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Sherlock Holmes Museum

Sherlock Holmes - The myth lives on. This is proven by the innumerable traces of Holmes in Meiringen.
The Sherlock Holmes Museum is one of the highlights, besides the bronze statue and the roaring
Reichenbach Falls with the fateful battle site.


A century-old church in the Swiss Alps has a surprising basement. Down a tight stairway, past a plate of bullets and
a bent fireplace poker, ancient Afghan swords hang as dcor. Its all purposefully dark. That helps disguise any
tobacco stains left by the chain-smoking inhabitants.
A view of Meiringen, Switzerland, from Reichenbach Falls (Photograph by schmaeche, Flickr)

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Sherlock Holmes Museum is fascinatingand pretty funny. Here, in the wee basement of the towns terra-cotta-
roofed English Church, one finds a faithful replica of Holmes and Dr. Watsons living room from 221B Baker
Street.
Its a convincing peek into Victorian London, right down to the audible clip-clop of horses passing by the window,
Sherlocks Inverness cape draped over a chair, and a black felt hat the detective wore, the museum informs us
seriously, on at least 22 occasions. His famed double-billed deerstalker hat is here, too.
Why is all this in central Switzerland?
Because this is the ultimate pilgrimage site for Sherlock fans. Literally. In the story The Final Problem, Sherlock
(along with his nemesis, Professor Moriarty) plunged to his death at Reichenbach Falls just outside town.
(Spoiler alert: It didnt last. Sherlocks creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, had a change of heart a couple years later
and resurrected his famous detective for yet more adventures.)
Meiringen is a nice place, filling a tight valley dotted with waterfalls and high-up hikes. Its at the end of a railway
spur, half way between Interlaken and Lucerne, making it an easy day trip from either city.


Im here for just half a day. A short walk from the train station, at Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Place no less, I spot ten
illustrated panels recounting Sherlocks fateful visit, and follow them inside the steepled museum. A lively gray-
haired local sells me a combo ticket for the museum and falls (11 Swiss francs, or about US$12) and we chat about
all this Sherlock stuff thats overtaken her town of 4,500 in the canton of Bern.
I like Sherlock Holmes, yes. Hes important for us, she says, pausing. But I like my gallery more.
The church chapel now hosts a series of blurrily artful photographs a local has made. I breeze past it, but I am here
for the detective after all, so begin the small museums entertaining audio tour. At designated stops, I press a button
and a lip-smacking English voice comes on to briskly explain what Im seeing.
A statue of Sherlock Holmes graces
what is now known as Conan Doyle
Place. (Photograph by wanderingYew2,
Flickr)

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Opened on May 4, 1991the very centennial of Sherlocks fallthe museum curators clearly took great
satisfaction in adding details of the period, like hatboxes and skis and satchels, and an old blade a London bobby
would use for removing putty from window glazing.
Next to a framed certificate of citizenship the town awarded to Sherlock, a tiny portrait of a stern-looking man
wearing a wig fit for parliament stares at me. I read that its Anthony D. Howlett, the initiator and advisor for the
museum, as well as a former Remembrancer of the City of London. (One of his duties, the sign tells us, was
ensuring no one infringes on [London]s age-old rights and privileges.)
I realize that Im sort of entering another world. Part historical, part literary, and part theater of the absurd. The tour
wraps up with a plaque conceding that Sherlock, indeed, was a man who never lived, but today is more real than
many who did.
Then I look for meringue.
Its said, though not always convincingly, that Meiringen is the birthplace, and namesake, of meringue. Several local
bakeries and restaurants are certainly happy to embrace the legend, whipping up egg whites into various sweet
concoctions with proud gusto. I opt against the fancier sit-down versionswhich run ten or more Swiss francsand
go with a palm-sized chocolate meringue for just half a franc instead.
I take it to-go, as Im en route to the famous falls, which I reach after a 15-minute walk in the sun. A few years after
Doyle (and Holmes, naturally) visit, a cog railway was added to make the trip up less of an ordeal. The ride certainly
retains a Victorian air, with cotton curtains on open windows. The kids of the Italian-speaking family who butted
past me in the tiny line let out calls of wonder as we chug down the elevated track above rushing torrents below.
After a few minutes, the train stops at a tiny station just short of the top of the falls. Full water droplets hit me as I
take in the roar and begin the short steep hike up toward a bridge that spans the frightful chasm. There I stand above
gullies of carved-out rock as the water bends by and dips out of sight. No one could ever survive that fall, I think.
Not even Robert Downey, Jr.
A gasthaus villa catches my eye, and I make a climb for it. A handful of people are eating and drinking beer on
picnic tables overlooking the full valley. I stop for a sandwich of cheese and ham fanned out like a winning poker
hand between heavily buttered slices of black bread. I wonder, why dont Americans make sandwiches like that?
Revived, I return to the falls and realize I had missed the stations small sitting room before. I peek in and find a tiny
pre-flat-screen TV in a corner, playing a loop of possibly the worst reenactment ever recorded, in which actors in
Holmesian costumes exit a 21st-century van, ride the train up, and flip open their capes with bravado. The video
ends with a couple of dummies being tossed over the wall. I sit and watch this short Zumstein/Huggler Film twice,
absolutely delighted.

For More Info: Log On to http://www.sherlockholmes.ch/