UBC October 2026 - Disentis: Under the Rock

Our earlier stop prior to arriving in Ilanz, was Disentis, where we arrived around lunchtime.

And, once again, we encountered the Monday problem: not exactly an abundance of open restaurants.

So we ended up at the Bahnhofbuffet.

Now, if you're American, the word “buffet” may conjure up something quite different from what I mean. A Swiss Bahnhofbuffet is a traditional, full-service railway-station restaurant; a concept that used to be everywhere in Switzerland and has now almost disappeared.

The idea dates back to the early days of the railway. Before trains were fast enough to make long journeys without a proper meal break, passengers would get off at stations and eat there. Bahnhofbuffets eventually became proper restaurants and meeting places, serving not only travellers but also locals. At one point, Switzerland had more than 140 of them.

Most are gone now.

Except, apparently, under the rock in Disentis. ;-) and I don't mean that disrespectfully.

On this particular gorgeous late-summer day, absolutely everybody had the same idea: sit outside.

Every table on the terrace was taken.

Which brings me to the other recurring theme of this trip: apparently, we had decided to abandon the very Swiss habit of leaving strangers completely alone.

I spotted a cyclist sitting at one of the tables and asked whether we could join him.

He graciously said yes.

He was from southern Germany, had the most charming Bavarian accent, and, naturally, had stories to tell.

A lot of them involved Deutsche Bahn.

If you've ever travelled by train in Germany, you probably don't need much explanation. The country's rail infrastructure has suffered from years of underinvestment and deferred maintenance, and even Germany's Federal Court of Auditors has described the infrastructure as outdated and neglected, resulting in hefty delays or even trains being canceled altogether on a regular basis.

So our new table companion had plenty of material.

These days, instead of relying on Deutsche Bahn, he cycles from his home in southern Germany all the way down into this part of Graubünden. And he was thoroughly enjoying it.

The cleanliness.

The roads.

The scenery.

The general feeling that things actually work.

And, frankly, he wasn't wrong.

There is something wonderfully heile Welt about this part of Graubünden. The expression is difficult to translate literally. It describes a world that feels idyllic, peaceful and almost untouched by the problems of everyday life; the kind of place where everything looks as though it is exactly as it should be.

Clean villages. Mountains everywhere. Flower boxes. Cows. Rivers. People sitting outside having lunch on a sunny day.

It looks almost suspiciously perfect.

Of course, there is another side to that picture.

Graubünden, along with other mountainous Swiss states,  has what you might call the Bergkanton problem: once you're outside the main tourist centres, there simply aren't that many jobs.

Apart from tourism and the handful of trades and services every village needs, employment opportunities are limited. Young people often leave for education and jobs in the Unterland, the lower, more urban parts of Switzerland, while their parents and grandparents continue to live and somehow make a living back home.

So there is a slightly strange contrast.

You can have this absolutely idyllic little mountain world, and at the same time, the people who grow up there may have to leave it if they want a wider choice of education or careers.

But sitting there at the Bahnhofbuffet, on a beautiful late-summer day, with a Bavarian cyclist telling us Deutsche-Bahn horror stories, it was difficult to think about any of that for very long.

It was just a lovely place to have lunch.

And once again, we had somehow ended up talking to a complete stranger.

Apparently, that was becoming a theme.

And what did we have for lunch?

Capuns.

If you've never heard of them, you're not alone. Capuns are one of the quintessential specialties of Graubünden: a savoury dough made with flour and eggs, traditionally mixed with bits of cured meat and herbs, wrapped in Swiss chard leaves and then cooked in a broth-and-milk mixture. They're usually served with cheese and often bacon on top.

And here's the best part: there is no such thing as the Capuns recipe.

Every valley has its variations, and apparently every local's mother makes the best Capuns. Naturally, hers are the real ones.

Which is exactly the kind of regional food tradition I like: nobody can quite agree on the recipe, but everybody is absolutely certain their family's version is superior.

It's not my favorite thing to eat, but I followed hubby's principle: when in Rome (or Disentis, in this case),... Would you dare to order Capuns?