Patience Is A Virtue I Don’t Have
Switzerland, 2018.
We arrived at a fairytale village (for info on how we got there, click HERE). A single street, lined with shops and cottages, winds its way through the alpine valley. On either side, off the in the distance, walls of granite and gneiss— rising thousands of feet into the air— act as protective barriers from the icy winter winds. The entire town has a cozy feeling. Shops filled with trinkets, ski equipment, and hand-made crafts function like a revolving door for an army of parka-clad tourists. Steam pours out cafes and into the sidewalk, catching the street lamps and setting the road aglow. Exiting the train station, we first pass a grand hotel, where wealthier tourists are shuttled to and from unneeded taxis by bellhops and doormen.
Which reminds me, we still had no idea where we were going to stay, or what we were going to do. Youtube can only get you so far, apparently. Fortunately, despite walking through the set of live-action Pinocchio, there was cell service, which would have saved Jiminy Cricket a lot of time I suppose. Regardless, all of my usual methods of finding a hotel failed: HotelTonight, booking.com, Airbnb, and Marriott either had no availability of were offering rooms way outside of our price range. In a turn of desperation, I went to Google, which had similar results. However, all the way near the end of the road was a cute-looking, Schweizerstil hotel called “Hotel Blumlisalp”. Given that the sun had already set and that we were running on fumes, we booked it. We were at least partially persuaded by the fact that they offered one free meal during the stay.
Alpine Town, Switzerland, 2018.
Next, what on earth were we going to do here? Skiing? Paragliding? Hiking? Yodeling? All of the above? And if, I did in fact, want to find a nice place to get Lederhosen and an Alphorn and then trek to a scenic location to let out a good jodel, where would be the best place to do that? While these were purely hypothetical, of course, these were still questions I needed to answer. So naturally, we went to Grindelwald’s swimming pool. Where else would these questions get answered?
Actually, we were supposed to go to the tourist information center next-door, but I opened the wrong door and led us into a maze of soaking-wet Swiss families. Dodging three-foot tall, German-screaming masses of water, with my suitcase as a shield, Audrey and I ran out of the pool area like Indiana Jones leaving a Swiss temple. After opening the correct door, and waiting behind an extremely confused American lady with the world’s largest suitcase, we finally got some answers to our questions.
We quickly eliminated skiing from the list of options, as the price of a one-day ski lift ticket was the same price as a full-week lift ticket to hike. We also learned that hiking in the region was quite different to hiking in the US. Rather than travel to a designated trailhead and then hike to a location or follow a loop trail, hiking in Switzerland was much less structured. Depending on how far you wanted to go, most of the recommended hikes involved us taking a ski lift to a location, then hiking from alpine town to alpine town until we reached a regional train station that would take us back to Grindelwald. In fact, that was the same way their skiing was set-up: you’d take a train (or lift) to the top of a mountain, and then ski a few towns over (several miles away), and then take a train back to wherever you wanted to ski next. Rather than a three-minute, or five-minute run, skiing there was an all-day expedition.
With a bunch of recommended hiking routes in hand, we left the pool house/tourist information center to catch the last bus which would take us to our hotel. Much like the rest of the trip, even catching a bus was an adventure. Being based in Chicago, we figured we were bus-travel experts. Normally, we’d check a map to figure out what bus line went where, then go to the stop for the bus and hop on. Usually, a bus in Chicago wouldn’t show up on time, but it would show up at some point, eventually.
Swiss Ski Lodge, 2018.
Bearing that in mind, when we got to the bus stop outside Sportzentrum Grindelwald, we anticipated that the bus would show up within 10-15 minutes of the schedule. It was, however, nearing the end of the day, and the sun was long behind the towering mountains. In the early twilight hours, we could tell from the schedule that there were two or three more buses running from our stop, and then bus service would cease for the night. We waited five or so minutes until the bus was scheduled to arrive, chatting about our excitement for the hikes and photographic opportunities. Around us, skiers tottered about in their boots, and outdoor cafes quickly converted into lively bars. Another five or so minutes after the bus was scheduled, we were still waiting. I reassured myself to have patience— I shouldn’t expect German-train-timing-precision for a small alpine ski town’s buses. After all, there were worse places to wait. The lights of Grindelwald’s main strip began to illuminate, and the first hints of stars emerged from the purple-tinted night sky. All around us, giant, sleeping mountains loomed. I was, however, quite hungry and eager to test out the free meal at Blümlisalp.
