Don't Push Me

Special Thanks

Special thanks go to François Kocher - friend, historian, and ski enthusiast.  François grew up skiing in Grindelwald and the Jungfrau region. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the slopes and lifts and their evolution over the years.  He offered important insights, language edits, creative ideas, and critical historical perspectives throughout the writing process.  He has a keen eye for detail and was generous in sharing information about this beautiful part of Switzerland. Needless to say, any inaccuracies are the result of creative license. It was during a visit several years ago to see him and his wife, Kathy, that I first fell in love with winter in the Bernese Oberland. I felt a deep and instant connection to the place - one that has led me back each winter to ski and one that led to the discovery of the fascinating history surrounding World War 1 and the early days of British skiing in Mürren.  Thanks François! 

Work of Fiction

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One – The Gasthof Traumblick

Mürren Winter 2007

Elliott stepped off the train, dragging skis, boots, and suitcase through a fresh blanket of snow that covered the rustic platform.  Flurries filled the air, with a mix of sun and clouds hovering overhead.  He breathed in the fresh mountain air and smiled, glad he had finally arrived.  A frenetic crowd of tourists disembarked, balancing luggage, ski equipment, and restless children.   

He glanced at a small map he pulled from his pocket, checking directions to the Gasthof Traumblick, his home for the next two weeks.  It looked like it was a short walk from the station - about 10 minutes. He walked up the slight incline of the main road, grateful his boots gripped the surface of the slippery path.  Rowdy kids threw snowballs and pushed each other as parents yelled instructions about the trek forward.  Gratefully, most headed into the larger hotels at the center of town. Elliott continued to the other side of the village, where things were noticeably calmer.

Mürren was the idyllic Alpine village every English skier dreamed of – a car free town perched high in the Bernese Oberland.  It was known for its dramatic views of the Lauterbrunnen Valley with the glacier studded peaks of the Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau towering in the distance. The town looked as if it were about to slide off a two-thousand-foot cliff with tall pine trees clinging tenaciously to a snow-covered rocky bluff.  Towering summits surrounded the plateau on which the town sat, including the famous Schilthorn, where James Bond defied gravity, skiing through forests to the valley floor. 

From time to time, skiers skidded to a stop just at the edge of the pedestrian road, having navigated charming trails that began in the snowfields at higher altitudes and ended in the hamlet of wooden ski chalets and inns.  Elliott couldn’t help noticing the delight on skiers’ faces as they removed goggles and glanced up at what they had traversed.  He was eager to join them.

The Gasthof Traumblick had an enviable setting with unobstructed views of the surrounding landscape.  A large expanse of pristine snow stretched from the side of the building toward the edge of the precipice. Elliott wondered if people ever got too close to the edge. He felt his heart race just thinking about it.

A path from the main road to the entrance of the inn had been cleared.  The snowbanks were several feet high, promising great conditions on the pistes.  Elliott pushed open the antique wooden door and heard a bell announce his arrival. He dragged his equipment and luggage into the cozy foyer, stomped snow off his boots, and waited for someone to appear at the check-in counter. 

A man stepped out from a room behind the counter and said, "Guten Tag."

Elliott responded in his modest German, "Hallo. Mein Name ist Elliott.  Elliott Williams."

Ah, yes. Mr. Williams.  Welcome. I’m Max.  How was your journey? the man replied in perfect English.

Long, Elliott replied, reviewing in his head the many means of transport it took to arrive at his destination – the flight from London, the train from the Zurich airport to Interlaken, another train to Lauterbrunnen, a cable car to Grütschalp, and the final train to Mürren. 

It’s part of the charm — our remoteness!

Hmm, Elliott murmured.  The scenery was breathtaking, and he was eager to ski the world-famous slopes, but he had a foreboding sense that perhaps Mürren was too isolated for his tastes.

Your passport? Max asked as he slid a registration form toward Elliott to complete.

