Freedom, Justice, and Economics

What we didn’t do in Gstaad:

• Attend country music night– the 19th annual

What we did do:

• Croqueted all over the lawn;
• Emptied the vinegar cellar;
• Loyally patronized the celebrated local bakery and milkery;
• Summitted the Wispile, when Oldenhorn et al wore fresh, early season snow;
• Racing forth, rather than the new town slogan (“Come up — slow down”), favored the old: “Gstaad, my love.”

Nestled among Alpine foothills, the village of Gstaad has gorgeous, classically Swiss views. From our (southern) side of the village, the Eggli rises in the right foreground and the Wispile in the left, and our view extends along the valley toward Gsteig. On a slightly clearer day, the Oldenhorn would be visible beyond, perhaps along with Les Diablerets. Sturdy old wooden chalets, with meticulous ornamentation and red tile roofs, dot the verdant hills, with bright shutters and overflowing flowerboxes glossing their upper stories.

The Promenade of the village, just the other side of the River Saane, is far too posh to be kitschy. To the life-size, bronze and steel animal sculptures that are ubiquitous here, I far prefer the real things, which played me a cowbell symphony on my run this morning. Tasty fresh vegetables are hard to come by– presumably because everyone here is wise enough to save their stomachs for local bread and cheese.  (Every town justly takes pride in its own smelly mountains.)

On an equally happy side note, our entry point to the region yesterday was Spiez, from where we saw dozens of sailboats rightly gliding in the unseasonably warm, Indian summer afternoon, outward into the blue.