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By 1874 this judgement had changed to ‘fair quarters with good cuisine’.
    Winding our way up the valley of the Germanasca, the house of Mr Tron is passed, ‘a singularly handsome structure in such a situation. He is a man remarkable for his hospitality; but this virtue does not extend to his wife and family, and the stranger who expects to receive it will fare ill in his absence.’
    In the neighbourhood of Muotta the ‘ancient and primitive’ convent of St Joseph will provide accommodation for the night: ‘The sisters are poor, and their mode of living homely; they make their own clothes and their own hay; the superior is called Frau Mutter. They receive visits from strangers without the intervention of a grating, and will even give lodging to a respectable traveller. Whoever avails himself of this must remember that the convent is too poor to afford gratuitous hospitality.’
    A more interesting experience could be had at the baths of Leuk, where: ‘The accommodation is as good as can be expected, considering that the houses (except the Hôtel Maison Blanche) are made of wood, not very well built, shut up and abandoned from October to May. From the dreariness of the situation, the coldness of the climate, and the defects of the lodging, few English would desire to prolong their stay here, after satisfying their curiosity by a sight of the place. The baths and adjacent buildings have been three times swept away by avalanches …’
    The notion of risk may stimulate the jaded traveller, but the concupiscent voyeur would surely be tempted to linger at Leuk due to the following: ‘Four hours of subaqueous penance are, by the doctor’s decree, succeeded by one hour in bed; and many a fair nymph in extreme negligé, with stockingless feet, and uncoifed hair, may be encountered crossing the open space between the bath and the hotels. From their condition one might suppose they had been driven out of doors by an alarm of fire, or some such threatening calamity.’
    By 1873, according to Baedeker, the system had changed: ‘… the patients, clothed in long flannel dresses, sit up to their necks in water in a common bath, where they remain for several hours together. Each bather has a small floating table before him, from which his book, newspaper, or coffee is enjoyed. The utmost order and decorum is preserved. Travellers are invited to view this singular and somewhat uninviting spectacle.’
    The early Murray’s rarely failed to point the traveller’s eye, supposing he should need it, in the direction of good-looking women. Those of the Grindelwald were said to enjoy the reputation of ‘being prettier, or rather, less plain than those of most other Swiss valleys’. The Val Anzasca seems even better endowed: ‘I rarely saw a plain woman: their beautiful faces and fine forms, their look of cheerfulness and independence, and their extreme cleanliness, continually arrested attention.’
    The hotel at the Baths of Monastier is welcome because ‘the filth and privations of those passed en route reconciles the traveller, and almost persuades him that it is tolerable. The mineral waters here are both drunk and employed in baths, and are so abundant that they are employed to turn a mill.’
    Many of the strictures against hotels in the early guidebooks tend to disappear or become modified in later editions, the crusading spirit of Murray and Baedeker in favour of their readers having taken effect. Hotels were by now a speciality of Switzerland, and ‘the modern establishments are models of organisation on a most extensive scale. The smaller inns are often equally well conducted, and indeed in French and German Switzerland a really bad hotel is rarely met with.’
    Baedeker, however, could still remark that: ‘Wine is often a source of much vexation. The ordinary table wines are sometimes so bad that the traveller is compelled to drink