Zermatt is almost a parody of the alps — picture perfect, a pile of superlatives. The most popular destination in Switzerland, it lies in the shadow of the Matterhorn, the most recognizable peak in Europe. It is a postcard of a village, blessed with renowned luxury hotels, incredible on-slope restaurants, and Europe’s most expansive and ambitious lift system.
But today, despite one of the best early winters on record, high föhn winds are blasting the slopes, creating sastrugi — wind-packed ridges of snow — and boilerplate ice. In the world’s best ski town, the skiing is as bad as it gets.
Fortunately, Zermatt has a train station, which is served by the ultimate ski train: The Glacier Express (877/794-8037), a slow coach to St. Moritz, the other over-the-top bookend of the Swiss Alps. In a world where luxury train travel is mostly a memory, Switzerland is an exception, full of classic trains, none more so than this one. For 75 years, the Glacier Express has wound through the most spectacular scenery on Earth, passing through some of Switzerland’s finest ski resorts along the way. With the right kind of ticket, you can ride the rails in style, stopping off wherever the snow and terrain seem inviting.
We walk to the bahnhof and reserve first-class seats. If the powder won’t come to us, we’ll go to the powder.
There is something reassuring about the steady clicking of the archetypal red train as it carries me, my skis, and my companions over magnificent mountain passes. With me are a trio of veteran free-ride ladies and a professional photographer: Jessica Quinn and Susanna Magruder run heli-ski guide operations in Alaska and Europe, respectively; Andrea Binning is an ex-pat Aussie and former world extreme skiing champ living in Chamonix; Myriam Lang-Willar knows fall lines as well as f-stops. Ours is a cross-country trek to sample the finest snow, hotels, and spas of alpine Switzerland, and our crew is grossly overqualified for the cushy job at hand.
The glass-roofed panorama cars afford an amazing view, and as the train winds up toward the Furka Pass we see countless trams, chairs, and gondolas stretching to the ridgelines. We pass through a tunnel into Andermatt — where it’s snowier than any of us can remember — making a note to stop on our way back. We creep up and over the Oberalp Pass — at 6,700 feet the route’s highest point — as we eat a civilized lunch of veal and polenta, washing it down with glasses of dôle.
Steaming down the other side, we pass into Disentis–Müster, the heart of the Romansch-speaking part of Switzerland, dropping into the Rhine River canyon, emerging in Chur before corkscrewing down the sunset stretch to St. Moritz. We jump off in Pontresina, one of the resort’s more traditional (and underhyped) suburbs, and check into the five-star Grand Hotel Kronenhof (+41 (0)81 830 30 30) a mid-1800s Belle Epoque monument to the good life. Given a $50 million face lift in 2006, the Kronenhof now boasts a massive new full-service spa and wellness center; in 2008 Gault Millau named it Hotel of the Year. Manager Heinz Hunkeler is ever-present, gracious, and familiar with every guest. The hospitality — and the sleep — are superb.
The next morning, we meet mountain guide and helicopter pilot Hansueli Baerfuss in the Heli Bernina parking lot. He regretfully informs us he can’t guide us today; he’s on duty in the Rega rescue chopper, a sleek Agusta that makes a heli-skiing B3 look like a jalopy. “But nothing bad ever happens before 10 a.m.,” he says, “so I can fly you around for a little while and show you where to ski.”
The minute we are airborne, the scope of the Engadin becomes apparent. With eight major resort bases on the Swiss side, it is far bigger that I had imagined, blanketed in a layer of snow that exceeded anything any of the locals had seen in 60 years. We fly up to Corvatsch, scoping some long, steep couloirs. Next we’re off to Diavolezza and Lagalb, spotting powder stashes everywhere, even days after the last storm. “There are only about a dozen real free riders around here,” Hansueli says, smiling, “so the snow lasts a long time.” He points out several ideal runs and their access points, then takes us to Piz Bernina, the 4000-meter patriarch of the Engadin.
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This is where some of the area’s biggest descents are found, accessed by ski-touring, mountaineering, or chopper. As we ascend along a knife-edged ridge, the possibilities stretch out endlessly, even beyond the Italian border. Circling back to reality — or as close as you can get to it here — Hansueli lands us at Corvatsch, next to a crowded mountain-top restaurant, drawing a crowd of onlookers. We wave goodbye, grab a coffee and a look at the topo map, then drop right in to one of the Engadin’s classic powder lines.
