postcard 43: thirty

backpacking through Switzerland.

A 12 hour drive for a long weekend does, in the grand scheme of things, sound a little insane but when we make our way around the bend and the first tumbling waterfall comes into view, it feels perfectly rational.

We pull up to a house in Interlaken with ropes hanging from a trellis out front, stacks of climbing shoes and, inexplicably, a mural of dolphins on the side. A wind burnt man with a bleach blonde mullet comes out and leads us into the lumber warehouse across the street. His accent is thick and I’m only picking up every third word but he tells us about the mountaineering course he just finished guiding and unlocks a gear room, fishing out an assortment of ancients backpacks. There’s the hood of an old truck with a Hooter’s logo leaning against one wall. Topher chooses one to rent and the guide does some tenuous math. When I tell him it’s Wednesday and not Tuesday he’s incredulous. “Fuck my head!” He says and then tells us how to avoid glaciers on our route.

The first screenshot in my “favorites” folder from way back in 2012 is of Staubbach Falls tumbling down the cliff into Lauterbrunnen. When it appears, falling down the rock like strands of hair, I gasp and it’s the worst possible time as a hoard of tourists step out and block the street. I’ve convinced Topher he’s hit someone.

Hazelnut tucks herself under my bench at the steubli we’ve chosen for dinner. It’s in a campground and I don’t have high hopes but we order rosti and fondue and Swiss rosé and it’s wonderful. The light is dying as we make our way to the train station, past half-timbered houses with geraniums in boxes and planted in hiking boots out front.

We’re circumnavigating the Lauterbrunnen valley this weekend and our first destination is Wengen, 2,000 feet above our heads on the side of the mountain. Hazelnut obliges her Japanese fan base and takes several photos as we chug our way up the mountain on a cog railway. When we get off the moon has risen, bathing the glaciers on the Eiger in soft light. The falls we saw below are also lit and I throw our balcony doors open to take in the scene. It’s magical.

I love the feeling of living out of a backpack, even if my 22L is a little small for five days of adventures. I shove the sandwich I purchased at the bakery perhaps a little too hard into the water bottle pocket and we’re off. Back down the mountain on the train to the bus, which is run by the post office because the Swiss are efficient. We exit at the end of the line, but the valley continues before us. Our trail follows the river and immediately begins to climb. It’s mid-morning already and it’s humid. We’re dripping sweat and by the time we spy a little hamlet with a guesthouse serving beer, Hazelnut has decided she is done hiking. The bugs are making her anxious and she, characteristically, has refused to eat her breakfast. Her tail drags the ground and I try to point out the waterfalls and glaciers but at some point even I start counting my steps and staring at the ground as our trail becomes a staircase.

There’s one small herd of cows, but other than that we are granted free passage through the forests and alpine meadows. A box of firewood appears around a bend with a sign asking hikers with extra space in their bags to bring wood to the highest hut. I’m glad we’re not headed there, because I can’t imagine a scenario where I’d be willing to carry logs up this mountain.

The sun is beating down and the grade is relentless and I actually think I might just sit down in the middle of the trail. I pause at a spring fed trough to let Hazelnut drink and she climbs in instead, soiling it for the hikers behind us. Finally, finally the hut appears. It’s tucked into the side of the mountain, shutters painted green, and the view that's been teasing us finally opens up. We have a 360° panorama of the upper Lauterbrunnen valley. The biggest waterfall I’ve ever seen tumbles down the cliffs across the valley, it’s thundering pulse audible even from where we stand. Electric blue glaciers cling to the peaks which form a ring around us. It’s breathtaking. We order more beers and sit under an umbrella on the patio.

I called three months ago to make a reservation, the only way they’re accepted, and between bad cell service and the woman on the other end’s lack of English, I estimated there was a 50% chance we actually had a reservation. The man who serves our beers recognizes my name, though and shows me to our room. There’s no electricity here, but it’s lovlier than many hotels I’ve stayed in. The hut is more than 100 years old and everything is made of fragrant pine. There’s a bed with down duvets, ceramic wash basins and pitchers and little lace curtains on windows we throw open to hear the waterfall.

We lay down—for just a minute— and when we wake up it’s almost time for dinner. Our host rings a cowbell and we file into the dining room, lit by candlelight. We’re served a simple but delicious meal of soup, salad and pasta and drink a bottle of wine alongside it. The table next to us is filled with a group of Americans finance bros who ask the old Swiss woman running food if there’s anywhere nearby where the cell signal is better than 2G. They need to let their bosses know they’ll be “out of pocket”. We try to tune them out, wondering for the millionth time this year how Americans can be the most annoying tourists, and finish our meal.

It’s my 30th birthday and after drinking coffee and eating bread and jam and homemade alpine cheese, we set off with much lighter backpacks to an alpine lake. The trail heads even further up the valley, crossing countless waterfalls on tiny wooden bridges that move as we step on them. We find a little waterfall tumbling into a meadow with a creek that’s safe for zooming and Hazelnut perks up. She races around, splashing in the creek, running under the mist and tearing through the alpine flowers. I tell her she’s not fooling anyone as she goes back to shuffling behind me dejectedly when we climb another steep hill.

