Friday, June 21,2006
Well I never did find Heidi (though I’ve heard rumors she is on the east side of the country). But I did find the Switzerland of my adult dreams and imaginings. While the valleys below with their milking cows and fairy tale memories brought back recollections of Heidi and grass covered hillsides, my adult visions of Switzerland were shaped by the first moment I saw the Alps from above. I was flying from London to Italy on a half empty plane. With the entire row of seats to myself, I had curled on to my side, my head propped on a pillow against the window, and quickly gone back to sleep. For me, plane connections are mere nap interruptions – those moments in a night’s sleep when you recall being awake for a few minutes in some dreamlike state. I don’t know why I woke up at that precise moment, pulled from a dream of my meditation place where fields of flowers lead to swimming pools and forest covered waterfalls. When I opened sleepy eyes to catch my bearings, I saw through the window pane what I thought to be a continuation of the dream. White waves, caught mid-crest, looming, reaching for the sky above, as far as the eye could see. Had I awoken or just changed dreamscapes? The landscape below was unlike anything I had ever seen, magical, as if it belonged to some solar system with two suns and four moons in some galaxy far from our milky streak of sky. I watched mesmerized at these white caps that never ended. One after the other, in endless succession, some peaks like egg whites beat stiff to make meringue, pointing, spire like, to the heavens above; others more like the whipped topping that curls in soft graceful swirls. I saw vanilla ice cream cones and the trays of the divinity candy my house mother taught us to make when I was eleven (I remember we filled a spoon with Crisco, which looked just the same, and fed it whole to an unsuspecting dormmate). Reflecting now I realize I must have been hungry when I woke up..…
The Switzerland of my adult years was some marriage of this personally beheld sight and the marketing clips on television and in tour books. Somewhere beneath all that white, I imagined, opened magical green valleys with little A-roofed houses and wooden shutters, teetering precariously where the vertical cliffs lessened their grade only for a moment to greet one another; two lovers holding hands, little houses hanging precariously from the arms extending outward and upward equally. As the train climbed the hill to Grindelwald in the Bernese Overland (Berner Oberland), this was the Switzerland I saw stretching before me. The houses were not balanced quite as precariously as I had imagined for the valley is relatively level, albeit for only a breath between one mountain and the next. As the train trudged upward, I could catch, in the gaps created by the Vs of hand-holding mountains, glimpses of the snow capped peaks in the distance. Sixty foot evergreens perched upon the tiniest of ledges painted the sheer rock faced cliffs a deep dark green. It was hard to imagine how they root in those tiny little footholds, or should I say rootholds. I later saw with my own eyes how – they actually root in the side of the mountain and grow out perpendicular to the mountain for two or three feet before turning a right angle and going straight upward. It is amazing how nature adjusts herself to her own demands – if only we could learn how to accept and adapt as beautifully as she does.
The Bernese Overland is incredible. If you have only a few days to do Switzerland and you want the marketing brochure Switzerland, this is the place to come. I sat on the train, mouth agape, at the mountains and hills, little towns, and the steel grey rivers rushing from the glaciers still melting above. That brings us to another travel lesson - when you ask for advice pay attention to the ‘yes’s more than the ‘no’s. A couple people had told me Grindelwald was a great little town and the area was beautiful but I second guessed my plan for the 2 ½ hour journey when a local rolled their eyes and declared “Oh, Grindelwald…. It is sooooo touristy.” Indeed it is, but often there is a reason why touristy places are touristy. I was debating whether to go back to Lausanne on Lake Geneva based on this advice. Thank goodness I didn’t. I would have missed what I consider the heart if not the soul of Switzerland. I think the things that make a YES place tend to be more or less the same for everybody, while the things that make a NO place are more individual.
I am now sitting at a little café – the only restaurant that had a lunch meal for under $15 – carbing up for the day. There is no way I cannot hike in this amazing place, despite the fact I came here wearing a skirt and sandals with computer in tow expecting to meander through little tourist towns rather than climb mountains. As usual I haven’t eaten a real meal since Bern three days ago, so I forced myself to sit down.and devoured a Green Giant sized plate of french fries with mayonnaise, a chicken bacon BBQ sandwich (well Swiss BBQ which isn’t really BBQ, in fact I don’t quite know what it was) and a small salad. I’ll be lucky if I can move now, much less hike.
But hike I did and what a hike!! Being my naturally blonde self I managed to pick an innocuous looking little trail that went through the forest, straight up. In seven hours of hiking, which including hundreds of photo stops, three cheese and grapes breaks, and one cat nap, there was not a single solitary soul going the direction I was going. In fact, there were only a handful of couples going the other way. I basically had the side of two mountains to myself; skipping along in my sandals and skirt with my pin-laden backpack and the water bottle clipped to the zipper, passing once in awhile some couple with professional hiking sticks and boots, camel packs, and wick-it gear. They looked at me like I was crazy. At least I didn’t spend a thousand dollars to go walk around outside!
