatively tasteful wall-paintings.

Mountains with new snow! Mon and Corinna talked of views of a big glacier and the delights of cable cars. One day I'll have time to experience these things - I'd particularly love to see the glacier. The fast rivers of pale green water, full of rocks, remind me of streams in the Andes. The smaller train up into the mountains goes on a rack through a tunnel where the track spirals up: you go in at lowland-level and come out into mountain, with ears popping.

The bus from Fiesch to Ernen was a delight. We approached the 3 steps up into the bus with misgivings, but lo! the driver proudly displayed the 'leccy-controlled platform which glided from under the top step, lowered to the ground, and then rose smoothly bearing me and Chariot.

There was most of an afternoon and evening before the rest of the singers arrived; I found my room in the hotel Alpenblick (Alpine View, and unlike the Seaviews of England, it was true! - snowy mountains from two sides of my room). The ski-ing season was over and the walking season not begun, so Heidi the manageress was quite pleased to have most of the choir staying and all of us taking meals there. We had a meal with Francesco (the local organiser) and his partner Pieter in the hotel: fabulous food from the posh menu, though the rest of the meals provided for the choir were good but rather less fancy. There was great excitement about arrangements for a celebratory Raclette, the local delicacy which turned out to be melted cheese and new potatoes, with pickles. Bit Lancastrian, really ;)

Francesco is president of the Ernen music festival, which is very grand for a village of only just over 400 people. Like the St Magnus Festival in Orkney, and even the Aldeburgh Festival, it's held in such an unlikely place because a musician settled there and brought in his friends and colleagues (http://www.musikdorf.ch/).

Francesco and Pieter are really sweet: Francesco so witty, and flirtatious with his big eyes and long lashes; Pieter wanting to practise his English (which was excellent). We had a great time with conversation wandering from civil partnerships (they are considering it for next year) and an interview they did for a magazine which was pointed out to Pieter's sister on holiday in Egypt, to keeping chickens and rabbits.

Thursday began with rain, and then it snowed! Even though it was cold, watching the snow was lovely, though getting to the rehearsal venue was not so pleasant. On Friday it was warm again, and I got slightly sunburned sitting with coffee outside the St Georg Restaurant; the last ski-ers came down from the mountains. The temperature went up over 20deg by Sunday, which was very hot.

In between ski-ing and walking seasons is the time of the cyclists: mad mountain bikers whizzing through the village. The locals wandered around pushing little carts carrying things from their gardens/allotments or just bags of shopping.

Rehearsals were in the House of William Tell. Honestly! In Ernen the buildings have to conform to the traditonal design, which is chalet-style with rough horizontal wooden beams. Next to the Tellenhaus is an old building with a storage area and animal shelter as the ground floor, on top of which is a small house supported at each corner by a stone stilt, topped by a flat piece of stone to prevent rats and mice climbing up to the main house. This is the oldest style, commemorated in carved wooden models; unfortunately not suited to a four-storey hotel, where mice are quite a problem, and very noisy too.

Some of the houses are painted with leaves and even pictures of stones something like large houses in north Italy, though they don't go as far as trompe-l'oeil pillars and statues. The Restaurant St. Georg has a carved statue of the saint killing the dragon attached to the wall near the roof. The house of William Tell, where we rehearsed, has lovely old paintings of Tell (said to the oldest in Switzerland). Good pic of it at http://www.ernen.ch/englisch/sommer_02.html and a whole gallery of them http://www.ernen.ch/englisch/galerie.html.

There was a concert on the Saturday evening and full mass on Sunday morning. The concert was publicly advertised, but many people chose to come to hear us sing at mass instead. Pity, because they missed the Charrière. We were a first soprano short because poor Elfi had pharyngitis and could only croak and mime.

The church is stunning. Or possibly shocking. Outside, demure stone and wood, with a neat cemetery of tiday graves with wooden crosses roofed like miniature chalets.
The main door of the church opens onto a view down the valley. Mountains sweep down on both sides, and in the distance is a group of high peaks, snow-covered. Inside is the most amazing hotchpotch of decoration: faded wall-paintings, elaborately carved choir stalls, plain stone altar-slab, and... well... even the postcards don't really show the Bangkokianly garish splendour of the rood-screen.

Sunday mass was at 9am. I was late for rehearsal before it, because I'd forgotten to get a translation of announcements including the schedule for the morning. what a gorgeous frock the priest wore. I couldn't follow the sermon, of course, but a few words came through and it was clear that he was talking about us. Apparently a choir is an exemplar for dedication, co-operation, diversity, harmony, and achievement. So there.

When the music was all over, I wandered around saying farewell to the mountains and had coffee with a couple from le bas de la vallée. It was good to be able to talk to locals at last - they speak French at that end. Most people I'd had to communicate with by smiling and nodding and saying bitte and danke (or merci). Rarely had any idea what they were saying to me.

The bus driver demonstrated the lift with a flourish, and then we trundled down one side of the valley and up the other, with many final views of the church on the mountainside.

Corinna bought local strawberries for the train-ride back: huge, and very tasty. We all agreed that food should be as local as possible, and Mon had a small rant about almost accidentally buying asparagus from Peru on Monday. Crazy, as it is asparagus season in Switzerland.

In spite of Mon's extra efforts to ensure assistance, the lift was not out at Fiesch so she got it herself and had a row with the station staff. It turns out that there is not only a lift but a special wide door and wheelchair space on the train. We couldn't understand why they were so reluctant to use it. The train rattled down from the mountains, back on the rack, through the tunnel, and alongside the rivers. As it stopped at Brig four or five blokes pounced on me. I shrieked; they backed off and, after Mon had given them a good tellin', went to get the lift. We'll get them trained yet.

On Monday, almost cloudless sky meant a good view of the land below. It was cold back in England, and East Anglian windy. The bus driver recognised me from the previous trip (Roumanian bloke, and drop-dead gorgeous - make a note, girls, he drives the 727).

Home, tired but very happy and looking forward to singing with them again in Torquay in July.