Day 13 - Vaduz to Masein

My plastic hotel breakfast in the silent company of a frozen old woman came as a sharp reminder of the benefits of the Couch Surfing project and as I left the room I hoped my cordial goodbye to the waitress would be the last of the trip. After a quick walk around the capital, which is smaller in size and population than my beloved Claygate, I set out north for the border.

I had planned and was expecting an easy morning and much of the afternoon off to eat and rest for the big climb the next day. As soon as I crossed back into Switzerland it became clear that this would not be so. I had failed to notice that the road which would take me from Vaduz to Chur mounted a saddle between a large mountain and a small mountain. On the map, this had appeared a little bump in comparison to the nearby peaks but the 300 metre climb killed me, limbs cold and mind unprepared. Passing through a Swiss military camp at the crest, I could not hold back a wry smile which acknowledged that, even in the foothills, the Alps had already got one over on me.

There followed a long and fast downhill. This introduced me to two new phenomena. Firstly, the frustration of having whole blocks of work and pints of sweat undone by the whimsical friction of some long forgotten glacier dragging you back down to where you started. Secondly, the maniacal shivering of damp, unmoving limbs when travelling at high speed in cold air. I compare this to jumping out of the shower and sitting naked in a 30 mph wind for 15 minutes. The spasms in my thighs put me so off balance I had to slow right down, thereby removing all the benefit of the long downslope.

Finally I arrived on the flat and I could start the day as I had planned it. The weather was better than it had been all trip and it was bizarre to wear half as many layers in the Alps as I had in Alsace, and to be twice as warm. Chur, the oldest city in Switzerland, came and went without much of an impression and soon I was turning the final right angle of the Rhine and making my way to its source at Reichnau.

The source of the great river I had followed for three weeks was announced only by a pair of concrete bridges over its tributaries the Vorder- and Hinterrhein and a mound of bulldozed gravel. I felt more than a little aggrieved that the birth of my companion did not warrant a plaque, a park or even a tacky cafe. Putting this out of my mind, I climbed down to the bank to take a few shots of the joining of the waters and bathed my now hot brow in the cool, clear current.

Saying goodbye, I continued up the Hinterrhein valley to my home for the night, the mountainside village of Masein. When my host, Bettino Fletscher, had told me it was a 15 minute ride up from the village of Thusis, where I had planned to stay, I shrugged this off as nothing. Predictably, my day finished as it had started. I paid heavily for my gross underestimation and arrived at Bettino's - the third highest house in the village - exhausted. Nevertheless, I had made good time and had the best part of the afternoon to get myself ready for the main Alpine climb.

I had a traditional Swiss supper with the Fletschers. The conversation was various and relaxing save for one line from Bettino's father Roman, something like "I have no doubt you will make it over tomorrow, but certainly you will suffer a bit."

Oh, good.

Distance covered 38 miles