Chocolate and mud

I only realise it now, but last weekend I think I broke a record for number of clichés fitted into a single day. It was Sunday. My parents, having sheltered in Lausanne during the recovery from a flu, were keen to get out and see some more of Switzerland. In a single epic day we managed to catch trains, see cows with bells, visit a chocolate factory, eat raclette, and were given a lesson in the exacting and punctual nature of the Swiss. By my reckoning, we only needed to include a yodelling lesson and perhaps a swift referendum to complete our tour of Things That Are Officially Swiss.

A front-runner for Switzerland's best train logo.

Did you know that it was the Swiss who first made milk chocolate, in 1875? And they are very proud of having thought to add hazelnuts too, which I have to say is rather a stroke of brilliance. These are amongst the chewy, caramel nuggets of wisdom that I took away from our visit to the Cailler chocolate factory. Cailler was the first Swiss chocolate maker; he got his company started way back in 1819. Over a hundred years later it was enveloped by the all-encompassing treacle-pit that is the Nestlé corporation. You may recognise Nestlé from such memorable products as Nescafé, or from one of their many controversies. Cailler still produces chocolate at its factory near Broc, which is just over from Gruyère.

When you arrive at the Cailler factory you get assigned a tour number. Groups of 20 people are allowed into the factory every four minutes, and the upcoming group numbers are shown on a screen that looks like an airline departures board, complete with which groups are to "move to check-in", and which groups are "boarding". All of this adds to a Charlie-And-The-Chocolate-Factory sense of mystery. We had to wait an hour and a half for our tour, because it turns out they are very popular. In the intervening time we escaped the screaming mass of people in the foyer and went for a walk in the woods to meditate on chocolate.

Road amongst the trees.

DO NOT throw giant bottles out of your car.

Intrepid cat presumably searching for cream.

Back at the factory our tour got to boarding stage and we were ushered into a tiny room, which turned out to be a lift. In the semi-darkness a voice announced we were about to learn about the history of chocolate, and the floor started to lower. How deep into the earth did this factory go? Was it really going to be like Willy Wonka's world of delights!? After we had been lowered about 40cm the floor stopped and another door opened. The guy behind me, who I think was Australian, said dryly "I could have just walked down a step, you know."

We went through a series of rooms where expensive looking but slightly clunky dioramas sprang to life, and a louder than life voice told us all about the story of chocolate and Cailler. Once through these rooms we got to the real deal - first was a look at a real production line making "mini branches". I loved seeing this. The machines were scrupulously clean and incredibly efficient. The branches were piped out, chopped, covered in melted chocolate, cooled twice, removed from the conveyer belt by a frantic robot, individually wrapped and popped into a box. Awesome engineering, to be sure.

See chocolate flowing from a pipe: mission accomplished!

The second part of the "real deal" was the tasting room. It was just as awesome as you would expect!

After seeing the production line making the chocolate bars I realised I'd been on one myself - the entire factory experience is an automated production line! From the beginning, the machine guides you through each room, just as it would a little chocolate pudding. You are given a push when required, given a bite of chocolate to keep you feeling chipper, and at the end of it all you emerge bewildered, with less money but more chocolate. I really enjoyed it.

The tasting room!

Partly in order to work off the tour we decided it would be a nice idea to walk to Gruyère, which sits about three and a half kilometers away from the chocolate factory. We set off through the fields, excitedly following the ubiquitous yellow signs that show the walking trails that cross-cross Switzerland.

Problem was, our easy stroll between villages quickly turned to trying to get through lots of smelly, squelching mud on a steep slope that was crossed occasionally by electric fences. The going was far more slippery than expected, but we had the promise of cheese to keep us moving!

Do.. not.. fall.. over.

Once in Gruyère we were rewarded with raclette, which is a dish made using a special cheese which coincidentally is also called raclette. There are various forms of the meal, but for ours we had an apparatus ("la machine"!) placed on the table, which melted the top layer of a giant block of cheese. Each person then took turns to scrape off the wonderful melted cheese with a knife and eat it combined with the ready-to-hand potatoes, gherkins, and pickled onions.

We left Gruyère in a bit of a rush because we were determined not to miss the last train. Arriving at the station nice and early, we bought tickets and waited. As is my custom, I watched the clock carefully and announced to my long-suffering family when we had one minute to wait. As I airily told them, I love the Swiss punctuality because it is so dependable - the train would be there right on time, and I was looking forward to it. As the minute arrived, we peered expectantly into the night like worried meercats.

A bus drove past, but nothing else happened. We started to worry. It was only after checking the timetable again that we realised the "train" we were waiting for was actually a bus at that point in the night, and thus we had just missed our last connection home. Even through the sinking realisation that this meant we were more likely than usual to spend the night in a cow paddock, I was still pleased that the bus had, at least, been precisely on time. Luckily, after some gnashing of teeth, a phone call, and a ten minute taxi ride to the next town, we found another way home. We arrived well after midnight. You do need a late night to fit that many clichés into a single day.