Grauwesse is the terminus of the night ferry, the far-flung port where the pleasure-seekers land before dispersing north. Its docks are massive and long and unforgiving in the winter, but full year-round with the grit of day-laborers soliciting puffy-eyed cruisers. Unseemly industries encroach into the main square, casting soot skyward behind the half-built church steeple.
Between the fall and winter, when the leaves have mostly fallen and the resort lodge skiers have not yet arrived, there is mulled wine and hot cider for the few who come in off the ferry and wander into the main square. At this moment, visitors may see the drab gray facades turn slightly silver in the early light of winter cast from the first snows off the mountain peaks beyond.