Elliott reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his documents, glancing into Max’s eyes as he handed them over.  They were hazel, expressive, and intense. Max had a distinguished receding hairline with salt and pepper wavy hair – more pepper than salt. He had a large sexy nose and a pronounced jaw that was lined with a closely trimmed dark beard.  Elliott took a deep breath. The name of the hotel seemed to denote more than just the dreamy views of the mountains. 

You’re alone? Max asked, glancing around the foyer as if expecting a companion or children.

Yes. Did you think there would be more?

Well, it’s just that you booked one of our family suites. But it’s fine.

It looked like a splendid room online. The photos showed it had wonderful views and a comfortable sitting area.

Yes. I’m sure you will enjoy it.  Here’s the key.  It’s on the third floor, facing the valley.  Dinner is at seven. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to let us know.  We are a small, family-run inn, and we want to make our guests feel at home.

"Danke schön," Elliott replied.  He left his skis in the ski closet on the first floor and carried his luggage and boot bag up the steep wooden stairs to the third floor. 

He opened the door and took a deep breath. The room was impressive, with unparalleled views of the nearby peaks.  Bright light filled the wood paneled apartment.  There was a cozy sitting area with a sofa, coffee table, and lamp.  The bed was large, with a carved wooden headboard and decorative Swiss blankets and pillows covering the mattress.  The updated and stylish bathroom had a large soaking tub.

Elliott unpacked, hanging ski clothes, pants, and sweaters in an antique wooden armoire. He placed other items in the drawer of a chest.  He sat down in a comfortable chair near the window and began to identify landmarks. The train from Kleine Scheidegg was making its way toward Wengen, a charming ski town just across the valley from Mürren.  Late day, purplish shadows from the soaring peaks spread quickly over the lower terrain. The iconic Jungfrau towered above the other summits, reflecting the late afternoon golden sunlight.

As he aged, Elliott became more cognizant of the power of mountains. Their solidity made him feel safe, grounded, strong.  Their height drew his gaze upward. When dressed in clouds or snow, they were mysterious, concealing spirits who retreated out of view.  The Jungfrau range stood just outside his window; a massive ensemble of peaks that seemed almost close enough to touch. The frenetic pace of life and the troubles of home seemed trivial compared to the scene before him. Even the wintery Alps were sunny and warm compared to the damp, dreary Yorkshire countryside.  

Hungry from the long day of travel, Elliott made his way downstairs to the parlor. Orange light from crackling logs in the stone fireplace filled the cozy room.  Families had gathered before dinner to play board games and sip hot chocolate.  Elliott found an out-of-the-way comfortable chair where he sat and thumbed through a local tourist magazine.  It surprised him that most of the clientele were English and Dutch, except for one Swiss family and a German one.  They were a well-heeled crowd, although not the rich-and-famous kind. These were affluent families able to afford a couple of weeks in the Alps, but not at the chic resorts.  He surmised it must have been school vacation week, given the large number of children. 

He was the only single person in the room and hoped there might be more at dinner.  Feeling a slight pinch in his chest, he contemplated the idea of being trapped with a bunch of families in the Alps.  Several of the men were handsome, particularly a dark-haired English man with two adorable kids.  He and his wife sat close to each other on a sofa, watching their kids play cards. They sipped brandy. The woman was beautiful with brunette hair, thick eyebrows, and caramel complexion. He surmised she might have been Italian or French.  The man nodded warmly at Elliott.

The family from Germany dominated the room.  Their kids were playful, talkative, and athletic. The wife was short but pleasant, even pretty in her own way. The husband was imposing with a broad muscular chest, large bulging thighs, and a thick playful head of hair.  He was tall and had a deep, thunderous voice.  He spoke English well, making small friendly talk with the English families nearby. 

A woman came out into the parlor and announced that dinner was ready.  The kids leaped up from their games and ran into the dining room.  Parents followed.  Everyone seemed to have assigned tables. 

The woman approached Elliott and introduced herself.  I’m Sofia, one of the owners. You met Max earlier.  Welcome.  Is everything to your satisfaction in your room?

