Swiss bliss: Aareschlucht, Interlaken, and April snow

(Continued from last post)

The next day I slept in a little and enjoyed breakfast, feeling very glad indeed that I had seen the Falls the day before: It was cold, rainy, and foggy, which would have made the whole trek not only more miserable but also quite pointless. Still marveling at the idea that I had no school and zero obligations until my train to Zürich the next day, I browsed the pamphlets in the hotel lobby and picked some things to do. Since it was off season, the hotel was practically empty during the day (even the receptionist left...), so I headed out to see the Aareschlucht Gorge just a short jaunt down the river Aare, which glistened pearly green even in the cloudy daylight. With no idea what to expect, I was in for a stunning treat.

The Aareschlucht Gorge!

One of the wider parts.

I had to go underground a few times to see the river!

The gorge was carved over millions of years by a water trickle that became the river, and the layers in the great stone crevices tell interesting stories about the Swiss landscape through the millennia. It was a much more relaxing adventure than the day before, but fascinating and beautiful all the same, as I wandered through the gorge, following the river backwards and forwards as it coursed through wide gaps and tiny slivers a person could barely squeeze through. On my out I met a friendly Swiss woman who seemed downright delighted to learn I was American - there didn't seem to be a lot who ventured past Interlaken, especially in April - which helped solidify my previous opinion that Swiss people in general are a very pleasant lot.

A kind group of fellow gawkers took my photo.

After Aareschlucht I hopped on a quick train ride to Interlaken. In spite of the rain, I knew I couldn't pass my Swiss weekend away without seeing it (especially since most of Meiringen was completely shut down for off season). Even in bad weather, with no chance of paragliding or kayaking or skiing, the little city was worth all the hype. Packed with visitors (mostly from China), it still emanated a welcoming charm that kept me entertained as I quite literally wandered for hours, crossing back and forth over the river, passing from tourist-clogged streets to almost-empty back roads, window shopping and eavesdropping (even though I couldn't understand a word) and sightseeing. I caved and bought a Swiss army knife from a nice old shopkeeper near the train station, toyed with the idea of buying Swiss chocolate from a Spanish-speaking cashier, was amazed to find myself the only non-Asian person in an entire stretch of the main street, and stopped for cheap Chinese food for dinner. (For such a small place in the middle of a valley, Interlaken is wildly cosmopolitan.)

 

Interlaken is quite colorful, too.

Always in the shadow of the Alps.

Even on a cloudy day the river was a rich, deep turquoise.

My feet were soaked from the rain by the time I got back to Meiringen that evening, but it had been such a fantastic day - somehow both relaxing and totally active - that I barely cared. I curled up to watch a low-budget British nature show - one of the only English shows on TV - before waking up early to get ready for my train. It was foggy again in the morning, but as it began to clear I could see a distinct line on the slopes of the mountains as if somebody had drawn it on with a pen; below the line was springy green and brown, but above it was powdery white. It had snowed up in the mountains during the night!

Snow in spring!

Bidding a fond farewell to Martina the receptionist - who later found and messaged me on Facebook to make sure I'd arrived in Prague safely! - I left Das Hotel Sherlock Holmes and went for a quick selfie with the consulting detective himself...well, at least the statue of him. (After all, I had him to thank for bringing me to this lovely place!) The train ride to Zurich was a treat; as we zigzagged up into the mountains, we passed through the veil of fog and seemed to go back in time from spring to winter, into heaps of fresh sugary snow as thick as Christmas in Wisconsin. Train was definitely the way to travel in Switzerland; how else could you see so much of such a spectacular countryside? 

Christmas?

From snow-white mountain slopes to fields shimmering yellow with flowers to the sky-blue valley lakes, Switzerland is a country of colors and heights. Geneva is a lovely city, but don't stop there; everywhere you go is a different experience entirely. Rather like Italy.

Up next was an Easter in Prague and a reunion with the Woods women. Who knew what to expect?

Swiss bliss: Solving "The Final Problem" in Meiringen

Let me start out by saying that Geneva is a lovely city. I tasted the best hot chocolate of my life, bought a pretty sweet Swatch, and had a wonderful twentieth birthday there with some dear friends back in November. But when one thinks - or at least when I think - of "Switzerland," the image that comes to mind is typically snowy mountains, Alpine villages, and outdoor adventure. Geneva has some pretty mountain views and a gorgeous lake, but it was not the "Swissperience" I was expecting. (Again, not that it wasn't great in its own way, but I was still hoping for a taste of the Switzerland that was advertised, which I knew was out there somewhere.) I had a few days between leaving Rome and arriving in Prague to spend alone, so I picked an Alpine village called Meiringen to be my home base for two nights before Easter.

First glimpses of Meiringen after getting off the train.

