Glorious day. I walked along the north shore of the Walensee 425m to Weesen, also 425m. It is not as simple as that. There is first, a 1200 foot cliff which has to be negotiated by a good path and has an alp on top at 833m. This is pleasant and with good views of the Churfirsten but the path down is a steep, slippery, twisting Sciatica Special to the lakeside. Then, it is gently up and down to Quinten on the lake shore, which someone said is the nicest place in St Gallen Kanton but is very twee in a Hampsteady sort of way. None the worse for that. I had a beer, which I certainly needed for the next stretch. It is a plain straight path on the map but crosses plenty of contours. When you think you are up (1000 feet), the old path is destroyed and you have to go up further beside the waterfall to 770m. I met a bunch of Appenzeller ladies here and chatted with them on and off to Weesen. They stopped at one point and I went on to Strahlegg and stopped for another beer, where they caught me up. Weesen is a typical Swiss Lakeside Resort village, horse buses etc. I stayed at the Park Hotel Schwert, posh but not that expensive. There was Beethoven on the radio. However, I could hear outside, that extraordinary sound only produced by one of those Swiss Town Bands with the fantastic uniforms made of a sort of patchwork and instruments specially selected to be out of tune. It turned out, on enquiry, to have been specially hired for a wedding!. A Canadian family, temporarily resident in Switzerland, were camping near the lake (camper truck brought over). Nice views along the lake in the evening. I took 8 hours on this six hour walk, because of the beers and chats.

Weesen is at 425m. Drizzle at first. I walked down to the Escher Kanal, which is the River Linth from Glarus and along its banks. I ducked under a hotel to read the map at Näfels to be greeted from a window by a tarty-looking black girl in a silver dressing gown. Could not have been a real tart at that time in the morning. The rain stopped at Netstal, a name which rang a bell, confirmed when I saw the big filter paper factory. They made all the filter paper I had ever used. Towards Glarus, the intermittent industry died out. The entrance to the Klontal was very grand but we don't go up it, this time. This is still towering limestone country. South down the Linthal Monday 30th May Schlattberg to Braunwald (half-day walk) LK 246 My rest day. The son of the house, about 8, served me a very large breakfast very correctly. I think they thought my putting cold milk in tea very odd but they never have English people here. (In fact, this area is only touristy for big city Swiss). It had rained all night and saw no reason to stop. I walked the 2 1/2 hours to Braunwald, which included more of the steep wood path and meadows at the top at 1388m. It was misty, so I saw no view to speak of. Braunwald at 1256m is a ski resort, again for locals only but the Hotel Alpenblick was open and took a half-board booking, making it cheaper. I walked round the village while they prepared my room.

It was all quiet except for the builders. The hotel was by the station and at the start of the path to Nüssbuhl for tomorrow. The staff were very friendly. I spent the rest of the day reading my book (Alan Clark's Diaries, a fascinating picture of the plotting in the Thatcher government). At dinner, I chatted with some difficulty to a half-deaf Swiss Jew from somewhere on Lake Constance. I now had a rotten cold and sweated pig-wise into their duvet all night, having bad dreams.

To continue the original route, at Schwanden, where the valley divides (the other, easterly arm going to Elm), I stopped for spaghetti carbonara at an Italian restaurant. Then, along the west valley to Luchsingen 572m , where the path goes up to Braunwald - 3 1/2 hours, it said. It had already been a fairly full day (5 hours), as the rain takes it out of you, so I started slogging very slowly and now in the sun up the steep forest path, thinking that this was loony. Fortunately after 50 minutes and 1000 feet, I saw an inn. This was Schlattberg at 863m, a so-called Feriensdörfli and I booked in. It was a family-run place: the family were watching a Grand Prix which Damon Hill won. There was recent plumbing and it was very cheap. I collapsed into a bath - luxury - locking everybody else out for an hour. The landlord played the guitar and the landlady was charming in a barmaidy sort of way. I ate too much today, as there was a good solid compulsory supper to be had.