mountain memory one

Zurich, Switzerland. [Part of a series of backpacking adventures]

I don’t remember seeing hiking on the itinerary.

The one city where we had the least amount of time was of course, the place we got lost three times. Three times, in one day. We started off the beautiful morning in Zurich, Switzerland with a venti Americana. Typical. Please, I know. Originally, we wanted to relive our childhood at the Chocolate Factory, but it had been closed since May. It was now late July. Supposedly, the chocolatiers keep telling the people, “Next month” but apparently it never gave the slightest hope of returning to life. We had a day…therefore called for an immediate change of plans.

One of Zurich’s trademarks, Grossmunster, is a 15th century style church, and it’s notable twin towers are topped with octagonal domes. The church was a five-minute walk from our hostel, and was not crowded AT ALL. In fact it was our four feet versus the bats. We were the only ones who climbed up the spiraling stairs on that beautiful sunny day, and I was oddly reminded of the hunchback of Notre Dame. I needed a bell.

I have no affiliation with bugs, and wanted nothing to do with the creepy spider webs, and imaginative bats lurking above me. Yet, all thoughts of sixteen-legged slimy creatures crawling on my back were gone when I saw the view. Breathtaking. I could city the entire city of Zurich, the calm river flowing consistently and serenely through mountain towns. Slopes and peaks filled the landscape, beckoning visitors from every angle, and welcomed footprints. Valleys reminded me of Candyland, a board game from my childhood, which by the way I always thought would make a great modern day dark comedy. I wanted to taste the green sugarplum troughs, linger in the trees of licorice, and soak up the sweetness of the Swiss. Other spires waved back to us, turquoise and reds hands were endearing. I lost myself in the view, and had to remind myself to keep balance. I was after all, in Switzerland.

Next plan of action was to visit the Rhine Falls. These are Europe’s largest waterfalls, tumbling 3km west of Schaffhausen. Making moves, we visited the tourist office in the train station, and asked for track numbers and times. OK, swell.

[As a side note, can I just say I love that Switzerland trams are above ground. Being a born and bred New York City girl, with the underground as the only optimal way, it’s nice to get to scenic route every now and again.]

We’re sitting in the air-conditioned tram, thinking we’re headed to Winterthur, a transfer station. My companion conveniently started to nod off, while I meandered around looking at the maps…placed strategically, thought not phonetically to help you. Through a series of picturesque winding roads, startling town names, and lots of watery mouthed-attempts of naming the latter, I see Winterthur. Exactly in the opposite direction of where we needed to be. Trying to subdue my immediate panic, I secretly hoped the tram might decide to be geometrically correct, and make a full circle. This does NOT happen in Manhattan; therefore I do know why I assumed it would happen here. Never assume these things.

I hear, “Baden” then “end station”. Echoing in a clever American-Swiss rhyming scheme to raise my blood pressure, my inner sailor had now returned, loudly, after being subdued for over four weeks. I was confounded with our bad directional skills, priding myself in knowing the New York City subway lines pretty well. Mostly angry because of our limited time in this wonderful city, I enjoyed the scenic route, but wished and whined for the lost forty-five minutes of our return. “Baden” was not like the bustling stops in Zurich. We were standing on tracks in what I’d like to call: Nowhere Land. Literally, not a single person around but a Blondie and highlighted-Blondie with gaping mouths and eyes, searching for something moving within the tear-blue mountaintops.

A little while later, when we saw life, I buffed my chest with New York confidence and a sly smile (and maybe some batting of the eyes from my friend), we ask a conductor how to get-back to Zurich HB. “Six minutes!” A sigh of relief. Luck was with us. As if we had just been given a free winning lottery ticket (remember we were college students), we see the fast train approaching and gleefully wander to the edge of the tracks. The yellow and blue painted walls never looked so comforting. Funny how that happens, something or place so foreign, vibrant, and new suddenly seems old and familiar when a new unknown predicament crosses ones traveling path. Any who, thirty minutes into our ride, a friendly lady comes over to check our tickets, and informs us, the ticket, which we paid 22 Euro for, (and here’s the punch line), was invalid! Score! Déjà vu…F*!@# ! I whip out my Europass, and shake it in my hand, trying to calmly ask if it shall suffice. Catch twenty-two, it worked, but we didn’t have to spend the 22 Euro for the other ticket. Yay, there goes my lunch!