A full fifteen minutes after our bus was supposed to arrive— and five minutes until the second bus was supposed to be at the stop— we were still waiting. It was beginning to get more cold, as the snow and mountains began to turn the Grindelwald valley into something of a refrigerator. We still weren’t too concerned, though. I reassured myself with the belief that perhaps first scheduled bus wasn’t running, but maybe the second one would be. So we continued to wait. Children, some still wet from the Sportzentrum pool, began to stream out of the doors to the facility, running and playing. Their parents followed quickly behind, pushing strollers and chatting. Everyone around us was having a great time. But we waited for the bus. I paced between the sidewalk and the bus schedule, continuously re-checking the schedule. Somehow I hoped that the paper schedule would magically change to have a bus arrive immediately. Another five minutes passed, and now two scheduled buses had not appeared. Neither myself or my girlfriend really felt like paying for a taxi or Uber, given that Switzerland is quite expensive. So, we decided to walk.
Switzerland, 2018.
Google maps said the walk was only 3.3 kilometers, after all. Being a thoroughbred user of the Imperial system, I just assumed 3.3 kilometers was like 1.2 miles or so, which didn’t seem too bad (In hindsight, I should really learn the km to miles conversion). Regardless, we set off walking, with our plan to follow the bus route, should one appear behind us. We set off, passing the lively bars and the cute restaurants with windows fogging from the copious fondue inside. Dragging behind our suitcases, we passed bakeries, a grocery store, and too many ski shops to count. We passed churches, the city hall, and parks. The sound of our plastic roll-a-board wheels echoed off the pavers and Swiss chalets. And then, the road began to climb. Not a steep climb, but enough of a climb that lugging the suitcase became a workout. And also enough of a climb that the icy lining the sidewalks and roads impeded progress. As we got further away from the heart of Grindelwald, the lights began to dim. By the time we got to the local school, we reached the end of the street lights. Still, no bus was behind us. Beyond the school, the sidewalk also ended as the road increased in grade. The bustle of Grindelwald opened into a dark expanse of pastures beyond the lone winding road. Seeing no bus, we continued up the icy black road, clinging to the edge of the road and praying to no cars whizzed around the corners and into us.
Breaking out our iPhone flashlights in one hand, carrying suitcases in another, and also lugging large photography backpacks, we trudged up the road towards Blümlisalp Hotel. Again, it was only a 3.3 km walk, so I assumed we must be close. We passed a barn, and then another barn, and then another barn, but this barn had alpine cows inside. We almost slipped on a patch of ice, and then passed another barn, and then... another barn. At this point, I was getting concerned that the hotel we booked was actually one of these barns.
I didn’t realize it then, but the schoolhouse we had passed was only about halfway up the hill to the hotel. We continued past barn after barn, most pretty vacant. We eventually came to yet another barn with living cows, whose bells and moos could be heard for quite some distance. Their stink could be smelled quite a bit further, though. Tired after a full 24-hours on the move, this “short” hike up to the hotel felt like climbing Everest. Someone bring me my supplemental oxygen!
Night Sky Over Gindelwald— an early attempt at star photography!
After passing another barn or two, on the next major hill, we could make out the dark facade of the Blümlisalp. The lower levels were illuminated from the inside, windows again fogged from all of the patrons enjoying their warm, delicious dinners. We were freezing, tired, and struggling to juggle our flashlights and luggage as we shuffled up the icy road.
With the end in sight, we found the energy to make it to the top. Reaching the hotel parking lot, we turned around for a view of Grindelwald below. Stunning would be putting it lightly— every star visible to the human eye looked down on us. The enormous mountain facades were like shadowed titans looming from all sides. The lights of the lifts and of the village was a scene plucked directly from The Sound of Music or Heidi. We picked up our bags and looked both ways to cross the street to the hotel lobby. A massive, careening bus passed us. We checked in and went to sleep.
