Following in the footsteps of Mark Twain in Switzerland I wrote a poem

And then there was Vitznau,

All distant and swaddled at the end of its lake.

Home to the westering sun,

A vertical crucible of evening light. 

We dined there one hot summer night,

Years ago when the world seemed far younger,

Not quite formed, like some rough-hewn 

Sinuous, razor-backed, fist of an alp. And then there was Vitznau,

Dream-like and still, dwarfed by its mountains, 

Styled by its romantic, Bel-Epoque past.

Reflected alone, in the depths of its lake.

Beacon-like in the echo of those waters

Did we dine all golden and lit.

Sun sinking over a luminous Lucerne, 

Heralding the warm embrace of the night.

Beneath Pilaus and Riga on a waterside terrace,

We dined off chestnut soup and lake trout, 

Served by the laughing imp of a waiter 

From the old faded not jaded lakeside hotel.

And now here is Vitznau.

Years later, this cold winter’s eve.

The past, a bird’s wingbeat,

Of memory, 

Vanishing into that soft alpine night. 

Mark Twain went to Vitznau and wrote: 

“We could not speak. We could hardly breathe. 

We could only gaze in drunken ecstasy 

And drink it in.”

Vitznau and The Lemon Tree Forest

Vitznau has stayed with me rather more than most places I've visited in Switzerland. In fact, it features in a whole chapter of my book The Lemon Tree Forest, which draws on some of the people, places and experiences I've encountered during a lifetime of travelling.

So perhaps it was inevitable that, after another visit to Vitznau and some time spent thinking about Mark Twain's own affection for the place, I ended up writing a poem about it.

The poem follows below. It is a rather different way of remembering Vitznau, but then travel memories have a habit of appearing in unexpected forms.