Choosing Switzerland
From Ohio to the Swiss Alps in Five Days
As best I recall, the day after Christmas has been meant for spending time with family, testing out new gifts, and Boxing Day football. For me in 2018, however, the day after Christmas involved a 4 am wake-up call, two flights, and an international train journey that took me across the world. Why? Because I watched a Youtube video on Christmas Eve, of course.
Twas the night before Christmas, and around 10 pm, I lay in my bed deliberating over where I wanted to take a vacation. I’d already exhausted most of my other methods of finding a vacation spot— namely Instagram and travel articles— and was quickly running out of time to make a decision. My vacation would take place starting December 26, so I needed to get packed and make plans, and celebrate Christmas beforehand. At some point I just started naming countries: I could go back to Germany; maybe Morocco is worth a winter visit; is there anything I’ve wanted to see in Azerbaijan; is there an exciting part of Switzerland I haven’t seen? Increasingly dire, I searched Youtube for “Swiss Alps Travel”, expecting myriad low-quality GoPro ski videos. In fact, I did find a lot of terribly windy and pixelated ski videos. I also found one of the most stunning locations I’d ever seen— the Jungfrau Region.
Of course, I had heard great things about Jungfrau, the mountain, and Interlaken, the town. What I didn’t quite appreciate was the beauty of the surrounding area and the adorable alpine towns that dot the region. A world apart from the more-established Interlaken, towns like Wengen, Grindelwald, and Lauterbrunnen maintained all of their Swiss alpine charm— centuries-old huts winding through severe craggy valleys, with waterfalls and free-ranging cattle in between. Within a few minutes of starting the aptly-titled “Beauty of Switzerland in 4K” Youtube video, I’d decided where I was going to travel. The day after Christmas I’d be headed for the Jungfrau Region, and I’d picked Grindelwald as the place I’d stay. The name sounded the funniest.
At four o’clock in the morning the day after Christmas, my alarm went off. Zipping up a bag full of gifts and Christmas sweaters, I drowsily lugged my suitcases into the car to make my 6 AM flight back to Chicago. As much as I wanted to sleep on the unbelievably short flight between Columbus and Chicago, I spent the whole flight trying to plan out the rest of the trip.
Looking exceptionally “chic” with my new Swiss friends.
The first problem: packing for Switzerland. My suitcase currently had some new dress socks, a new belt, and some legos. Great, but nothing I’d need to hike in deep snow, photograph stunning landscapes, or look fashionable while eating fondue in a Swiss chalet. Likewise, I only would have a few hours after I landed in Chicago to get home, unpack, repack, eat lunch, and then head back to O’Hare for the flight to Europe.
Dilemma number two: hostel or hotel? The prices in Switzerland are notoriously high, and the price difference between a hostel and hotel is pretty steep. On a previous trip to Zermatt, I had opted for a hostel and found myself in the attic of an old Swiss mountain hut, hitting my head on the sloped ceiling every time I woke up. As much as I loved the cultural experience, some more headroom this time around would be nice.
Finally, we’d only have around 3.5 days to actually enjoy Switzerland— what did we want to do when we got there? Did we want to stay in Grindelwald the whole time or hop from town to town? Did we want to go to Jungfraujoch or spend our days hiking instead? When we landed in Chicago around 10 AM these questions were still without answers.
Flying off the plane, we hit the ground running and headed straight for the train. In hindsight, one should never opt for Chicago Public Transportation if concerned about time. We got to the station and were alerted that the next train would arrive in five minutes. Twenty minutes later a train moseyed on into the station, waited fifteen or so minutes at the station, and then moseyed back towards Chicago city center. An hour and half later, we made it back home.
After a relatively boring unpacking and repacking—
“Don’t forget hiking boots!”
“Do you think we’ll need our headlamps?”
“Should I bring this sweater, or this sweater?”
We were headed back to the airport, once again on Chicago’s delightful public transportation system. For those who haven’t experienced the joys of Chicago’s Blue Line, allow me to expand. Reeking of three-week old piss, un-showered armpits, and gasoline, Chicago’s Blue Line features notes of meth with a rough, criminal finish. For those looking to break the law, good news! There’s always someone committing a worse crime on the Blue Line. It’s just like speeding— as long as you’re not going the fastest, no one cares.
Anyhow, after an hour of trying not to make eye contact with anyone and listening to one cheerful bard after another explain how they: just got out of prison; they need some money to start their education; and they are asking for your help today, we arrived back at Chicago O’Hare.
