Our arrival the night before hadn't been flawless. In the dark we completed the traditional two laps of the campsite ensuring everyone else was awake and enjoying the night with us before throwing in the towel and phoning for some slightly more specific instructions than 'we'll be easy to spot, look for the big tent'. With some marginally more helpful instructions we discovered another half to the campsite previously overlooked due to the rabbit warren approach to campsite planning that had been employed, probably supplemented with a good few years of random development to create the least user friendly campsite for miles around. However, it did beat it's closest rival by simply not being one meter away from a roundabout linking the two major roads in the area. With the other located, and the car parked, our thoughts turned to pitching the tent. With a lack of space camp had been set up in a forest which offered limited options in the way of spacious areas for our tent. Eventually erected, wedged between two trees and with a prickly bush in the porch, we felt quite pleased that we had arrived, perhaps not in style, but arrived nonetheless.
As expected the morning arrived on the heals of the night before but the previous days fun had left the lads reluctant to abuse their bodies too much more so lower level plans were made. Being keener than an accountant presenting a bill I wanted to head up into the hills and have a look around so went to stroll up the valley. Keenly aware that the weather didn't look perfect we didn't hang around much as we marched to the hut close to the summit. At we approached the top the clouds came to see us so the views were somewhat stunted, although we weren't alone on the ridge.
Lunch was noshed in the hut, accompanied by some hot chocolate served by a grizzled mountain bear, or possibly hut warden. On the way up we had bumped into a Swiss family doing the time honoured tradition of dragging unwilling kids up the mountain (OK, so it was an easy day but we all have to warm up somewhere) which wouldn't be remarkable at all except for the fact that after a little chatting we discovered they live less than a mile from my house in Oxford. Small world eh? After lunch the briefest of glances at the sky suggested that now was a good time to be heading down and we obliged. As we reached the top of the cable car the rain started to gather it's enthusiasm for a soaking and we were glad to be heading off, alone with a group of umbrella carrying walkers (did I mention it was an easy days walking?), one of whom begged a lift to his car at the bottom since he had carelessly left it a couple of miles away; no fun in the current climate.
Having finished the day a little early we thought we would head into St. Moritz for a look around at the famous place. Our choice of day was to be against us though with everything shut up tighter than a jam jar lid. A rough stab at the Swiss on ever door hinted that it was a bank holiday for some unknown reason and rather than making the place busy in any way seemed to have transformed it into a rather wet ghost town. True to our student roots we found a bar open in this consumer wasteland and had a drink before heading back to the campsite.
It seems our way home, while not being flawless, had been a lot smoother than Andy's. As only Andy can, he transformed a simple plan into an aggravation with the potential for much worse. Initially the aim was to bike a long road loop on a hired bike, when the bike packed in exactly half way round this soon became just getting back before dark. Being paid up members of Lady Luck's fan club (a necessity after last years trip) there was a railway line on hand to take him most of the way home. Having gotten to within a couple of miles, and being too impatient to wait for a more local train to get him back to the campsite, Andy headed out on the more reliable two feet rather than two wheels. Very reasonable I'm sure we all agree, however we are unsure whether Andy felt a little sunstroke (well, actually there was less chance of that than Tony Blair admitting he is wrong) or he just felt a paternal instinct for the bike he broke but he decided to carry it back with him, when locking it to a post (or scrapping the bloody thing) was the clear course of action with no less than three cars at out disposal to pick it up. With Andy back we only waited for Duncan and Chipper to arrive back from climbing, which given the wet weather and Duncan's traditional assault speed up crags could have been some time