It’s perfect.  What a beautiful inn. I love the woodwork and comfortable furniture and artistic touches here and there.

Thank you. It’s a labor of love.  Sofia had a warm smile. She looked like she was in her late forties. She had shiny blonde hair and golden skin. Gesturing to Elliot, she said, Let me show you to your table.

They walked into the spacious dining room. Antique wood beams supported the ceiling. Along one wall, there was a line of tables separated by carved wooden dividers and lit by antique brass lamps.  A large window faced the Jungfrau mountains where several free-standing tables were set.  The rest of the room had a variety of table settings, including one small table off to itself.  That’s your table. I hope it will be quiet, she said, glancing around the room filled with kids.

Elliott thanked her and took his place.  A small team of servers circulated through the space, filling bowls with a savory soup and asking for drink orders.  Elliott ordered some Swiss wine. 

Despite the carpeting that would have softened the noise, the room was raucous, with kids yelling at each other and parents admonishing them as they tried unsuccessfully to eat dinner and enjoy their vacation.  Elliott observed from a distance, increasingly concerned that he had chosen the wrong hotel for his ski trip. 

Max, who was prepping plates, observed him from behind a side door and shook his head, nervous his guest would soon begin to make complaints.  Max found Elliott’s presence intriguing and a bit unnerving. Innkeeping was a curious business. One invited people into one’s home, made them comfortable, fed them, and invited them to relax and enjoy themselves. It was always a delicate balance between familiarity and formality, between warmth and business.

Max knew how to manage married couples; how to de-escalate tensions with humor and carry on conversations about inane superficial topics. No one had the time or energy after a day on the slopes with their kids to ask Max personal questions or start deeper conversations about politics, philosophy, or culture. Sure, with married couples, there was always one, or both, who fantasized about escaping the quagmire of parenting responsibilities and relentless crises. They flirted with Max, and he enjoyed the attention, but nothing serious ever unfolded.

Max couldn’t remember the last time they had a single guest who wasn’t part of a larger booking of a family or group of friends. He wondered if Elliott had an agenda. How did he end up at the Traumblick? Would Elliott disturb Max’s carefully constructed world and life, engaging him in uncomfortable conversation or personal questions?

Max felt himself tense up. Sofia walked by and could see the concern on his face. What’s wrong? she asked.

I don’t know. This new guest. Does he seem odd to you?

She glanced through the door and peered at Elliott. She replied, He seems like a nice man. Speaks German. Is well dressed.

Don’t you find it a bit odd – a single man at our inn?

Sofia hesitated. She, too, wondered how he ended up at their inn, but Mürren was a quiet and out-of-the-way place that didn’t usually attract shifty types. She said, He’ll be fine. He likes to ski. 

But the noise. He’s going to get annoyed.

He’s on the third floor. It’s quiet.

Max shook his head. He had an unsettled foreboding. He continued to prep plates, and Sofia returned to her chores.

Over the course of the next half hour, Max scrutinized Elliott. He had a book open at his table. He sipped his wine and consumed the soup while remaining focused on what he was reading.  He glanced up from time to time, startled by a child’s scream or a kid running between the tables.  Elliott ordered a second half-liter of wine; not a good sign, Max thought. 

Sofia glanced from around the door, too.  She noticed Elliott on his cell phone. She feared he might be reporting his bad luck at booking the Traumblick to a friend back home.

Marni, Elliott said excitedly as the woman on the other end of the line answered.  I’m here.  It’s dreadful.  A dining room filled with kids and their parents.

So, you arrived without problems?

Yes, but this is a mistake. It’s school vacation week, and I’m at an Alpine resort where half of the suburbs of London have come to get away - all with children.

Any cute or handsome daddies?

Marni! I’m serious. This has catastrophe written all over it.

I’m serious, too.  Take a more optimistic view of things. Look for opportunities, even in unpleasant situations. They’re always there. Who knows what hot daddy is looking for a reason to come out; to admit he married the wrong sex and needs someone to guide him in a new direction.

