Take-off

MY COMPANION breathes heavily as we follow the earthy path up a flower-spattered grassy bank. His top lip doesn’t fully close over his large teeth, so there is no acoustic wall between his mouth and the air.

He stops frequently for a rest, or food. That’s okay with me, I’m enjoying his presence and letting him be who he wants to be. He emanates a wooly warmth even though his demeanor is somewhat aloof.

We were introduced to the llamas before we began our walk with them. They live on the side of a mountain in a wooden barn with horses, two huge black pigs, a couple of alpaca and two young sheep looking very dapper in short brown curls. Their long-haired owner is Hugo Frieden whose surname means peace: his name is his nature. Frieden is the antithesis of the Swiss cliched banking look. But we have been surprised, on this summer visit to Gstaad, ski destination of the wealthy – at just how back-to-the-land the farming community is here.

Frieden is laid-back and has a kinship with animals. He once lived in Peru and was so enamoured of llama trekking that he began his own tours when he returned to his family farm in Switzerland. He also brings goats and pigs trekking and is training the dapper ovines to trek too.

There are seven llamas and four of us trekking today – so we get a long-necked, furry beast each. When you enter the llamas’ home they watch you, wide-eyed and inquisitive, and yet, when you get up close, they won’t look you in the eye. Neither are they very touchy/feely. They will let you stroke them, explains Frieden, but don’t touch them on their head or back.

Yes, the calmest llama is called Dalai. However, I get Nectar and we head off into the Alps. Without a llama you are just another trekker, but with one you become a photo opportunity. We get snapped frequently: it is like taking an A-lister out for a walk in the hills. Nectar is not a born leader and, when he gets in front, he will often pull back on the rein, refusing to go on. You are meant to lead your animal by walking ahead of it and pulling the rein to encourage them forward, but I am not inclined to exhaust my leadership qualities on a llama trek and so Nectar and I hang about at the back because he will always follow.

And, as we meander along an alm path, where stiff rock-peaked mountains loom as a backdrop, each llama’s character emerges, testing the character of the person holding it. Dalai calmly walks along to the smiling contentment of its leader.

Another, whose owner appeared to be admirably in charge, tested her by literally running rings around her until she had to let go of the rein and he ran off, tasting freedom but not being captivated by it, thus making it easy to be caught by the unflustered Frieden. Another llama lay down periodically, dramatically. “I can’t go on!” it seemed to cry, while his leader waited for him to get over it and he carried on walking happily enough until the next collapse.

“We could swap llamas, if you like,” suggested one woman after we’d stopped for lunch. “No!,” we all cried. As difficult as they could be, we had grown attached to our charges.That is their paradox: llamas are aloof and yet you get to know them quickly. Anything can happen with a llama and you learn to accept the lack of certainty and roll with the changes: they make you lose control tendencies and lighten up. As you walk with them you always have to be aware of the beast beside, who serendipitously walks at a human pace, so you can’t get lost in circular thoughts. It induces a semi-meditative state.

We play a rhyming game, beginning with “llamas make you calmer”. Frieden is a llama farmer. We’ve experienced llama drama. But most of all, we’ve got llama karma. ‘

llama treks start at €35, see lama-und-co.chand gstaad.ch