Serendipity trumps planning in St. Moritz

There are many types of travelers. Some, like me, are planners.

The trips my wife, Paula Owens, and I take are not so much planned as choreographed, with flight times, train schedules and ferry routes documented in detail, including multiple backup options. All hotels are reserved in advance, and each day’s sightseeing activities are mapped out.

The appropriate Lonely Planet guidebooks are consulted and, if we’re visiting Europe, relevant Rick Steves guidebooks supplement my research.

We’ve had some great trips. Planning frequently pays off, but spontaneity (defined by some of us planners as an inherently undesired change in plans) is a rare occurrence. One such change in plans occurred during our May ’08 visit to St. Moritz, Switzerland.

St. Moritz is spread along one side of its lake and is surrounded by forested, snowcapped mountains. It’s not the type of place we usually visit (too chic and expensive), but during the off-season it’s not a bad value (Sept. ’08, pg. 47).

We arrived there for a 2-night stay after several hours on the Glacier Express. We toured the town on foot, enjoying the relatively pleasant weather — mid-50s, with only an occasional drizzle. The next day’s forecast was for temperatures in the low 40s and showers — not too much of a surprise since we had had rain every day of the trip.

We arose the next morning with plans to use our Swiss Pass to visit several nearby towns. Those plans were moot as soon as my wife pulled back the drapes on our windows. The ground was covered in snow, and it was snowing large, wet flakes at an alarming rate.

It was beautiful — our hotel room offered a panoramic view of the mountains, forest, lake and town — but snow was not in our plans! A good plan B was clearly needed.

After piling on several layers of clothes and braving the now-treacherous hike downhill into town for provisions, followed by an equally exciting, and wet, climb back up, we spent the next few hours relaxing by our windows watching the snow continue to fall, albeit at a slowly decreasing rate.

By mid-afternoon Paula convinced me that it would be fun, good exercise or, at least, different to hike around the lake while it was still snowing. I reasonably and logically pointed out that neither of us had gloves or appropriate footwear and that, with my somewhat brittle bones, a fall would ruin our vacation.

Soon we were again slip-sliding down the hill toward the lake.

Walking along the lakeshore in the snow was invigorating. The fog, the blanket of snow and the almost complete lack of people outside resulted in a sense of isolation.

As pleasant as that was, reality soon began to sink in. We were walking in two to three inches of wet snow that was rapidly becoming slush, and within a few minutes our “water-resistant” shoes quit resisting. We couldn’t put our ungloved hands in our pockets (at least, not both hands at the same time) because we needed them out to prevent our slipping and falling.

We did eventually make our way back up the hill toward shelter, where we spent the next few hours drying and warming hands, feet, shoes, socks, pants, jackets, hats, etc., while enjoying the fruits of our earlier trip to procure provisions.

By nightfall the snow had changed into rain, and by morning the ground had largely reappeared from under its cover of snow.

It certainly hadn’t been the day we had intended, but it was the day we got and was the better for it. Spontaneity had had its due.

STEPHEN O. ADDISON, Jr.

Charlotte, NC