Gazing down into a deserted valley, far from the pistes, we choose a ridgeline leading to a perfectly spaced forest, where we can just make out the hamlet of Rosegg below. Hundreds of silky turns later, the only way back is a horse-drawn sleigh ride to the train station at Pontresina. Wandering through St. Moritz’s crooked streets lined with sgraffito buildings, we wonder why the town is known only for fur coats and champagne après-ski. We had just experienced an amazing day, and hadn’t had to share it with anyone.
A night on the town beckons, so we venture to an unassuming shack on the outskirts of town. La Baracca (+41 79 270 0775) is recommended as “a complete contrast to fancy St. Moritz,” but don’t be fooled. It’s the place to go — for wannabe oligarchs, lothario ski instructors, and even that rarest of species, locals. Restaurateur Max Schneider presides over the deliberately unpretentious mayhem, seating guests at long tables where you’re bound to make friends with your neighbors, even sharing their family-style dinners and wine when you can’t catch the busy wait staff’s eye. “You should have seen it last night,” Schneider says as he stuffs our group into a space that would fit half as many at any other restaurant in town. “We didn’t really get going until 3 in the morning!” The generous spreads of rustic food, steady flow of wine, and indefatigable energy soon work their magic. By midnight, with the Stones’ Miss You blaring, people begin to dance on the tables. It looks to become the first of many long nights.
Our next day, we arrive in Arosa. It’s not a station along the Glacier Express route, but from Chur it’s only a one-hour detour on a bright blue train to this remote village in the heart of Graubünden. The Tschuggen Grand Hotel (+41 (0)81 378 99 99) sits above the town like a sentinel, the 60-foot glass sails of its Bergoase Spa casting an ethereal glow. We arrive in a blizzard, or as they say so evocatively in Schweizerdeutsch, a schneekaos. I have seen this before — the sky drops three feet of snow and then clears up by morning, conveniently yielding some of the Alps’ best powder. Which, this evening, is exactly what happens.
Arosa’s free-rider population is bigger than St. Moritz’s, so that next bluebird day is a race for the best lines. After joining the early fray off the top of the Weisshorn, where Andrea and Susanna knock down a couple of ominous avalanches, the ladies settle into finding the deepest snow of the trip, trenching the resort’s unseen folds. Late in the afternoon, we decide on a backside tree run to Molinis, a fairy-tale run to a village trapped in time. Then we’re back on the train up the valley, ready to sample the spa at the Tschuggen. The Bergoase (German for “mountain oasis”) opened in December 2006, and is already rated among the best spas in the Alps. The ladies and I kick back in our robes, taking massages and soaking up the atmosphere. This could become a dangerously comfortable way of life.
The next day, the Express takes us back to Andermatt, a popular health center before World War II that has weathered a decline in residents and visitors during the past 20 years. Recently, billionaire Egyptian resort developer Samih Sawiris, seeing the unpolished charm — and financial potential — of this authentic village, purchased the old Swiss army base that once housed mountain training facilities. Soon, Andermatt Resort Co. will begin a five-year project to re-engineer the military complex into a new village center, complete with Switzerland’s first six-star hotel and a golf course. In the meantime, free riders of every nationality have claimed Andermatt as their spiritual base, revering the deep snow, massive off-piste ski-touring potential, and steep lines. Whether they stick around for the face lift remains to be seen.
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Even so, there is an anticipatory renaissance happening here, with innovative restaurants, hip bars and shops, and fresh-faced hotels sprouting up over the past couple of years. One in particular catches our attention: the River House (+41 (41) 887 0025), an old pharmacy transformed by owners Kevin and Sarah Obschlager into Andermatt’s first upscale boutique hotel. With only eight rooms, it's a cozy upgrade from the traditional Swiss pension, and the restaurant has ushered a whole new culinary aesthetic into this sleepy burg. The bar, Di Alt Apothek, is clearly the most popular in town, as we happily witness into the wee hours of the morning. Tomorrow, after all, our only responsibility is the train ride to some unfinished business in Zermatt.
The next morning, the scenery flashes past the windows all too quickly and we find ourselves back in Zermatt. We take an electric taxi to the Hotel Post (+14(0)27 967 19 31), a landmark nearly as old as the village itself — at its core is an intact farmhouse that dates back to 1772. A $16 million renovation completed in 2008 established it as the new star of the hotel scene, with five bars and nightclubs and four restaurants, conveniently located right in the center of town. For those rare occasions when you’re actually in your room, the Matterhorn Suite, a loft situated at the top of the hotel, boasts Zermatt’s best view of its namesake.
But the dreaded föhn have been waiting for our return, carving the snow that fell in our absence into deeply channeled hard pack. The ladies find some protected snow on the Höhtalli face, but uncover rocks with every turn. The skiing, for this trip, is over. Before us, there is but one last train ride from Zermatt.
We are in no hurry.
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