Winter BBQ Halfway Up An Alp

For some reason a recent conversation turned to the subject of BBQ huts - and what a rather jolly and soiable idera they are - although I’m not sure I’d risk one even with all the windows all open given the contagious nature of the new variant of Covid 19.

Anyway, BBQ huts are good fun - and if I could afford one, I might be tempted to have on in the garden. I do know a bit about them having once spent a boozy night in one high above Andermatt in the Swiss Alps.

We went up to the BBQ zone on a train - climbing out at a small empty station halfway up the mountain at a place called Nätschen. It was freezing outside, but someone had lit wood fires in fire-pits, so we kept as warm as we could - enjoying cocktails while watching the sun go down high in the mountains.

Then indoors we went - into the surprisingly roomy BBQ hut - only to be handed various edible morsels wrapped in silver foil. Beef steak, pork chops, sausages… You name it the Swiss had prepared it for us - all we each had to do was cook our own supper over the live flames - which were turning the whole palce into such an oven we had to open the windows to let the cold air in.

It was tremendous fun and I remember feeling very full indeed when we at last staggered out into the dark mountain night. Thanks to the booze and food we were all feeling rather humb - which was just as well as we were sledging down the zig-zag route - which is a road in summer time - all the way back to town.

It seemed like miles down that icy descent - and we all went as fast as we dared - which probably wasn’t very fast but seemed like a 100 miles per hour in the icy darkness. I recall there was particularly steep slope right down at the bottom as the sledging route left the road and plummeted into the midst of some kind park park - and I hurtled down this slope only to be thrown high into the air by large ruts in the snow right down at the bottom. Crash! I thudded into an icy bank and for a moment thought I’d broken my back.

Luckily I woke up the next morning none the worse for wear - but I guess a 60-year-old was pushing his luck a bit going so fast down that mountain sledge-run in the dark.