I had a friend; a tall, lanky, marathon running German electrical engineer.
His girlfriend was studying in Zürich; I went to visit.
Claus and I took day trips by rail with our red Swiss flexi passes.
Up and down to glaciers and valleys.
More than mountains, I was keen for the dining car.
Claus had warned me it would not be worth it.
Immediately we heard Eastern European arguing, shouts from the Chef and the waitress.
It began to look like there would be no lunch.
We sat at a close quartered table and stared up through the glass ceiling, cool air and tall trees to clear Swiss sky.
A miracle of melon with perfect prosciutto in the hand of a smiling woman appeared.
Claus was shocked and suddenly hungry.
Breaking baguette, we dabbed butter on every other bite.
There was another course, perhaps veal.
But it is overshadowed in memory by such a perfect prosciutto wrapped melon.