We were going to try to get onto a relatively packed Frankfurt flight, then take a 4-6 hour train ride along the Rhine, down through Freiburg, past Basel, through Bern, onto Interlaken, before taking a short regional train to Grindelwald. Just a quick trip. Thanks to a fair number of people forgetting to show up to their flight, we departed Chicago for Frankfurt around 6 PM central. Although a bit of journey to get to Switzerland, arriving through Frankfurt is probably my favorite way to getting to Europe. There’s an element of nostalgia— the first time I visited continental Europe I came through Frankfurt. I distinctly remember my surprise/disappointment that the signage was in English, and not entirely in German. Likewise, Frankfurt’s airport connects easily to high-speed, long-distance trains, features a variety of high-end retailers, and most importantly, almost never has a customs line. Frankfurt Flughafen is clean, efficient, and modern; quintessentially German.
Jungfrau Region
Ten or so hours later we were on a train to Grindelwald. We had to pass through a few towns in Germany, before connecting in Basel to a new train that would take us to Interlaken. Basel is a fantastic little Swiss town along the Rhine, and one that I’ve visited a few times. Confidence in transferring trains in Basel was at an all-time high. That is, until I fell asleep on the ICE to Basel. I recall waking up momentarily to look at Freiburg Hauptbahnhof (where I’d lived for a summer), before falling asleep again. The next thing I know, my girlfriend was waking me up to tell me we were in Basel. Not paying much attention, I gathered up my belongings and checked my phone to see which platform we needed to go to. We hopped off the train in Basel, having about 15 minutes to spare until our next train, which was on platform 17. I started to notice that things were a bit strange when there was no platform 17.
“Perhaps we need to walk outside to get to platform 17?”
Heading past all of the platforms, and the ticket counters, we looked outside. No sign of any additional platforms.
“Should we ask someone?”
I double-checked our ticket: our train left in 10 minutes, going from Basel SBB to Interlaken— Platform 17.
“Okay,” I thought, “so where the hell is platform 17?”
Above me, near some strange disco-ball sculpture, in bright white letters: BASEL BAD BAHNHOF.
“Oh shit.”
Basel has two train stations— our train stopped first at Basel Bad Bahnhof before terminating at Basel SBB. Thinking back, I knew something felt odd when we got off and the train still had additional stops. I knew the end of the line was Basel SBB, but in my half-awake state I paid no attention to my gut feeling.
I checked my watch. Eight minutes until our train left Basel SBB for Interlaken. We started running for a taxi. Unfortunately, in looking for Platform 17, we had wandered to the far end of the station, and the taxi stand was about a quarter mile away. We started sprinting. At some time during the sprint, perhaps the third time my little roll-a-board bag fell over, I remembered that I only had Scottish pounds in my wallet. Arriving at the front of the taxi line, we jumped in and I was praying that they took card.
“Basel SBB, bitte!”
The rate on the taxi meter climbed as the minutes until the train departed dwindled.
“Nimmst du eine Karte, oder?” I tendered.
The taxi driver pushed her glasses up her nose and turned around.
“Ja, genau,” she tritely replied, wrapping a finger against the massive card reader sitting on her dash. “Wo gehts du?” she followed up.
I explained our whole situation, that there were only 5 minutes until our train left, and that we really didn’t want to wait until the next train. She seemed confident we’d make our train as she stopped at a red light. Of course, she wouldn’t have been a Swiss cab driver if she didn’t ask:
“If you need to make this train so bad, then why did you get off at the wrong station?”
I let my girlfriend handle the reply to that one.
With two minutes until our train departed, we pulled in front of Basel SBB. Just to make things more fun, the platform wasn’t anywhere near the taxi drop-off, but rather up a massive escalator, through a crowded hallway, and then down a slightly less massive escalator. I paid the taxi driver with card, declining the receipt, and took off running.
With exasperated cries of “entschuldigung”, we ran— suitcases in hand— up the massive escalator. Much to the dismay of the Swiss, these two American madmen then tore down the hallway— again with a few more “entschuldigungs” here and there—nearing knocking over a family that wasn’t paying attention. I checked my watch: one minute until departure. I looked up— platform 17 loomed about 100 feet in the distance. Running towards the escalator to the platform I watched an old lady casually waltz on to the escalator and stop, blocking the entire the thing. First of all, escalators are for moving, elevators are for standing. Second of all, if you are going to stop on an escalator, at least stand to one side. After all that’d we’d been through, I had no patience for a socially-inept escalator rider to prevent us from making our train. Rounding to the top of the escalator, I almost leapt down the first five stairs, and with the loudest, and most robust “entschuldigung” yet, I successfully bypassed the clueless escalator inhibitor and ran onto the train. Making sure my girlfriend also made the train, we started to move our bags up the stairs as the train began to roll away. We’d made it.
A few hours— and much more successful connection in Interlaken— later, we arrived in the fairy-tale-esque Grindelwald. We’d made it. After a last-minute, Youtube-influenced decision, we spent an entire day traveling— via nearly every mode of transportation— across the world. Our next task: what to do and where to stay for the next week.
