The Pilgrimage to Blancpain in Le Brassus
Text and pictures by Jeffrey Kingston and Hans Zbinden, Copyright 2001.

As faithful readers of Timezone may recall, I have been to Blancpain before. A little over a year ago, I found that I could take what otherwise would be an utterly boring day holed up in Brussels recovering from jet lag and, with a minor detour, fly directly into Geneva and, jet lag and all, motor my way to Le Brassus to visit Blancpain. Thinking of it as a day off from the working treadmill, I dubbed the adventure “Ferris Buehler’s Day Off” after the film. (See Timezone Classics 1075 ). At the time, I thought the financial damage would be at maximum limited to a rental car, a night at a superb hotel in Montreux (the Hotel Victoria, a member of the Relais & Chateaux group), and dinner at a nearby Michelin 3 Star restaurant, Le Pont de Brent.

The things Jeff's poor stomach had to endure: Foie Gras and rabbit sweetbread with lentils, a starter at the Pont de Brent

Well Ferris Buehler’s Day Off set in motion more than little pricey missives to American Express Credit Card central; another idea hatched. I was so overwhelmed by the old world craft that I had seen in Le Brassus that I became determined have a watch that was made in that little farmhouse. More than that, I wanted to arrange through my dealer to meet the watch maker beforehand, discuss little details on how the watch would be done—dial etc., accompany him to his bench to get started, then fly back over when it was done and pick it up and take it to its new home on my wrist. 

That fantasy did not quite play out. For a good reason. Opportunity knocked and when I returned I found available a wonderful Blancpain 8 day automatic tourbillon with a very special silvered dial. 

To heck with waiting months for a watch to be built just so I could shake hands twice with a watch maker, I could have the watch now. So Ferris, paying just a bit more than a dinner with fine wine at Le Pont de Brent, had his tourbillon, which indeed came from that wonderful Blancpain farm house that I had visited. Then a new idea germinated—why not embark on a pilgrimage back to Switzerland and meet the watch maker after the fact?

With the wonder of modern e-mails the date was set to return to Le Brassus, watch in hand to shake the hand of the man who brought it into this world. Happily Hans was game to come along and join on the visit, which was now a legitimate pilgrimage, to Le Brassus.

I've been admiring Blancpain ever since I saw their then new and now classic Moonphase Calendar nearly twenty ago. This is a watch that is symbolic for the resurgence of Swiss watchmaking in the 80's and  has served as a template for countless models from dozens of brands. A lot of snow has fallen in the Vallee de Joux since then and Blancpain's palette has increased enormously, ranging from ultramodern sports watches to one of the most complicated wristwatches ever made. Ownership has changed and their style has evolved. Who would believe that these two watches were from the same brand - or even the same planet as a matter of fact - and that they were introduced a mere 15 years apart from each other ? 

Alas, my wrist is still waiting to be graced by a Blancpain. Being mostly interested in big and gruesome sports watches,  I had to wait a long time for an appropriate model to enter their catalog. With the introduction of the Trilogy Series and especially the Concept versions, it can only be a matter of time until my resistance breaks. 

So I was of course delighted when Jeff asked me to join him on his pilgrimage, we've been wanting to meet each other for some time now and finally our schedules matched. We were destined to get along well as the mutual love of watches, food, travel and wine provided endless topics to discuss. 

Leaving work early on Thursday afternoon, I boarded the train to Montreux and spent an anxious journey mentally brushing up my rusty French for the next day's meeting with the watchmakers - is it "le montre" or "la montre" ? What's the word for "dial" ?? How would I say "May I hear that repeater please" ??? I decided to let Jeff do the talking.

It must have been close to twenty years since my last visit to Montreux when I went to see Albert Collins play at the jazz festival  that's held at the Casino every summer (the original building's tragic demise is well documented in Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water"). My evening was spent in a far less spectacular fashion then Jeff's. I unpatriotically shunned the local specialty  "saucissons aux choux" (pork and cabbage sausages) and instead went for some Thai food, had a nightcap at the bar of the wonderfully old-fashioned Palace Hotel and turned in early, knowing that I was set to meet Jeff at 8 o'clock somewhere up a snowy mountain. 

Always one to latch onto a good thing, Ferris Buehler returned to the Hotel Victoria as the starting place for our pilgrimage. The pilgrimage had its perils however—the Victoria is perched, maybe the better description is that it “clings” to a cliff top above Montreux. 

Following a spectacular dinner the night before with friends that saw four extraordinary bottles of Bordeaux give their corks for France (we're talking 1970 Le Pin here, folks), I had to navigate and skid my way back up the steep snowy grade to the Victoria at 1 am in a full fledged blizzard. One tests ones meddle on a pilgrimage and I tested mine coaxing my poor rental car up the slope in my vinus haze. As the photo shows, the next morning dawned in spectacular fashion—this is view out the window before heading downstairs to meet Hans.

I felt terribly Swiss walking into the lobby of Jeff's hotel as the village church bells were chiming 8 o'clock. Being late isn't a Swiss concept - not with all those watches around. When we finally arrived in Le Brassus a half an hour late, a Blancpain employee was already awaiting us at the village square, probably worried that the two townsfolk had lost their way in the snowstorm. As documented in A visit to Philippe Dufour ,I had been in the region the summer before and along the way, repeatedly  encouraged Jeff that the route we were taking looked familiar and that we must be on the right way. Little did I know that we were approaching the valley from a completely different direction, my navigational skills have not improved since then.

While the skiers in nearby Verbier may have been rejoicing—Hans and I set out on the drive to Le Brassus grimly worrying about crossing the pass Col de Mollendruz which I remembered from the last time. We crawled over the pass, good pilgrims that we were, and snaked and skidded our way on the slushy road along the lakeside, arriving a bit late to Blancpain.

Here is the view on arrival—quaint little farm house just like the catalogue (albeit the catalogue shows the other side of the building) and, just like the catalogue, thanks to our friendly little blizzard, a blanket of snow.

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