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.
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