We started our day bright and early on a train from Bern to Interlaken, which was a decently scenic ride through rural Swiss towns, each seemingly competing for the tallest Protestant steeple in the country. (Joke's on them: the tallest steeple is that of the Berner Münster, mentioned in our previous post, in the heart of Bern. But really...these steeples were insane.)
Our train ride took us along the southern banks of the Thunersee (the Sea of Thun) to Interlaken, named for its cozy settlement between two lakes--the Sea of Thun and the Brienzersee (Sea of Brienz). Shockingly, the two cities on either end of these lakes are Thun (to the west) and Brienz (to the east).
We checked into our bed and breakfast, where the owner was a little too excited that we were from Arizona. We quickly found out that Scottsdale is one of Interlaken's few sister cities, which is such a statement for Interlaken that they have signs pointing southwest around the city, informing drivers and pedestrians alike that Scottsdale is only 9,257.61 kilometers away.
Interlaken is unlike anything we would have expected. To say it's a resort town would be an understatement; its main strip comprises exclusively haughty brands like Rolex and other watch and jewelry companies I'd never heard of. The least expensive brand I've seen here has been Tory Burch; it's an uphill battle from there. Instead of signs in German, French, and Italian--as was common practice in Bern--signs are primarily in Arabic and Mandarin, speaking to the town's majority group of tourists. Most restaurants are Indian, Middle Eastern, Chinese, Japanese, or Korean, with the cuisine's respective flag flying proudly above the establishment and all signs and menus in the appropriate language. And everywhere you look, tourists (because the town is 85% tourists) are adorned in the splendor of Prada, Ferragamo, Hermés, Burberry, and countless designers I'd only ever heard of in magazine ads.
We were beyond lucky (understatement: we were BEYOND LUCKY) to arrive in Interlaken on a rare sunny, almost cloudless day. We're still in the heart of Switzerland's spring, with rain clouds and snow-capped peaks everywhere you look. But the day we arrived? Perfection. Our B&B hostess recommended that we head into the southeastern Alps as soon as possible to go tin tobogganing, because at even the slightest sign of inclement weather, that particular sport becomes impossible. Given that the rest of the week's forecast was solid rain, we had no choice but to head across town to Interlaken Ost, its smaller--and more Alp-driven--train station. We passed through the town's central park, Hoheweg, where more than a dozen paragliders were hovering in the air far above us. From Ost, we took a small, almost Tweetsie Railroad-style train to Grindelwald, nestled in the mountains far above Interlaken. From there, we took a funicular 4,547 feet up to Pfingstegg, a Mecca for any child-at-heart: The cluster of activities sits on a ledge far above the town, in the shadow of Schreckhorn; and these activities include anything from zip lines to swings to tunnels through the hills to--our main attraction of interest--tin tobogganing through the Alps.
This particular tin toboggan is one of Switzerland's favorites: It's 2,415 feet long and drops more than 190 feet, which means the average tobogganer is coasting at 25 mph down the twisting slopes. If Ryan's most eagerly anticipated part of the honeymoon was seeing Brunelleschi's gravity-defying Duomo, mine was shooting down an alpine slope with a Swiss village far below. And that's exactly what this toboggan run was: We passed cows and goats, wildflowers and small brooks, all the way to the bottom and back up again (via a rigged pulley system that brought you back to the beginning of the run).
After we took the very crowded furnicular (or at least, we perceived it as crowded at the time...then we took multiple sardine can-like funiculars to the Schilthorn) back down to Grindelwald, we strolled back down the main strip--the village really only comprises one street--and grabbed bratwurst, bread, and mustard from a street vendor because it was the cheapest thing we could find. (Note: For two bratwurst, two small slices of stale bread, and a dollop each of mustard, we still lost $13.) We found a large rock in the middle of a hotel parking lot--most of Grindelwald is hotels and tourist shops--and looked out at the Schreckhorn and a particularly noteworthy glacier in the distance.
After we took the train back down to Interlaken Ost, we walked back down the main stretch--carefully avoiding what Rick Steves called (and I quote) "the big, ritzy hotels and the hard-to-miss Hooters"--and instead took the less-traveled route by the Aare River. We popped inside the largest Swatch store we've ever seen (and we've visited quite a few together, from Times Square to Amsterdam and even Paris's Champs-Élysées), then crossed the bridge into Unterseen. Unterseen is the Oltrarno to Florence: A single body of water only 20 feet wide has the power to create an infinitely less touristy, more calm, and more endearing center of gravity than the high-end and far-from-local nature of Interlaken. Unterseen is historic--founded in the 1200s--and boasted cobbled streets, old facades, and a beautiful steeple atop a Protestant church.
It was then that the clouds started rolling in, so we took refuge from the rain in The Barrel Artisan Café, which offered such a variety of craft beers and lesser-known wines that Ryan was in heaven. He was particularly excited to see a few offerings from the local craft brewery Haarige Kuh (Hairy Cow), but was disappointed to find out from the café owner that they don't offer tours; the brewery is run by two guys who work two days a week on these brews. So for now, we settled on the first salads we'd had all honeymoon and glasses of local wines and beers.