Piz Gloria is Schilthorn. Piz Gloria wasn’t actually a thing until Fleming made it a thing. The revolving restaurant that was in the process of being built in 68’ scouted by Hubert Fröhlich for the upcoming celluloid Bond, On her Majesty’s Secret Service. It ran out of ideas and money, the Bond Production company EON stepped in with a rescue package which enabled them to redesign the construction to fit the narrative of the movie.
Off the gondola from Birg at Schilthorn, spearheading the pack of Chinese tourists, left the missus for dusk. Up two escalators, through the souvenir shop to the roof. Made it, the very epicenter of the Bond universe. Two 2-d Lazenby statuettes made from acetate and durable fibre glass positioned themselves proudly on the skydeck where Bond stockpiled his shag list during a game of curling.
The snow spat with the velocity of a gritter truck. The Chinese tourists erupted onto the skydeck like one of those videos you see of American’s invading a Walmart on Black Friday. God bless them, injecting hard currency into Bond World, no doubt single-handedly financing Piz Gloria’s operations and keeping the Brocolli’s in Bollinger. Inside, to the restaurant. €33 for a Bond brunch which did not consist of beluga caviar north of the Caspian, or a Dom Perignon ’58. But baked beans, crispy bacon, waffles, Goulash soup and strips of seasoned salmon. Perfectly acceptable. The original gold lattice grill caressed the lip of the stairs (replaced by bamboo for the Tracy fight) behind was a picture of Ursula Andress in the ravishing loin bikini. Gone is the log fire and sofas adorned with Blofeld’s angels of death, in its place the buffet and Bond bar, unmanned.
“Can you not just enjoy the view,” the missus sighed. “Of course” I said embarrassed, putting my phone down. I had updated 4 social media platforms announcing my arrival, such a gloating sycophantic twat. Ignoring the panorama of snowy peaks of Jungfrau & co in the distance as the restaurant rotated, almost to the point of discombobulation, especially when one is on his 4th glass of white Merlot from Ticino. The only place where white Merlot grows, the Ticino region. I felt incredibly Bond knowing that. Incredibly smug. What an incredibly smug twat I’ve become.