You know a special place, a special moment from the very first glimpse; that exciting, honest fascination that reaches in and inspires the wondering child in you, enticing him, daring him to play. In that place, it doesn’t matter what troubles you elsewhere, what distracts you from the happiness you seek and leads you to doubts, fears and disappointments. In that place, you can think of nothing else but the sheer thrill of being there.
For me, that place is a little valley nestled in the southern Swiss Alps, an oasis far removed from what the world calls trouble and what I call distraction. It is the town of Lauterbrunnen, one of a number of mountain and cliff-side villages that share the valley and ridges below the majestic peaks of Jungfrau, Eiger and Mönch, three of the tallest peaks on the European continent.
I’ve visited Lauterbrunnen twice in past years, once in spring and once in summer, with each season showing a different character. Oddly enough, the valley itself was quite similar in both seasons, with the greenest hues you could hope for, spectacular shadows that made each passing hour a new wonder to behold and the clearest night sky I’ve ever seen. A walk along the ridge above the valley in summer found grazing pastures marked with simple barbed fencing and the occasional self-service strawberry stands serving fresh fruit daily. Spring found the cleanest snow desirable framing the shifting banks of streams that feed the towering waterfalls falling down to the valley below and a quaint but essential rail line whose passage out of the white landscape is marked only by its conductor’s tolling bell. I think simple, peaceful and idyllic are appropriate terms.
On my second trip, I took a number of walks north along the valley floor, encountering a couple of amusing sights. The first was a small sheep stable, which housed one particularly friendly occupant who regularly greeted my passing with especially interested bleating. I made a point during my three-day stay to return the salutations in kind, though it was a bit awkward the last day when I encountered him being sheared in a pin opposite the stable. Nevertheless, the haircut suited him and I assume he appreciated it as spring progressed into summer.
A second was a random encounter with BASE jumping parachuters. I had noticed a group of guys packing chutes in the common area of the hostel I stayed at in town, but was nevertheless surprised by the sudden swooping sound of fabric flapping in the wind and the sudden jerk of deceleration as the chute opened not fifty feet overhead. I was lucky to catch the ensuing jumps in a couple photographs as they literally flew across the valley’s width before slowly gliding in for a landing in a pasture nearby.
Finally, the shadows. One morning, I headed out before the sun had peeked over the eastern cliffs and was treated to a mountain sunrise that slowly crept over the ridge, illuminating the town cemetery in a particularly satisfying mixture of shifting shapes and silhouettes. This continued farther down the valley as the sun caught the many entangled peaks and ridges as it woke the dewy valley.
Stay tuned for more on Lauterbrunnen in tomorrow’s post including Trümmelbach Falls and Jungfraujoch!
There’s this train, a special cog wheel, electric tram that literally climbs through the inside of Eiger to reach the station at Jungfraujoch. The first leg brings you up from the valley station at Lauterbrunnen about three quarters of the way, basically to the line of the snow pack, you hop off and board the second leg, the special tram, that makes its way through a tunnel blasted through Eiger. About the halfway point, you stop on a side rail briefly to allow a descending train to pass, allowing a glimpse of one edge of the Eiger glacier as it slowly makes its way down through the range, carving new valleys and ridges along its path.
After about 30-45 minutes more, you come upon this.
