Floating peaks

On Thursday, I took a little cog-train to the top of a hill/mini-mountain on the outskirts of Bern. It was the first day of perfect weather since I've been here. Here's a journal entry from sitting in the park at the top:

I literally gasped. What I have the amazing opportunity to look at right now is some of the most amazing scenery I have ever seen in my life. I sit on a perfect carpet of lush, green grass. To my left, a walking path winds past corn fields and pastures. I see a couple, walking a dog. A man in a wheelchair has paused to chat with a woman walking back up the hill. A father stands behind his son, pointing to and naming the peaks in the distance. Yes, the Alps. The unmistakable trio of Jungfrau, Mönch, and Eiger look too perfect against the hazy, nearly cloudless blue sky. The rain we’ve had in the past week was obviously snow at that altitude. I suspect that the trail I followed two weeks ago is covered in snow. What would I give to live in the cluster of houses up ahead? To be able to gaze upon these mountains all the time?

To my left, a man was stretched out, sleeping on the grass. His wife, who was wandering barefoot across the meadow, has come back to wake him. The clouds are moving to the left, and for the first time, I can see the north face (almost in its entirety). I can see why it is famous enough to have an entire line of outdoor outfitting/equipment named after it. A black triangle, rough around the edges, stands out against a row of peaks softened with snow.

Peaceful. Yet I’m surrounded by people. I don’t have a monopoly on this gorgeous view, but somehow, humans don’t seem invasive here. Ten minutes ago, I saw a car drive away from the village, but I couldn’t hear it. All I hear is the buzzing of a bee (he seems intrigued by my backpack and camera) and the panting of two cyclists coming up the hill. When do people get tired of looking at these mountains?

Is history really that cyclical?

The other day I was standing at the bus stop, gazing out over the main square of Bern, and deciding that if one must live in a city, it might as well have cobblestone streets and a view of the Alps. Then it happened. With absolutely no warning, this guy walked up and joined the group waiting for the bus. And he had tight-rolled his jeans and stuffed them into his socks. That alone would not have been so alarming. I mean, crazy people are everywhere. But he was wearing this distasteful remnant of the eighties with confidence. Now questioning the future safety of the world, if it is to be handed to a generation willing to go back to the eighties, I stumbled toward the bus.
With my eyes opened to the magnitude of this disaster, I could now see warning signs everywhere: Girls, my age and younger, wearing “skinny jeans,” (a far too complimentary label for these tapered, ankle-hugging trousers). In Bern’s daily evening newspaper, Heute, the “Streetstyle” section spotlighted a college-aged, otherwise normal young woman, who took the effort to modify her own jeans and sew them tighter at the cuffs.
So, get on with your life, Mary Ann, right? Here’s what I fear: If I see enough people bringing back those styles from the eighties we’ve all tried to forget, and if those people wear them confidently, I might not be able to withstand the pressure of socialization. Yes, I tied knots in the sides of my T-shirts in grade school… If I wanted the slap bracelets then, will I want the “carrot jeans” in a few months?
I remember when cropped pants came out a while back, I declared them the worst invention ever. I now own multiple pairs. How does this happen? As I type this, the over-sized sunglasses I bought two weeks ago stare at me. Are they not reminiscent of the eighties? Am I already sliding back to the decade of mismatching neon? Pardon me, I think I’ll go try to find a pair of over-sized, plastic earrings.

2 wheels are better than 4

I got a free bike today! What?! A liter of milk cost over a dollar, and I got a free bike?! So, the student housing I have the pleasure of enjoying is amazing. Sure, it’s an ugly, grey apartment building, but there’s an out-of-tune piano in the basement, I have wireless internet in my room, AND the manager collects old bikes to give to the students. After giving him a deposit, off I pedaled on an ancient bike his wife’s aunt no longer wanted. (Well, that isn’t quite true. First, I had to go buy the obligatory Swiss bicycle insurance and registration sticker. Apparently I now have insurance for doing up to 2,000,000 Swiss Francs worth of damage to others. I’m trying to imagine the skill it would take to do that on a bicycle….) The three speed shifters and the lights even work! Transportation in style.

