World Travel Guide Online

The Hills Are Alive…
or how my Dad and I survived the Alps
Switzerland

Above the clouds in the Jungfrau Region

Except for the sound of a jingling cowbell, the world was quiet. The Alpine air, which smelled of freshly baked muffins, clung to my nostrils. I could have sworn we were the only two people on Earth. Dad was already several yards ahead of me, shuffling down the slope, dangerously close to the edge.

“Come down here and look at this!” he shouted. Three thousand feet below, the rustic, shingled rooftops of a nearby village shined in the sunlight, surrounded on both sides by massive, rugged cliffs. My spine shivered, and I looked over at my father. He grinned.

Dad is one of those thrill-seekers. You know the kind: always looking for an adventure. They spend the week in an office and the weekend jumping out of an airplane. That’s where I get my anything-is-possible/fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants attitude.

My Dad has always been eager to show me the ropes, especially when I was young. He used to say, and still does, “if you listen to me, you’ll make it through life.” (Jokingly, of course, but half serious.) Dad, who has lived in the Texas plains his entire life, had always dreamed of exploring the majestic Swiss Alps. So, when I took my junior year of college abroad in London, I asked him to join me in Europe for a true Alpine adventure.

An avid European traveler, I was determined to show Dad the ropes this time.

I picked Dad up at London’s Gatwick Airport. Jet-lagged and wired from the adrenaline, Dad was ready for anything. After spending the morning gazing at Big Ben and sipping tea, we boarded the underwater “chunnel” train to Paris.

The sleepy town of Mürren, Switzerland

We spent the evening in Paris, and eager to arrive in Switzerland, we took an early morning train to Basel (rhymes with “nozzle”), a city that lies on the border of France, Germany, and Switzerland.

By this point, Dad had slept five hours in a 48-hour period. But he was still on a roll. I was just excited to be with one of my best friends, my Dad, in one of my favorite places.

Basel was perhaps the first time Dad heard someone speak German. At the passport check, the man at the counter said “Danke!” (“Thanks” in German). Dad answered him with “Merci,” a phrase he had proudly learned in Paris. I laughed. The passport man laughed. Dad laughed.

Soon we were headed into the bowels of Switzerland, and we arrived at the cute, medieval city of Lucerne. We walked the city streets for two days, taking in the culture and beauty of the town, its architecture, and Lake Lucerne at our doorstep.

Dad found great delight in the German-speaking Swiss. His rendition of the language sounded something like, “oogen-aagen-noogen.” We were both convinced that the Swiss were the most charming and friendly people on earth.

One afternoon, eager to hit the mountainsides, we headed up Mt. Pilatus (Lucerne’s neighboring peak) via gondola car and hiked along the peak’s edges. Snapping pictures of us in real Alpine snow, Dad couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. After tackling Mt. Pilatus and sharing a traditional fondue dinner, we were off to discover the real Alps.

Nestled deep in Switzerland’s Jungfrau Region, miles from any city, rest two sleepy villages, Mürren and Gimmelwald. Both spots perch on the edge of a cliff, over-looking the valley three thousand feet below. It was here that we spent the most memorable moments of our trip, climbing mountainsides and taking in the incredible natural beauty of the place. I distinctly remember Dad saying, “I can DIE now.”

A view from the village of Murren looking down on Lauterbrunnen

Mürren and Gimmelwald are only reachable by a funicular transport from Lauterbrunnen, another small town in the valley. And since the funicular was closed overnight, there was a sense of absolute isolation and peace on the mountainside, a feeling impossible to experience living close to any large city. The pure gorgeousness of the place was often overwhelming. Since we were traveling in early May (before tourist season hits in Switzerland), the villages were quite deserted. Our hotel, the only open accommodation in Mürren, offered us a room with a view of Mt. Eiger, a peak infamous for the deaths of many mountain climbers.

Although Dad had thoroughly done his backpacking research (expert traveler Rick Steves is now his hero), we couldn’t escape the required near-miss disaster. Our first day in the Jungfrau began in panic. Dad was so excited to see the mountain peaks and tumbling waterfalls that he hadn’t realized his bag was missing. Dad and I raced from car to car on four or five different trains (we had forgotten which one was ours). Luckily, it was such a sleepy town that the trains were in no hurry to leave, and we quickly recovered the bag.

Once we left the Alpine peaks, we headed into the western part of the country for some Swiss culture. The last part of our jaunt through Switzerland was spent museum hopping in Bern and walking the cobblestone streets of Geneva’s “Old Town.” Both cities offer the traveler an illustration of Switzerland’s glorious past. It’s easy to lose yourself in the tiny, winding streets of these cities, admiring the architecture and exploring their hidden crevices.

Hiking through the Jungfrau, 3,000 feet above sea level

Dad and I spent seven days trekking through France and Switzerland. Although the places we saw were incredible, nothing compares to the experience of spending time with my Dad abroad. At times, I felt like the world was empty, except for Dad and me. Only Switzerland can inspire this kind of feeling, or so I’m convinced.

One afternoon, while strolling through Geneva, Dad and I stopped to rest at a sidewalk cafe. Our feet sore from walking, we ordered two glasses of red wine to relax. The cobblestone square was scattered with locals, and a group near us laughed and chatted in French. As I sat sipping the wine, I couldn’t imagine a place where I’d had more fun. And then Dad said something I’ll never forget:

“You know, I feel like I’m in Disneyland…..but this is real.”

Helpful Reading:
Let’s Go: Austria and Switzerland (for the student and/or budget traveler)
Lonely Planet Travel Survival Kit: Switzerland, by Mark Honan

Helpful Viewing:
Travel the World: Berner Alps & Western Switzerland, hosted by Rick Steves

Helpful Websites:
www.gimmelwald-news.ch
www.jungfrauregion.com

The best time to travel to Switzerland:

May, when the weather is great and before the tourists hit. Ski season usually ends in late March.