The first half of the path was mostly through forest with an occasional rock-face interruption. All of the sudden, I would walk out from the trees and find myself on a sheer cliff that leveled out for just a moment with trail marks painted to lead the way over and through boulders before going back into the forest. It surprised me every time I came to a new clearing how much tinier the villages below were from the last clearing. The trail leveled out only a handful of times. Most of the way I was climbing, and climbing, and climbing then emerging on the face of the mountain for a few minutes before plunging back into the forest. It was humbling to stand on these pieces of granite, millions of years old, a tiny speck above villages hundreds of years old that were tiny specks in the time of all things. How can we be so insignificant and so significant all at the same time. If I fell the world wouldn’t blink and yet whole lives would be changed forever. My head would start hurting in the midday sun if I started philosophizing, not to mention I needed a distraction from the constant ascent, so I played Generation X and put on my earphones, dancing my way up the side of the mountain.
At about the midway point I crossed a ridge and found myself in fields of grass sprinkled with field flowers – blues, purples, pinks, yellows, and whites were everywhere as if God had just decided to sprinkle confetti on this side of the mountain and not the other. To my left was the notorious Eiger North Wall - one of the major attractions in the Bernese Oberland and a favorite among mountaineers. I had hoped to do the Eiger trail; a six kilometer walk along the foot of this 1,800 meter high vertical rock face. Unfortunately I had dawdled so long taking pictures, there wasn’t enough time to finish the trail before sundown. Next to Eiger is Mönch with Jungfrau visible in the gap where the two meet. The Jungfrau Railway will carry tourists with Swiss Franks to burn through a seven-kilometer tunnel to the eternal snows of the Jungfraujoch – which they claim to be the “Top of Europe” at 4,000+ meters. It is also home to the Jungfrau Railway colony of Greenland dogs. It was the first thing I decided to do when I arrived in the Bernese Overland but was quickly undecided when I found out my railpass wouldn’t work. It was 10 just to get up the hill to Grindlewald. Imagine the price to go to the top of Europe! When I come back to Switzerland, and I will, I will plan on three days in Bernese and buy the railpass that takes me everywhere!
But this time around all I had were my little sandal-clad feet carrying me along the trail just below the tree line, through these fields of green and flowers as I stared, slackjaw, at the three “friends” towering above and ahead of me. I could hear the sound of rushing water from the all the streams and waterfalls where water was still making its way from the melting glaciers to the rivers below. The trail turned a corner and then I saw it - Snow! Having grown up in California and Texas, snow has never ceased to delight me. I’ve never had to deal with it day in and day out as an adult long enough to be annoyed by it. Just the sight of white sends girlhood thrills up my spine. There, lying just ahead of me was a huge patch of snow, at least two feet thick. I could tell how thick it was because it was actually a snow cave – snow suspended by two boulders. Part of the cave had collapsed leaving a hole on one side so I could see how thick the snow was. I was fascinated. I had never seen a snow cave before. I must of shot a hundred pictures - turning left to the snow cave, right to the fields of flowers, behind me to the forest I had crossed and Mattenburg rising in the distance, and then down to the town far below from which I had climbed almost 1,500 meters (approximately 5,000 feet). I couldn’t decide which view was more photo-worthy.
I had seen three people on a ridge ahead and kept expecting them to appear around a corner as I was clicking snapshots. There were no decent ledges here for a timer shot and I wanted to ask them to take a picture for me. I couldn’t imagine what was taking them so long; they weren’t that far away. Thinking this, I rounded the corner and saw the hold up. My snow cave, the one I had seen from above, continued down until it covered part of the trail. This wouldn’t be so bad except pouring out of the mouth of the cave was a small, rushing river. The people were standing on my side of the river, looking at the cave and talking excitedly. It was really cool looking, this cave of snow in the middle of all this rock above green fields of flowers. What perplexed me was what happened to the trail. I could see it on my side of the baby river. I could see the rope that was nailed into the ice of the snow cave, seeming to go inside. But on the other side of the river was a sheer 70 degree, 8 foot embankment, covered in gravel. Surely I wasn’t supposed to cross this river and climb a 70 degree, 8 foot embankment! Remember, now I’m wearing a skirt and sandals.
I had let the people pass me, focused on what was going on with this snow cave on my trail. Upon investigating my two apparent options – go in the cave or up the gravel hill – I decided go back and ask the people if I was missing something. I wasn’t. The trail picked back up after the gravel embankment. So I had two choices. I could continue on, across the little rushing river, to Alpiglen which was less than an hour away now. Or I could turn around and go back down the mountain I had just spent almost six hours climbing. There was no way in hell I was going back down that way. I’m sure the three people thought I was insane. Here they were in full regalia with hiking poles and ropes and boots and here is little-miss-blondie boppin’ along in sandals on a damn glacier melt.
