We had managed to land in an "absolute silence" club car! Already our fellow passengers were only too "vocal" in their shushing gestures, standing with fingers on their lips, indicating that we dare not even speak in the most subdued whispers. Well, there was no way we could drag all our luggage to the upper car! And so the "hush-hush set" welcomed us to Europe.
It's amazing how loud every sound is when NO SPEAKING whatsoever is allowed. Every sibilant blast of the car door opening, every word of the subdued station announcements, and the deafening roar of the train as it races through frequent tunnels. Only the conductor who punched the tickets was allowed to speak (no one dared to shush him!)
And so we were policed by our fellow travelers, all the way across the country. After Bern, when only a single passenger besides ourselves remained, we leaned our heads together and exchanged a few quiet words. From the other end of the car came the angry snap of newspaper pages being turned. The only sound of normal human commerce was the pleasant laughter of several women in the next car.
When we reached Visp, the paper-snapper joined us on the departure platform at the end of the quiet car. As he prepared to disembark, he set down his leather briefcase and smoothed his silvery hair and navy blazer to put his best foot forward. When we pulled into the station and the train stopped, he pantomimed instructions that I should exit to the right. "Surely we can use words now," I smiled, and reached up to push the green button that would open the door to the platform.
"No, no," he insisted, as he jerked my hand from the button. Startled, I pulled away. Meanwhile, the sociable ladies from the next car had arrived. One of them quickly wrenched his hand aside and pressed the button to open the door. I stood back and let the Swiss sort it out.
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