My stay in Switzerland’s oldest mountain inn – where winter sports aren’t allowed
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<p>Perched high above a frozen lake, Grimsel Hospiz in the Bernese Oberland offers an unusual winter escape, with gourmet food, a hot tub, star-filled skies and no distractions</p><p>Near the top of the Grimsel Pass in Switzerland’s Bernese Oberland, a small crowd had gathered to take photographs. We were surrounded by bulky mountains and rippling glaciers, but all eyes were focused on a silvery granite chalet with apple-red shutters, its foundations deep in snow.</p><
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My stay in Switzerland’s oldest mountain inn – where winter sports aren’t allowed Perched high above a frozen lake, Grimsel Hospiz in the Bernese Oberland offers an unusual winter escape, with gourmet food, a hot tub, star-filled skies and no distractions N ear the top of the Grimsel Pass in Switzerland’s Bernese Oberland, a small crowd had gathered to take photographs. We were surrounded by bulky mountains and rippling glaciers, but all eyes were focused on a silvery granite chalet with apple-red shutters, its foundations deep in snow. It was early February and, one after another, we posed in front of it as if standing beside a celebrity. Which in a way we were, because the proud building was the Grimsel Hospiz, the country’s oldest recorded mountain inn and a place that predates Westminster Abbey. First documented in 1142 and originally built as a simple hostel – either by the Order of Saint Lazarus or the Augustinian monastery of Interlaken, no one is quite sure – today’s much-modernised Grimsel Hospiz is marooned on a spur of sheer rock and snow at 2,000 metres (6,562 ft). Over the centuries it has been inhabited by monks, used by shepherds, needy travellers and soldiers, ravaged by fire and buried by an avalanche. The mountains reach up, but it is surrounded on three sides by plunging ravines and the frozen Grimselsee, which thaws to turquoise ice floes in spring. The scenery is stupendous. My visit began on a PostBus, the yellow stagecoaches that reach the parts of Switzerland that the railways can’t. I was south-east of the village of Meiringen, having taken a train to Innertkirchen Kraftwerk, a station built 100 years ago to service the hydroelectric power plants hidden deep in the mountains. The towering stone pines, the tumbling cliffs, the dripping snow, the sky only peeking through – it might have been the landscape of JRR Tolkien’s Middle-earth. As the bus worked its way higher up the Aare Gorge, we saw that the road ahead was closed for winter. Instead...
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