As a hiker, you are per se someone conserving the environment, protecting the climate, not needing parking spaces, and otherwise - my own contribution to this theory - a very useful member of the human society.
To my astonishment the patron of the hotel agrees and grants me a discount of 10 francs for my generous contribution to the preservation of the world. Perhaps a little exaggerated, but for once I feel like a hero and proudly walk out of the hotel with a swelled chest, towards today's stage destination Neuchâtel.
The patron gives me another tip: don't take the route according to the Trans Swiss Trail, but take the route via the Chaumont.
Fine, I'll remember.
Of course, the guide doesn't know anything about that and explains the following about the stage:
The Val de Ruz turns out to be an ideal hiking area. The many village fountains and massive church towers are striking. The only wall paintings in the canton of Neuchâtel from before the Reformation can be found in Engollon. Promising descent to Neuchâtel.
Length 11 km; rise | descent 200 m | 560m; Hiking time 2 hours
That all sounds wonderful, but the Chaumont definitely has more persuasive power, so shortly after Dombresson I turn to the alternative route. And my actual scores look somewhat different accordingly:
Length 16.10 km; Hiking time 6 hours 16 minutes
Avenues and pigs and the Chaumont
The patron has not promised too much. The path across the wide plain of the Val de Ruz is a pleasure, even if it leads mostly along asphalt roads. But the surroundings are so enchanting that this is a minor matter.
And so, once again, I become a walking meditation practitioner, deeply immersed in thought, even as all my senses are open and receptive to everything surrounding me.
Only a few delicate clouds provide the decoration to the blue sky, and otherwise - nothing, just sun and warmth and a little wind blowing gently around my face, a greeting from heaven. Sometimes I run out of superlatives, in the face of so much beauty even poetry must remain silent.
For a change, a few cute animals grunt and baa at me, one would like to bring them along. Whether the landlord in the hotel in Neuchâtel would be pleased, however, is a different question.
The sheep finds the strange guy interesting for barely two seconds, then it devotes itself again to the search for edibles. The pig on the other hand, with quite a pot belly (is it a pot belly pig?), ignores me with a quiet grunt. I call that disinterest. I cannot blame it.
One involuntarily gets the impression that this blue sky, this almost religious silence around, these trees swaying in the wind, are made exclusively for me. For whom else, because there is no one around, not a living soul, not even a car or a tractor or anything else.
So I am enjoying this sublime feeling of being the only person on earth for once. Well, not quite, there actually seems to be someone standing out in the field, a farmer? In any case, he destroys my unctuous thoughts. Which is good, too ...
Upwards - towards the Chaumont
In Savagnier, shortly before the ascent to Chaumont begins, I chat up a friendly elderly guy, one occasionally wants to apply his French. But he turns out to be a genuine Bernese, and so there again no more language effort on my part.
In any case, he finds the idea of hiking over the Chaumont to Neuchatel a splendid idea and enthuses about the beauty of the hill, which, by the way, is a topographical continuation of the Chasseral.
This information of course sweetens the ascent, even if I ask myself after three quarters of an hour, when this steep path finally will end. Because it actually leads in the completely wrong direction, but what the heck, the signposts probably know.
And so I hike, slowly and with bloated nostrils, upwards, until indeed the end of the dead straight hiking trail appears.
However, it leads to a paved road that is being under heavy construction. Construction machines are rattling, workers are scurrying around, obviously they want to give the road a new look. Fortunately, the hiking trail branches off from the road, and the noise of the construction machines fades away between the trees.
Not alone anymore
I'm alone for a while, the forest smells of summer, of humidity, of hidden life. I sit down on a tree trunk, eating leisurely, listening to the sounds of the forest and I am once again very happy.
I actually expected crowds of people on this popular excursion hill, but they are apparently all at work or whatever. But then everything changes, as a school class noises along the way, it gets loud, but somehow also nice to see the young people in a cheerful mood. The dialect points to Eastern Switzerland, a school trip to the Welsch, it seems.
I get a few curious glances from them, probably thinking how can one voluntarily do such a thing to oneself.
No matter, the path now leads downhill, it is much further than expected, nevertheless, a blue greeting blinks through the trees. The lake is no longer far, so it seems, but as so many times I am deceived. It is still far, very far.
After all, there is a restaurant close to the path, the view of the lake and the picturesque surroundings is perfect. I allow myself a coffee, stretch my legs, listen to the conversations of the numerous guests. As always, it's a relief to sit alone, to feel like I don't belong, and yet be a part of it.
Part of what? No idea …
Anyway, the seemingly endless path eventually meets the Trans Swiss Trail, back on track, the city gets closer, sucking me in at lightning speed. Traffic, honking, nervousness, everything belonging to a modern city. While I am a bit irritated by the noisy environment and head down town towards the lake, I receive a text message from an old friend who has just entered the harbor on an excursion boat. I hurry, but it is not much use, because the passengers remain on the ship. So there remains just a long look, and then the ship disappears again.
Jinghong revised
In fact, it's crazy - I've been to this city several times and yet I don't know it. From the train station by bus to the client and back again in the evening. No time for sightseeing, no chance to get to know anything apart from the job.
A shame, I now realize.
The city overwhelms me within minutes with its charm, its candor, its friendliness. My hotel is surprisingly located directly at the central square in the old town. So I will not get bored here.
And even more surprising is the fact that the Hotel du Marché is run by Chinese people. I step inside and immediately feel reminded of Jinghong. A group of Chinese-speaking people with very Chinese-looking faces are sitting around a table, eyeing the strange guy with the dirty hiking boots. I hear quiet laughter, which again reminds me of China or Hong Kong.
In Jinghong, I was welcomed to a family of several people with a baby, after I had offered them my table in the restaurant. And in Hong Kong I realized only after a while that I had become the unwanted object of great amusement, because my extremely untalented attempts to eat with chopsticks had been observed at the next table.
Anyway, the lady of the house looks a bit puzzled, but then she nods, and I proudly produce my only expression in Chinese and thank her. 谢谢你 (Thanks, Deepl Translate, I hope it's correct).
Neuchâtel – unknown city
Walking through the city reminds me once again what you can miss because you allegedly don't have time. I must repeat: this city is worth a visit.
The guide explains:
Neuchâtel has a medieval town center with many cafés and restaurants, museums and theatres. The watchmaking industry also plays an important role here. The observatory in the research center displays Swiss time to the nearest fraction of a second. The sixth stage of the Trans Swiss Trail ends at the port. From Porrentruy to Neuchâtel you could walk the entire route of almost 100 kilometers. Stage seven then begins with the boat trip to Cudrefin.
On the shore of the lake, illuminating the late afternoon in all shades of blue, figures stand silently and probably for ages, but to which I have no names to assign. Perhaps they represent the anonymous citizen of old times named Jeanneret (the most common name in the city), or a lady named Madame Huguenin. Possibly they are historical inhabitants of the city, who have been memorialized here.
In any case, they are very popular with every photographer and also serve as wonderful sujets for the inevitable selfies.
Evening and night fall slowly and inevitably over the city with its citizens enjoying the end of the workday, among which I include myself today for once. I sit down at a table in the midst of the happily chattering crowd and drink my beer slowly and with relish.
The same feeling as last year in Vevey - I might live here. There's not much more positive you can say about a place.
Matching song: Bob SegerFire Lake
And here the trail continues - to Murten and bye bye la Suisse française
