They are everywhere: those signs with the big red ring around them telling you what is forbidde. There is never a sign to tell you what is allowed, but probable there are so few things allowed it would not be worth it.
Although it is in the German languages, because where I live it is the main way to communicate, there are pictures for the foreigners, so no-one gets away with it. Before I set foot on the path I notice that if I am in a car, or perched on a motor bike or motor cycles I should forget it. And riding a horse is absolutely not allowed on this path. However there is an exception, there are always exceptions to the rules. Agricultural municipal traffic is allowed, meaning if the local government supplies you with a tractor or harvesting machine, you can use it. I was puzzled, as when you reach the end of the slope there is a narrow footpath and a river runs at the bottom. The only thing you could harvest would be a few fish, and you cannot do that with agricutural machinery. The path would be too narrow in any case.
A few years ago it was decided, by the local powers that be, that the main road through our village should be repaired: not really repaired, but replaced. For a few months you had to take the scenic route over hills and dales (and hills in Switzerland are more small mountains, the dales being miniature valleys) which would add half an hour onto the journey to the local supermarket.
We were the lucky ones as our home is on the edge of the village and we had an escape route. However, taking a walk to the top part of the village was denied. Our exit was blocked by the famous red and white wooden board and if you did walk around it and manage to cross the road there was no way to walk further as the sidewalk no longer existed. It had been removed waiting for a nice new replacement. The chickens were all relieved as they were no longer asked such silly questions about why they wanted to cross the road.
In other words if uncle Fritz and his family lived in the top half of the village you communicated by e-mail or perhaps flag signals and telephone. Now and again you would look in the family album to remind you of his physical details. Of course, all things come to pass, and eventually the road was opened – on one side. Those wanting to go in the opposite direction were still driving up mountain paths.
All the cows lived on the other side of the village and I missed them for my camera. One day the work was finished completely and we now have a nice new road, although all the railway crossings were now closed by barriers which open and close when the train passes through, accompanied by an acousitc “bing-bong” sound. Now everyone in the village knows when the train is approaching.
They also closed one of the main road exits and entrances to the village, finding it not really necessary. It was a good exit because it was opposite the road continuation to the top part of the village and its castle, leading to the next village where the supermarket was. Who cares, we had a new road.
This now belongs to the past, and when I tell my grandchildren one day about the time when we were cut off from the world, they will not believe me I am sure.