Back in 1968 Paul McCartney sat at his piano in the Highlands of Scotland and penned the Beatles’ final number one single “The Long and Winding Road”. Asked about it in interviews, McCartney explained: “I have always found inspiration in the calm beauty of Scotland.”

The traditional route
For me the same can be said of the road that winds from Bulle through Montbovon, Rossinière and Rougemont up the valley to Gstaad. In recent years not quite as long and winding thanks to excellent road upgrades, but still as special. I recall my impressions on that first journey made over 30 years ago: the sharp left-hand bend in Les Moulins, a corner so tight it seemed as though the twinkling chalet roofs on either side of the road must surely touch; the first snatched glimpse of the Palace Hotel and the Hotel Christiania’s welcoming lights that signified our 11-hour journey was at an end.

The 1982 route
But we haven’t always taken this road to the Saanenland. In fact, my husband’s first-ever journey to Gstaad was far more (how should I put this?) “entertaining”. It was 1982 and he was driving a VW Golf that had spent its entire life in London. In those days, there was no talk of winterising vehicles or winter tyres, so armed with a paper map of Europe and adventure in his heart, he navigated his way to Gstaad by way of Les Diablerets and Col du Pillon. In the snow. Along barrier-less roads that felt extremely long and very, very winding. It was, he reflects, “interesting”.

The REALLY long route
But then there is the travel experience of my friend’s father to consider. It was New Year’s Eve about ten years ago. He was scheduled to land in Geneva around mid-afternoon and catch the train to Gstaad. All well and good. Except it wasn’t. Because thanks to a big weather event his aeroplane got diverted. To Grenoble. In France. Which left him faced with a four-hour bus replacement trip (irony of ironies longer than his flight). After hours of ‘will he/won’t he?’ speculation, it was a case of all’s well that ends well. By the skin of his teeth, he Auld Lang Syned his way into the new year. But it was a close-run thing.

The predictable route
Which brings me to possibly the most predictable way of travelling to the Saanenland: by train. A journey that is swift and comfortable against a backdrop of staggeringly beautiful scenery, it really is an experience not to be missed. (Side note: a day return to Montreux makes an excellent excursion.) And unlike the bus transfer from Grenoble, the train runs to a fixed schedule.

The swift route
If you want to skip the long and winding road entirely, there is another option: private jet to Gstaad airport. But it’s just as well I’ve reached the word limit on this article because I have no relevant stories to share. At least not yet. But I’m an optimist by nature, so let’s pencil in that update for next year.

It Always Leads Me Here
Whatever your mode of transport, it’s reassuring to know the long and winding road to Gstaad “will never disappear … always leads me here.” Thanks for that, Paul. I couldn’t have put it better myself.

ANNA CHARLES