I might get this story wrong, but I’ll attempt it in good faith anyway.
I was told, years ago, that my Grandpa Hugh Coulter had always wanted to visit the Alps. Maybe not the Swiss Alps—I think it was the Austrian ones—but to be honest, there aren’t huge differences in size, scope, or beauty. I like to think he would have found the Swiss Alps just a little more beautiful.
He was born in Saskatchewan, which is about as non-Alpine as it gets. Having visited both, I can confidently say I’ve seen bigger marmot mounds here in Switzerland than most “mountains” in Saskatchewan.
As the story goes, Grandpa’s plan was to work his way across Canada to the East Coast, hop a boat, and ski in Europe. That plan got derailed when he met my grandmother in Newfoundland (and we’re all pretty happy about that). Having never actually made it to the Alps, he had to settle for secondhand stories and the photos I brought back after my first visit to Saas Fee over 20 years ago, when Sheila first introduced me to this place.
I think of him every time I’m back here, surrounded by the peaks of the Saas Valley. And I’m thinking of him now, as we return—this time with Cedar for his first time, and with Dave and Biba, who’ve been here once before.
Our trip started without incident: an early morning train out of Montreux. I was running on very little sleep thanks to a late council session the night before, but luckily the Swiss trains have play cars and we had grandparents in tow. I was given the golden ticket: noise-cancelling headphones and permission to sleep from Montreux to Visp.
At Visp, we transferred to the iconic yellow PostBus that snakes its way up the mountain. Our destination: Saas Fee—nicknamed the “Pearl of the Alps,” a car-free village surrounded by no less than thirteen peaks over 4,000m. Among them is the mighty Dom at 4,545m, technically the tallest mountain entirely within Switzerland (though even that’s being challenged by melting glaciers).
Saas Fee has that classic Swiss alpine village charm—wooden chalets, stunning views, and just enough modern amenities to back up its place as a world-class holiday destination. Dave was particularly excited about the Metro Alpin, the highest underground funicular in the world—until we discovered it was closed for maintenance. Sorry, Dave.
Sheila found us a great Airbnb and check-in was smooth. The only hiccup was the weather—rainy—and the fact that we picked a shoulder week, meaning lots of restaurants and shops were closed, including Barbiero’s—Don Ciccio’s. After some exploring, we found the restaurant at one of the hotels we knew was open, and we stopped for a nice lunch to wait out the rain.
The next morning, we planned to introduce Cedar (and Nana and Poppa) to the local wildlife—specifically the famously friendly marmots. Sheila had a route in mind, a hike to the “marmot house,” and assured her parents it wasn’t too hard. All things are relative.
It turned out to be more challenging than expected. Dave and Biba wisely bowed out at around 2,000m, which was a smart call—especially since I am definitely not equipped for mountain rescue. Cedar, Sheila, and I carried on, and did manage to spot a couple of fat, uninterested marmots. (Later, we’d discover you can see marmots a mere five-minute walk from the village…)
Still, the views were incredible, and Cedar is really taking to this hiking lifestyle. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
That evening we took advantage of the break in the weather and had a nice walk around the village. There have been some pretty significant changes—new hotels going up, and some of the more familiar haunts shuttered in favour of new clubs and restaurants. While we couldn’t go to Don Ciccio’s, we did have a pleasant surprise: Carlos (the former cook at Don Ciccio’s) had his own restaurant open. After saying hello, we promised to return the following day for drinks and a bite (which we did). Later that night we had a quiet dinner, and everyone turned in—except me, who had another late-night meeting. (Thanks, 9-hour time difference.)
The next day, Dave and Biba generously offered to hang out with Cedar while Sheila and I tackled another hike—this one to the top of Hannig. The weather had cleared, and I was revived by coffee, croissants, and sweets from the bakery (thank you, Dave). It was nice to spend some grown-up time together, and Cedar probably appreciated the change of scenery too.
Sheila knows these trails pretty well, but it’s still reassuring to have the ultra-clear Swiss hiking signs everywhere. There’d been a snowstorm in April not long before, so a lot of trail cleanup was still underway.
At the top, we found only one other tourist—a friendly Swiss guy acclimatizing for a bigger climb. We shared our now-traditional “hiking-sized” bottle of rosé and soaked in the views. When the clouds lift in Saas Fee, words really fail. The scale of the mountains, and your own smallness in comparison—it’s something else.
On the way down, we had to stop at a little alpine restaurant we’d passed earlier. They looked like they could use the business, and we didn’t mind an excuse to lounge in the sun for a bit. But we didn’t want to stretch our babysitting credit too far, so we made our way back—tired, happy, and two hikes into what’s becoming a very uncharacteristic streak for me.
Our final day greeted us with clouds. The Hannig lift had just reopened that morning, so we made the most of our Saastal cards and took a quick ride up for a last coffee and tea with a view.
Back at the bus station, Dave had a brief run-in with Swiss recycling protocol when he incorrectly tossed some beer bottles into the wrong bin and earned a death stare from the convenience store clerk. Lesson learned.
We made all our connections and got back to Chernex in time to wish Yvan a happy birthday and catch up with some of the lovely folks at HQ. All in all, a pretty great few days—and a wonderful introduction to this special place for Cedar.