They agreed to wait until I had crossed in case I fell. I suggested the guy have his camera ready – surely he would be able to sell the photo for the byline – Dumb Blonde American Dies Crossing Glacier Melt In Sandals (anybody catch the dangling adjective?) Okay, I have to tell you, I’ve only been that scared maybe three times in my life. It wasn’t that the river was that wide where I had to cross - it was only about two feet across and only a foot or so deep. Two large steps would get me across it and there was a rock in the middle to step on. The problem was on the other side there was no flat surface. It went straight up at a 70 degree angle. Even that would be fine if it were dirt, but it wasn’t dirt. It was little silver rocks, pebbles, and gravel. Good hiking boots would have a hard time getting a hold, with tractionless sandals it would be nearly impossible. Now, that would be fine if it just meant sliding into the river and getting wet. The problem was about a foot past the crossing point, the water plummeted down at a 45 degree angle, gaining strength for about 10 feet before it careened over the side of the cliff in a free fall. Waterfall would be a bit of an overstatement since it was more like a stream fall. Still there would be no way to find purchase if I fell into the water flow. If I slipped, the chance was pretty good I would be hurt (if not dead). And the chances were pretty good I would slip.
The three hikers were standing at the top of the next hill waiting. My heart pounded as I stood on the flat side and planned my strategy. I would have a hand hold for just a second as I stepped onto the center rock but I would have to let go, leap to the other side and immediately scramble up the hill. There would be no pausing or in the water I would go. There was no way I was turning around. I leaned on the rock with my right hand, stepped onto the rock in the middle of the rushing water, leapt, and scrambled. My feet lost traction on the third step. I was sliding into the water. I dug my heels in and planted my hands in the ground, scrambling like a daddy long legs. My feet took hold just at the edge of the water as I found a hand hold. I can’t even imagine how retarded I looked to the hikers who are probably still telling the story over beers and laughing. Still I managed to scramble to the top, give them a carefree wave of thanks, collapsing on the ground once they were out of sight. It was all I could do not to cry. It was thrilling and devastating all at the same time. I pulled out the last of my grapes and cheese, adjusting to the idea that I had actually lived.
The rest of the hike was a serene slice of paradise. Mount Mattenburg behind me occasionally emitted a low rolling rumble of thunder, while ahead of me the sun was setting – brightening patches of pastures through the clouds as if God had covered the countryside with gold dust. I was back in cow territory and kept having to walk around the little trail hogs. Cows are the most curious creatures. I feel like a zoo animal the way they stare at me when I walk through their fields. It started to rain as I skipped, literally, down the last of the path and into the grand town of Alpiglen – with its eight or so buildings. It was almost 8pm and I hadn’t seen the funicular or a train or a bus in the 45 minutes since Alpiglen came into view. I was afraid I was going to have another Schwartzee experience. At least Grindelwald was only 8 miles away instead of 15. But lady luck was smiling, for I rounded the corner and encountered two brothers from America who informed me the last train of the evening should arrive in five minutes. It cost me $10 to get down the hill, but it was worth it after seven hours of hiking!
I chatted with Matt and Brian on the ride down. Engineers from St. Paul, they had gone to Germany with their mom and dad to visit relatives they had never met before. It was great listening to them recant the story. They planned the trip to the small little German town to coincide with a festival held only once every five years and so they were welcomed amidst great pomp and circumstance to partake in the festivities and celebrations. There eyes shone as they talked about seeing the house built in the 1800’s with their name etched in the side and about the genuineness with which they were welcomed by cousins and family members they had never met before. I was admittedly jealous of their experience. My surname goes back to one of the first ships after the Mayflower. We know when and where John and James got off the ship but have no clue where they got on it. No long lost family lines for me….
The train back to Interlocken was sitting there waiting for me when we got back to Grindelwald. Wanting to enjoy the setting sun a bit longer, I took a walk from Interlocken East to Interlocken West before taking the train back to Fribourg. Clearly it is a money city, boasting its French style Hotel Savoy and British style Victoria hotel, along with several designer stores, and lovely lake and parks, but I couldn’t really tell what the draw was to Interlocken. The walk was enough of a view for me.
Just two trains and less than an hour and I was back in Fribourg . I thought I would be exhausted but with my 17th wind, I twisted Mirjam’s arm to go out for a drink. The Fribourg streets were hopping with a music festival and hundreds of people. It is called the Jazz Parade but like the world famous Montreux Jazz Festival there is much music but little jazz – tonight was hiphop. I look forward every time to the couple hours chatting with Mirjam at the end of a long travel day. How fortunate I was to risk my first “virgin” host (she had only signed up on the site a week or so before I arrived) and luck out with such a wonderful woman, interesting individual, and future friend, as I’m sure she will be – now that I survived the hike!
Sounds like you had a ball! What season were you in Switzerland? I am planning on travelling to Germany and Holland and would love to include a hike in the Swiss Alps :)
Posted by: mens hiking sandals | June 16, 2010 at 01:54 PM