There’s loads here. Mostly we’re interested in the Christmas market, still pretty desperate for raclette. There is no raclette. There is a Jesus though, and about 8 stalls. Nothing much grabs us, and since it’s gone 2pm and neither of us have eaten yet, getting on the glühwein isn’t a good idea right now.
There’s a viewing platform though, with nice views back towards the city and the mountains opposite. That’s where we went up on Saturday.
There’s a dead marmot.
And a picture of a three-faced Jesus.
Helen does not fancy lunch at the top of a ski jump. This is, I freely admit, quite a lot scarier and wobblier than our mountain antics the previous day. All the restaurant’s tables are at windows, which are floor to ceiling and at the very edge of the building. It’s fair enough. I’m not exactly loving it, but I would totally have stayed but not to her detriment. Though, hang on, since we’re here, would you wait for me while I go up to the observation deck...?
Blimey. Quite high up here innit? Helen, you might wanna skip the next photo. SCROLL QUICKLY (it’s a tall one).
Back down in the lift and in the rickety funicular. She’s having no fucking fun at all here. On terra firma it’s definitely time for some food and drink, though first we marvel at a black squirrel running around the trees nearby. Black squirrels? With crazy huge pointy ears? Later we look them up and discover they’re actually red squirrels who look black in winter.
Anyway, we have enough squirrels at home; the bus runs every 40 minutes and we’re between them, giving us a nice 70 minute window to pop into Restaurant 1809 since the market still doesn’t tempt us.
Our smiley waiter gives us menus, serves us some wine and a pint, and takes our food order which is delivered by a lad who seems to be 12 years old. I’ve gone for burger and chips, Helen has pasta. There is definitely enough mustard with my burger.