Lucerne

Although we were in the throes of a bitterly cold winter, no-one could have foreseen the ferocity of the blizzard which was to slash its way across Lake Lucerne and vent its full fury on Lucerne itself. Spawned in the Alps by freakish weather conditions, hurricane-force winds roared down the Alps, generating a series of avalanches and gaining additional fury as the gales snarled from the south-east across our normally placid Lake.

Striking Lucerne with unrestrained violence in the early hours of the morning, spume topped waves crashed against the boats moored in the Yachtafen and Schweizerhofquai and overtopped the break-wall, but this was to give no indication of what was about to befall the city. Throughout the day, the winds increased in ferocity, driving everyone from the Promenade and into their homes or offices. But nightfall was to see the temperatures drop precipitously.

In my fifth floor apartment on Zurichstrasse, winds moaned about the building and shrieked through the trolley-bus wires. Lights suspended across the street danced frenziedly with flashes illuminating windows normally shielded from the glare. That was, till a blackout hit the area where I lived. Bed offered no respite from the tumultuous sounds of banging shutters, the juddering crashes of furniture striking the balcony walls of adjoining apartments and the weird whistlings around windows and under doors.

Power was restored as the sun would have risen, but it was not to be visible in the sky for another three days. News bulletins told of enormous waves, widespread damage to buildings and disruption of all forms of traffic. All residents were advised to make themselves as secure as possible and to remain at home for the duration of the emergency. By the third day, winds began to subside although the temperature remained glacial and I ventured outside, rugged-up against the biting winds. Crossing Zurichstrasse to the western side I was able to gain some respite under the awnings of the Pfitzer furniture store before venturing further afield and curving left into Alpenstrasse where the canyon-like apartments and office buildings offered some minor shelter.

Blustery conditions had me holding my scarf across my face while my eyes streamed from the freezing winds. As I passed the Lowenstrasse intersection I glanced to the left and was amazed at the sight on the twin towers of the ancient Hofkirche at the end of Abbey Court. The crosses atop the building streamed pennants of ice, some horizontally and others vertically but all pointing in a north-westerly direction.

Exiting the concrete and glass canyons of the Alpenstrasse, I gazed across the wide expanse of the Schweiserhofquai directly at the Wilhelm Tell Seerestaurant but could barely recognise this familiar sight. Crossing the wide road to gain a closer view, I realised that the windward side of the former steamer was encrusted in a layer of ice that must have been up to a metre in depth, while on the sheltered side, wind-blown icicles streamed horizontally from the funnel and upper deck. Turning to the right I was bemused by the grotesque shapes attached to the promenade seats, tables and even the refuse bins. Wind-blown spray had frozen to everything. Shop fronts had drifts of snow and ice piled in doorways and windows were glazed with layers of ice. Once green chestnut trees held their gaunt branches skywards, festooned with foliage of ice.

I turned to follow the Nationalquai promenade between the denuded chestnut avenues, entranced by the myriad shapes of the ice-laden branches. Bollards along the seawall assumed grotesque shapes with Picassoeque surreal distortions making them unrecognisable. Only familiarity with the scene enabled me to recognise them for what they were. Looking shoreward to the Grand Hotel National, ice obscured the views from windows overlooking the Lake and ice and snow piled high against balcony doorways but it was on the lakeside that everything was bizarre.

Boats in the Yachtafen and Schweizerhofquai were enshrouded in ice. Hawsers and rigging were festooned with fanciful ice designs but the boats themselves were entrapped in solid ice as the shallow waters of the inlet had frozen solid.

The whole eerie scene caused me considerable disquiet till I suddenly realised it was because I was entrapped in a monochrome world of white. The Lake was white, the promenade was white, the buildings were white, the trees were white, the boats were white and even the normally coloured banners which surrounded the quay and fluttered in the breezes were white, but now stood immobile, enshrouded in immovable layers of ice. Below the banners were further encrustations of icicles forming their own unwavering banners pointing always to the north-west.

Turning to view this white apparition, I realised that I was the only living thing around, but even I had begun to freeze. My white breath was borne away on the winds but my moustache had begun to freeze from the entrapped vapour of my breathing while snow-flakes had frozen to my bare forehead and eyebrows. No seagulls floated in the water, squawking and squabbling over morsels of food. No swans glided through the waters of the foreshore and not another bird was to be seen. No other person had yet ventured out to survey this scene, this desert of ice.

The bizarre shapes reminded me of Dante’s vision of the Inferno, but this was an inferno of grotesque misshapen demons in ice. This was a vision which I would carry with me throughout the remainder of my life with the ghost-like shapes rising from the ground, hanging from the trees and festooning everything in sight.

As I turned, despondently, to leave, these haunting apparitions were suddenly and magically transformed into beautiful, fanciful creations as sunlight broke through a rift in the dense clouds. Sunlight transformed the weird shapes into things of magical beauty with wind-blown droplets sparkling in the air before they settled as shimmering crystals on these magnificent creations of striking beauty. Just the addition of sunlight had transformed a depressing sight into one of great magnificence.

Chastened by what I was experiencing, I retraced my steps homeward, past the Romanesque towers of the Hofkirche and the swaying street lights to the security of my hideaway where I ruminated over my impressions of these unusual phenomena.