At the top, we’re treated to a turquoise alpine lake. I take my shoes off and wade in but it’s pure glacier melt, my toes ache after just a few seconds. We post up against some rocks and spend the morning soaking in the sun. A thunderous boom shakes the valley and we watch as a torrent of water breaks free from one of the glaciers. This place is wild and magical. The occasional helicopter, on a flight seeing tour or delivering supplies to one of the mountain huts scattered about, are the only reminder of civilization. On the way back I stick my head under the little waterfall.

A lazy afternoon is spent playing cards and reading on the patio, ordering sweet tea and rosti and watching the waterfalls across the valley. After dinner, a thunderstorm rolls in, the sudden BOOM! shaking the thin walls. We open the windows and watch as the rain pours, sending rivulets down the trail. The waterfall across the valley swells and a faint rainbow appears, growing brighter by the moment until it’s the most vibrant double I’ve seen in decades. My superstitious Irish mom always said rainbows, especially doubles, were our passed loved ones stopping by to say hello and I can’t help but feel like it’s the sweetest cap to my birthday.

Before breakfast, we realize that I left one too many 50 franc notes back at the car. We’re sweating when we peek at our bill, wishing we hadn’t ordered that rosti yesterday, but we have enough cash, with three francs to spare, to pay it. A birthday miracle.

It’s bittersweet to say goodbye to this perfect valley. We pause at the top of the hill, not ready to move on but then we hear a noise and soon we’re delighted to find that a pen full of pigs has been helping with scraps from the restaurant. Half a mile down the trail, at the next hut, we encounter a trio of goats shuffling nervously away from Hazelnut on top of a picnic table.

We’re heading down valley a different route than we came in, our destination a village called Mürren across the way from the first one, high up on a cliff. The decent is brutal and by the time we make it to the river and start climbing again, it’s hot and we’re all dragging. The normal route to Mürren is to hike to a lower village and catch a cable car up the steep slope. The tram continues on to an observatory tower high up on the mountain and this has earned it a hefty price tag. We’d planned to bypass the expensive tram, hiking a very steep trail instead, but the farther we walk the higher the number gets of what we’d pay to take the tram. When we get to the village, we poke our heads inside. Miraculously, the ticket price for the short ride to Mürren is $6 apiece, far less than the $120 all the way to the top. We celebrate with a round of beers and then go to buy our tickets.

The machine won’t read Topher’s card or mine, and the ticket window is closed. The girl behind us says it only accepts mobile pay, so we use our scant cell service to try to connect our cards to a digital wallet. It fails again and again. Topher starts packing up his bag to hike up the mountain but I’m desperate. We tell the operator the machine is broken and offer to pay up top. He looks conflicted but a line is forming so he ushers us on board. We’re shoved to the center of a crush of people and I can’t tell how steep the hike actually would have been, but I’m nonetheless grateful when we reach Mürren without our own power. Especially when our hotel room is ready two hours early. Hazelnut falls asleep the second her head touches the carpet (it’s very hard to hike all day after having eaten nothing but half a piece of cheese and a rogue gummy bear even though your parents offered you kibbles a dozen times). I'm in the shower not long after. It feels so, so good to be clean.

We wander the streets, letting the dog sleep, and popping in and out of shops, stopping to look at the view of the surrounding peaks, the glaciers we sat under yesterday just visible in the distance above the mountains. We eat spaetzle covered in raclette for dinner on a patio along the main road and it’s cheesy and decadent and perfect. A girl stops to ask us to take her photo and she offers one in return. We almost decline but I pull Topher in and we get a rare shot of the two of us not in selfie mode.

I was adamant that we not stop at the Indian or Chinese restaurants we passed in the first two villages, my heart set on Swiss food covered in copious amounts of cheese for my birthday, but I can’t deny us Flaming Hot Cheeto covered Korean corn dogs when the tram docks in Lauterbrunnen. Switzerland apparently has Amazon and Topher is in heaven to find Hot Cheetos, even if they are crumbled, on this continent. Half mozzarella, half sausage covered in a rice flour batter and finished with Hot Cheetos and sugar, it may be the best meal of the trip, I have to admit.

I’ve saved all of my random European destination screenshots over the years into a Google Map and I notice there's a pin near our way home. We detour over Furka Pass, an iconic, winding mountain road with a hotel sitting in one curve. Well, it would be iconic if we could see anything. It’s pouring rain and the clouds are as thick as soup. The temperature has dropped significantly and we duck out of the car to snap a few photos, shivering in the cold. We’ve barely blasted the heater when Topher yells “Murmelier Park!” And makes a mad dash across the road. Three very chill marmots sit inside an enclosure, munching on wildflowers. We watch for a moment in the howling wind before running back to the car.

It’s 10 hours back to Croatia, but I barely notice. My heart is so full.

-Mikaela