I’m not here to save anyone. I’m here to relax, ski, and find out more about the connections between my grandfather and Mürren.

Despite his protests, Elliott took another look around the room.  The same two men caught his attention – the handsome, dark-haired English guy and the imposing German jock.

I told you that you should have booked in Verbier or Zermatt.  I don’t even know where Mürren is.  It’s got to be boring.

The scenery is breathtaking – there just don’t seem to be any single men around.

Go out to a club. You’ll meet people. You always do.

I am not sure there are clubs in this town.

Ask the innkeepers.

At that moment, Max leaned his head around the kitchen door.  Elliott caught his attention and nodded.  Max felt compelled to approach Elliott and ask how he was doing, dreading his response.

Elliott told Marni, Got to go. The innkeeper is approaching.

"Ciao," she said.

Mr. Williams, how are things? Max asked as he stood at the edge of the small wooden table.

My room is very nice, and the food is delicious. It’s a little loud, though. That’s all, he said as he looked around the room.

Max followed Elliott’s regard, scanning the dining room. Hmm, he murmured. It is school winter vacation.  Lots of families.  He glanced back at Elliott with an apologetic face, scrutinizing his new guest.  He seemed unusually fussy and wore a starched white shirt under an alpine sweater.  The book on the table was perfectly aligned with the grain of the tabletop, and a bookmark had been carefully positioned between pages and just a centimeter above the edge of the paper.  Elliott’s knife and fork were evenly spaced on either side of the plate, and Elliott kept rearranging the small vase and candle.  Max noticed the title of the book – The Challenges of the European Central Bank.

Looks like a riveting read, Max said playfully. 

Elliott didn’t respond, sensing Max was making light of his choice for vacation reading.

Max picked up on Elliott’s prickliness and changed the subject, asking, Are you looking forward to skiing?  Tomorrow promises to be a great day.  Anything we can do to assist you?

I think I’m fine. I already have lift tickets.  Any suggestions for good areas to ski?

If tomorrow is a warmup day, you might try Winteregg or Schiltgrat. They are both nice areas with good runs – nothing too challenging.

Elliott nodded.  He looked distracted.  He fussed nervously with his fork, glancing toward the kitchen as if expecting the main course to arrive.  Max interpreted Elliott’s behavior as one of a pretentious businessman used to more indulging service. His and Sofia’s inn was small and catered to a casual and undemanding crowd.

Thanks.  Do you ski? Elliott asked Max, looking up.  Max looked nervous, his eyes darting back and forth at all the activity in the room.  Elliott couldn’t tell if it was a look of consternation or one of inadequacy, someone overwhelmed by the responsibilities of running a hotel and keeping everyone happy, even the single fussy guy. 

Max nodded. Yes. But with all the work here, I don’t get out too often.

Elliott hoped to get more of a reading of Max, catch a glance, measure the intensity in his eyes.  He had already tried to draw the attention of the handsome daddies in the room with no success.  Perhaps the innkeeper had a roving eye. 

Max continued to glance around the room, not at Elliott.  As Max looked away, Elliott took a closer look at Max’s physique – his slim waist, muscular legs, and firm buttocks.  Hmm. Nice, he murmured to himself. 

Max turned around and peered at Elliott, taking another reading himself.  Elliott had haunting eyes – brown and deeply set. He was one of those dark English types, with black wavy hair that glistened in the overhead light. He had a slender face with a forceful nose, a broad forehead, and delicious lips.  Berating himself for studying his new guest’s appearance, Max hoped Elliott couldn’t detect his curiosity. 

It must be an occupational hazard – working in a beautiful ski village with little time to enjoy the slopes.

Max nodded. He was tempted to say, Yes. We have to cater to all of you affluent businessmen who have the resources to get away, but he checked himself.  He often resented his guests, although as he watched those with children, he realized the parents had a tough life and he was