Fly by sight
The noise is loud and sounds like a lion with croup.
'Hahhhhhahhhhhhwah'
And then it stops and all that can be heard on the northern flank of the Saane Valley, two hours from Geneva, is the whisper of snow falling, a slight sibilance that is almost a noise in reverse, like an anti-sound.
'Everything is muffled when it snows,' says Therese, the guide leading our party up a near vertical slope. 'Except the balloons.'
A distant hot-air balloon was the source of the leonine grumbling that made us stop, the spikes on our snow shoes jammed into a layer of snow, ice and rock, our bodies bent inward to the rock face as we fought gravity.
'No flying today,' says Therese. 'Too much wind.'
Reaching the top of a scree our party pauses and looks back across the valley to the village of Chateau d'Oex, the centre of the Pays-d'Enhaut in the Bernese Alps. Thick snowflakes divide the view into fragments but it is still possible to see a white field full of colourful balloons. Only one is fully inflated, tiny figures at its base straining to keep the wicker basket earthbound.
'Hahhhhahhhhwah,' the balloon roars again and an orange tongue of flame shoots up inside.
'That's Bernard in that balloon,' says Therese. 'He hates it when he can't fly.'
'Balloons follow the currents,' says Michel Parmigiani, the company's founder and a skilled balloonist - it takes seven years to qualify as a balloon pilot. 'The Saane Valley has a unique micro-climate that offers some of the most challenging airflows in Europe.'
That means it's possible to go up fast and move forward quickly but for now we are earthbound and, in the Pays-d'Enhaut , that's hardly a disappointment.
The gym itself is perched atop a terraced garden and looks out over the Wasserngrat mountain. Within the same complex is a heated pool, part of it outdoors, a spa, squash courts and a champagne bar. Fifty tonnes of granite were used to build the 60 metre wall that snakes through the health club to create a soothing light that reflects the pristine Alpine sky outside. The gym is a necessary accompaniment to the cosseting; last night's dinner was a fondue calorie-fest with chunks of bread to dip into the delicious Etivaz cheese, a local speciality.
But this is winter and although there is plenty of skiing and snowboarding on offer - the Stade Slalom Rougemont with its illuminated night skiing is especially recommended - we are returning to the Chateau-d'Oex launch pad to see if the winds are now favourable.
Beyond Rougemont, Chateau-d'Oex appears and it has been transformed. In the large field below the 17th century church three dozen enormous blooms decorate the snow, each one a silk envelope plumped to bursting with hot gases and suspended above a wicker basket. The balloons have flowered and we are ready to take-off.
The pilot is none other than Bernard, the impatient balloonist from the day before. Once we are airborne it's apparent that his temperament changes as soon as his wicker basket is off the snow. The ascent makes me feel like a bubble in a glass of champagne, it's so dreamlike and serene. There is no wind and the only noise comes from the whisper of cold air running over the steel ropes that attach to the gaudily coloured envelope overhead. The valley seems to grow beneath our feet, cleaving the rock with its passage and scattering the occasional village, like Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs.
Minutes later, some of the serenity vanishes. Two of the balloons ahead of us have been blown down a side valley and Bernard announces that these unfortunates will now have to land in Montreux, a two-hour drive away. In the small space, three metres by two, Bernard scuttles about, buffeting all five passengers in the basket as he pulls ropes and adjusts the flow of gas from the containers in each of the four corners. We descend rapidly and with Bernard still careening about it feels like we're playing blind-man's bluff in a large shopping-basket. Now the trees are speeding towards us like Macbeth's Birnam Wood, a threatening mass that looks all wrong when viewed from an unexpected angle.
Suddenly the descent is over and we are soaring up and to the south side of the valley, away from the Montreux gap. We bury our fear beneath jovial back-slapping and jokes at the expense of the two balloons that have now disappeared over the wrong mountain.
Leaving for Hong Kong an hour later the valley looks softened, the snow seductive. Chateau d'Oex does not let go easily, it plants too many memories. It will let you leave but you'll want to come back.