Alpine Adventure

On Tuesday, with the calls of mountain marmots (Murmeltier!) ringing in the air, Eva and I had a vigorous hike through the Alps, by the famous "top of Europe" -- the Jungfrau, Mönch, and Eiger peaks were visible above us nearly the entire time, and below us, little towns, ski chalets, and farms. 

The mountain region we went to is in the Berner Oberland (giving the railway, the Berner Oberland Bahn, the initials BOB); you can take the regular train to Interlaken and go from there on an assortment of funiculars, buses, and cable cars up to various high places, from which you can do quite a lot of up-and-down between transportation points.  (On the way up you pass many a dairy farm, where you can hear the clanging of cowbells.  O Switzerland.)  After some low-key sightseeing, we took a hiking path (Wanderweg) that runs roughly from Kleine Scheidegg to Männlichen (map), with an exceptional stretch of "up" right at the end.  The map I link to shows how high we were, in feet as well as meters; I thought we were high at Kleine Scheidegg, at 6762 feet, 

(Eiger and Mönch here)

but it was quite a push to get us up and into Männlichen (because there had been quite a bit of down) which sits at 7317 feet.  Crap, that's high.  

(Skilift Tschuggen, about 45 minutes down from Männlichen)

Fortunately, summer seems to have finally arrived, because we could hike with bare arms most of the time.  As we got close to Männlichen and took a food break (or, more accurately, collapsed in a heap by the side of the trail to stuff bread and cheese into our hungry, tired mouths) the wind picked up and it got a bit cold.  But all in all, it was just what I was hoping for: incredibly high mountains, some sweat and hard work, and then something unexpected at the end.  Once you reach the top, you get to ride in these little gondola cars that dangle from a cable, all the way down to the town of Grindelwald, which turns out to be the longest ride of its type in the world.  6 km, just about.  

We shared our gondola with this very nice old couple from the Canton of Bern (so, not the city, but the state, so to speak); the husband spoke decent English, and I could understand much of their slow, charming Swiss-German as they spoke with Eva.  They told us about the line, and its length, and a number of other things I couldn't quite follow; then the husband explained that Switzerland has a constitution modeled somewhat after that of the States', with a Congress and a House of Representatives, and elected officials coming from each of the Cantons in the same system as ours.  Also, we saw a few sleek, fat marmots peering out from their large holes in the ground and chirping their extraordinarily loud call.  I think they must just like to hear the echo (I enjoyed it too).

I realize I've left out the more "touristic" part of our day: Trümmelbachfälle - you can see it on the right hand side of the map.  We took a bus up from Lauterbrunnen, then shuffled in line with some Americans, British, and plenty of Japanese tourists through the entry gate, past the white-cold glacier stream, and up to an elevator that would take us to the middle of the mountain, where we could see the chutes of the falls.  Icy blue water rushing through tunnels in the mountain.  Noisy, even thunderous.  With mist everywhere.  The chutes have been nicely framed by walkways, steps, and little viewing chambers carved into the mountain.

The rock is worn smooth.  I was mildly embarrassed that it reminded me of the water park of my youth, Schlitterbahn (you Texas people know the wonders of that place), but about 500x scarier, more beautiful, more powerful. And outside the mountain, exactly what you might hope for in Alpine scenery; fields of wildflowers, singing birds, all surrounded by dramatic cliffs, dotted by waterfalls made tiny by distance, though their drops are epic in height.

 Hey, it's pretty nice here.  You should come visit.

Je suis en Grenoble.

It's in the southeasternish part of France, in a valley surrounded by dramatic mountains, quite close to Italy, which explains in part the incredible meal I had tonight at Angelos, a tiny restaurant off one of the squares in the old part of town.  I went several days ago with some other people, and had a great meal; we tried to return a few days later, but came just as the restaurant was closing.  Tonight I was alone, I had arrived too early and had to wile away about 40 minutes waiting for the restaurant to open.  Naturally I was the first to be seated.  Angelo remembered what I ate the other day (I had asked halfway through the meal for a side of garlicky chard, which one of my table-mates had ordered) and came to my table to ask me if I'd like it the same way again.  His wife (I assume) does the serving and the parmesan cheese grating, along with any sous-cheffery that is required.  So.  I had gnocchi with tomato sauce and parmesan, and a side of garlicky, tomatoey chard, and a 1/4 litre du vin rouge, which is about at the limit of what I can drink myself.  It is difficult to eat well when you're away from home, I find, and the relish I took in tonight's meal should not be underestimated.

Two days ago afforded enough of a break in the schedule to make an excursion into the mountains.  In walking distance from the hotel is a 19th century prison, the old Bastille, and it's a brisk little hike up to the top of the fortress, although not quite to the top of the ridge.  I'm looking at it now, through my open hotel window, gauzy white curtains blowing in a late spring breeze.  The view from the top (or, as high as we went) is impressive, to say the least.  Clumpy, rounded mountains, their sedimentary layers visible, piled on one side.  Sharp points on the other side, graduated, growing higher and sharper into the distance.  In the middle, a valley floor, cut by the river Isère, with the old city in a huddle of twisty streets by the river, and the rest of Grenoble surrounding this, gradually built up as it has been along straight roads with the ugliest run-down blockish architecture you can imagine, standing like a blight against the verdant mountains.  

I have decided that wherever I choose to live, finally, has to have some dramatic element to set it apart.  The Pacific Ocean, for example.  Or these Alps.  Basel, it has the river, that's something.  It may not be enough.  We'll see.  Paris, I think that's the problem with it.  Many internal draws -- the varied Arrondissements, things to see, people to watch, culture, shops, etc, but then only the river running through the middle, and I don't even think you'd want to swim in it, as in Basel.

 

Several views from the Bastille.

Meanwhile, en France, je parle français.  Pas très bien, et pas tous les temps, mais j'ai un peu de vocabulaire et c'etais bien pour moi à comprendre ce que les personnes disent.  Two nights ago, I had a conversation Entirely In French, for maybe 20 minutes.  I couldn't believe it was happening.  We didn't talk about anything terribly complicated, but my ability to pull words out of my head after a break of 14 years is astounding to me.  If only the German language could be so smooth for me.  Quel dommage.

Alors, the wine has gone to my head, and I feel over-eager to nod off.  I have been sleeping poorly the past few days, though I anticipate a good sleep tonight due in part to the quiet side of the hotel, and the window that opens.  Small things like the window end up making a gigantic difference to my personal happiness and well being, away from home.  I do, by the way, miss Basel.  I'm looking forward to getting back to my bicycle, the print shop, my brown rice-lettuce-carrot-toasted almond salads.  The excessive amounts of chocolate I was eating before I left.  And, in June, several visitors, for whose visits I am extremely excited.