The selection of Meiringen wasn't totally random. As many of you know, I'm a huge fan (to put it mildly) of Sherlock Holmes in his many manifestations, particularly the BBC series Sherlock and the original stories by Arthur Conan Doyle (though I wouldn't say no to one of the Guy Ritchie films with RDJ, either). Well, one of the more curious things Doyle did with his beloved and ever-famous detective was throw him off the Reichenbach Falls, a tremendous waterfall in the Swiss mountains. Incidentally, his death caused such an uproar among fans that Doyle was forced to resurrect him several years later and continue his adventures - much to the delight of millions of people in the decades that have followed. The Reichenbach Falls is a real waterfall, located just above the little Swiss village that Doyle loved as a personal getaway: Meiringen. There's a Sherlock Holmes museum, lots of Holmes-themed landmarks (including a pretty sweet statue), and a series of plaques...including one overlooking the Falls at the very ledge from which Holmes fictionally plunged to his death to defeat his nemesis, Professor Moriarty.

Home sweet Holmes.

View from my balcony.

Needless to say, I made it my mission to get up to that plaque and see the Falls. Bidding Rome one last fond farewell, I flew out to Geneva, and from there I took a series of trains through the spectacular Swiss countryside to the Jungfrau region, affectionately known as "Nature's Playground" for very good reason. For as the train came around the bend and I could see the beautiful valley just before Interlaken, the azure sky was a rainbow of parachutes and paragliders; the opalescent lake shimmered in the sun as boaters and kayakers traversed its mirror-like surface; and the streets of the villages were full of people out and about their adventures in this pristine, picturesque, mountain-enclosed haven. Interlaken itself is a little city right at the junction between two large lakes, and Meiringen is tucked in a little alcove between the mountains only a few kilometers away. By the time I arrived, it was about four o'clock, sunny, and warm. But once I checked in to my hotel, Martina the receptionist told me that the weather tomorrow would be cold and rainy: not ideal for a trek of indeterminate length up to see the Falls. So in spite of major sleep deprivation and travel fatigue, I strapped on my faithful travel boots and set off with a German map to find them.

The famous Alps.

All set for Reichenbach! (No idea what was in store, of course...)

A few minutes into my little journey, several things became apparent. One, my map was utterly useless and unreadable to boot. Two, contrary to tourist belief, not everyone in the world speaks English: The only person I could ask for directions spoke next to none, leaving me to piece together a grammatically-horrific mess of mispronounced German, misplaced Italian, and misinterpreted English. Three, the "easy" uphill trek promised to me by Martina was in fact a steep dirt path winding precariously over roots and stones (and did I mention very steep mountainsides?). Four, though sunset was technically over two hours away, I was suddenly not positive the hike would take less than two hours. Nevertheless, I couldn't give up yet, not after I'd come all this way, and the beauty of the afternoon made me want to get some hiking in regardless. So on I went.

You've got to be kidding me.

I was not a quiet traveler, exuding my own chorus of wheezing (I was still recovering from a chest cold), swearing, praying, words of encouragement, and "This was probably a bad idea" as I climbed. I threw a few dirty looks at the inactive funicular, which would open within two weeks and replace this laborious trek with a fifteen-minute scenic ride. Being so early in the season, the snow on the mountains had not fully melted and so the magnificent roiling falls of the Reichenbach were in fact little more than a few trickles of water. But after much effort - after pity looks from the only passerby who showed up, after climbing over a fence probably intended to keep lunatics like me out during offseason, after clambering up a cliff-side path overlooking the giant cleft where the Falls usually fell - I made it to the plaque and the star. Almost weeping with relief, I started taking pictures. I even read the excerpt of "The Final Problem" aloud, marveling at how the area was exactly as Doyle described it a century ago. It was the ultimate crazy nergasmic spectacular, with the almost ethereal valley spread out below me.

The Reichenbach Falls (just imagine the water)

Made it to the top!

The famous plaque.

Where Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty resolved the Final Problem (and where Arthur Conan Doyle trekked during his vacations to Meiringen).

After a much easier trek down the mountain, I made it back to Das Hotel Sherlock Holmes in one piece and had a nice dinner at the hotel's entirely empty restaurant courtesy of an extremely attentive young waiter (I ate a bizarre concoction called the "Watson," which was basically eggs, cheese, and peaches broiled over bread). Exhausted and fulfilled, I curled up in my hotel room early and watched a gorgeous sunset from my balcony. It had been one of my fullest days yet: leaving my lovely Rome at the crack of dawn, flying to Geneva and hopping from train to train across Switzerland, trekking the Alps in a questionable judgment call that ultimately paid off...

Meiringen from the Falls.

But tomorrow, April 18, was a new day in the final travel marathon across Europe and eventually back across the Atlantic. The last adventure had begun.

Feeling pretty high on life.