To calm your nerves, I will tell you we did NOT get arrested. Though, the embarrassment of sitting in a first class cabin with nothing but a camera to my name was almost on par to handcuffs. Whoops, my mistake for not wearing my designer backpack and practical Manolo hiking heels. I mean could we have screamed, “I’m a lost tourist!” any louder? Lets just say we stopped bragging about being New Yorkers for a while. A long while.

Almost two hours later, still searching for the Rhine Falls, we finally board on the correct trains, and at this point I’m positive we have the system down. Damnit, I created those maps…I know where I. Am. Going. Counting down the stops to Schloss Laufen, dubbing my voice with the recorded one next to my ear, the thrill of a final destination was itching my curiosity to liberally move my body closer and closer to the window. The announcer then announced the name (as he or she should), and the train stopped two seconds later (what normally happens). Clumsily taken off guard, we thought aloud, “Maybe it just had a glitch…?” “Stuck on the bridge?” To defend my supposed intelligent nature, I want to explain to you that our befuddled nature sprang from the abruptness of the train stopping. If it had slowed nice and steadily, I assure you, we would have gotten off.

We got up and stood directly in front of the door…ready to jump. The doors opened. I barely visualized concrete, or any sign of life because the green bushel in the Alps likes to play games with “adventure-seekers”. This couldn’t have been the stop. There was no room even to walk off the train let alone a posted sign with some information. Nothing. No Tom Sawyer-esq. piece of wood with an arrow facing the wrong way. No color-coded symmetrical postage. Just to be sure (again), we press the button to let us off. It opened. It closed. Only speedy Gonzalez could have jumped the tracks in time. We didn’t move, but the train did! Three feet later, the gorgeous waterfalls were visible, but we’re still on (the now) stupid, train! Are we idiots? The water was clear as glass, oh wait, I’m behind the glass…never mind.

Predictably, I embodied a sailor, and we begrudgingly trekked off on the next stop, and followed the signs towards the Rhine Falls. The signs pointed towards the forest….

It’s been my dream to visit New Zealand, and hike the wondrous mountains, hoping to see a goblin or something from J.R.R.’s trilogy. But, it wasn’t my idea, nor on our itinerary to scope out the wilderness of what is known as the Swiss Alps. I have thermal underwear, socks, and a Columbia jacket…tucked snugly in a tupperware under my bed; ready to be opened when the leaves decide to fall in the United States. You know what, I even have summer hiking gear, but for some comical reason I was hiking in blue Hollister flip-flops. Where’s Waldo? Now I had the full opportunity to embrace the scenic path, and my only thoughts were: Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The perfect path was windy, not too steep, had the occasional biking couple, happy in their placid route, who came and went so quickly, even they couldn’t help us if we got assaulted by a chainsaw. Reality: nothing to scare me but bugs. I nearly fell off the edge because of a few bees, curiously smelling my perfume choice for the day. I was running circles around Chelsea, whipping my hands to warn the bees, flies, and mosquitoes, “I will jump!” Hey, if I would’ve fallen at least I could’ve seen the Rhine Falls.

I couldn’t help thinking, if my family and friends were thinking about us right now; they would not for a second fathom my location. Hiking in the Swiss Alps in Express jeans, without bug spray was not my ideal European moment I had been imagining since planning this trip five months ago. But, when I look back I can appreciate the randomness of the entire situation, and laugh. Reminiscing makes me appreciate the beauty of the mistake, or mistakes, and the only thing I wish I could do better was change the soles under my callused feet.

Forty minutes later, we found life. A little bopping touristy area, with two or three cafes, a gift shop, and an appropriate downhill trail, which led to the falls. We stopped at Les Cafes Cuendent, and sat near shrubbery. I was one with nature at this point. The only thing I could understand was “chicken nuggets” complimented with a glass of pinot grigio AND coffee.

Eventually, we made it, and the adventure was one hundred percent worth the hike. The one Euro we spent on the entrance fee wryly reminded me that nature does not have a price. The roaring sounds and dramatic scene was spectacular. Now, I kind-of enjoy telling this brave and “daring” story to anyone who will listen.