Bernese Oberland (soggy, but beautiful)

I had been in Switzerland for four full days, and still hadn’t been to the alps. This had to change. On Sunday, I headed for the snow-capped peaks in all their glory. Here are a few things I learned:

1) Hiking above the tree line to the edge of glaciers in the alps should probably be planned more than one hour before going to bed the night before.
2) When one finds weather reports predicting rain, one should not simply keep looking at different websites until one finds one that promises at least partial sunshine.
3) When gearing up for a hike, (and this, again, can only be done through advanced planning) it is advisable to purchase some water barrier (i.e. jacket) before landing in Grindelwald, possibly the most expensive town on earth. (But I do have a really cool, breathable, and definitely water proof jacket now. I'm not sure it was worth a month of groceries...)
4) When hiking up a steep incline for three or four continuous hours, one should not try to keep up with a tall Polish guy, whose stride is twice as long as one's, even if he is an economics teacher and can hold an interesting conversation in excellent English (or German). 5) When one arrives at the peak of the planned hike, one might want to consider a bit more carefully if one should branch off the well-marked path to go to the edge of a glacier, even if it is the Eiger's glacier. One should also consider that what appears to be "just over the next hill" might actually involve a climb with an additional 1,000 altitute gain.
6) Short cuts usually increase the total distance traveled and time spent and effort exerted.
7) The rationale "if a cow can come up this trail, surely I can go down it" might be poor justification for refusing to backtrack when one loses the well-marked Swiss hiking trail and instead attempts an impossible trail at the very brink of the edge of a 30 foot drop-off. Half-way down, one might find goat droppings, suggesting that large cows never attempt this “short cut.” One might watch a rescue helicopter zoom away to someone else, and wonder if it will soon have a reason to return. One might realize that due to altitude and fatigue, one's calves and quads are going through involuntary tremors, while one’s non-trail-running shoes are but an inch from the drop off. One might cling to a tree branch, and one might feel frightened.
8) A large chunk of brie cheese is not the best hiking food, even if one thinks one packaged it well, and even if it was the only thing one had in the fridge.
9) Taking one's journal on a hike because "hey, I might be inspired," is not advisable when your pack is not water tight.
10) The Swiss Alps are absolutely the most gorgeous mountains I have ever seen in my life.

Trek: Grindelwald – Kleine Scheidegg – Eigergletscher – Wengen

The skies opened about seventeen seconds after I started walking and the rain kept up until I was nearly at the top of the pass. Dragging my soggy self and my soggy backpack to the top made me appreciate the views all the more. The mountains were only cloud-free for about 30 minutes all day, and these happened to take place exactly as I was eating lunch with a full view of the Jungfrau, Mönch, and Eiger. I wish the pictures could do this justice...




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Schwyzertütsch!

Schwyzertütsch = Schweizer Deutsch = Swiss German

As soon as I arrived in Switzerland, I realized that I, in fact, do not speak the language. Sure, I’m fluent in German, but Swiss German shares little more than a similar name. No joke: In the first few days, I would hear people talking on the street and on the train and think, “Are they speaking French? Swedish? Japanese?”
The second day I was here, I was talking with a Swiss student on my floor in the communal kitchen. “Yeah, some people say it sounds like a throat disease…” Well, that’s a flattering way to describe the constant interjection of throaty “ch” sounds in every other word. Ah hah! Maybe that’s why Switzerland’s country abbreviation is “CH.” (Truth: It actually is an abbreviation of Confoederatio Helvetica, the Latin name of the Swiss Confederation.)
It’s such a charming language, though. Imagine someone speaking German, but with a softer, more sing-songy quality. Today I considered it a small success when I could understand about half of the words the guy at the cell-phone store said. Yes, I was complaining because my cell-phone refused to connect with its network. His first three words were in High German, then I think he slid into the local dialect to keep me from continuing my complaint. It worked. I smiled, nodded, and left.

(Later note: The cell-phone works now, all is well with the world. Shameless advert: Get skype! PC to PC calls are free and the sound quality is just as good. Yay for around-the-world conversations for free!)

A snapshot of downtown Bern. Can you believe that this is a capital city? UNESCO also officially calls it "pretty cool," meaning the medieval downtown is a World Heritage Site.

Side note: I live in an ugly, concrete apartment in the high-rise suburbs, but still, I'm only a 5 minute train ride from this!