Our group dynamic was a complete mystery going in to the Europe trip. We had Dani and I, who only take breaks from being a model couple when we're not around other people (and even then it's rare :-P); Dani and Christine, whose friendship had been kindled on a Eurotrip the previous summer; Christine and I, a pairing that I was far more comfortable with than Christine was, going in. We're both competitive and stubborn, to similar degrees. Basically, I had to give Christine a money-back guarantee to get her on board: if she didn't enjoy the trip, I'd pay her expenses.
Then there was Mark. Mark is my younger brother by three years, and we've always been different and never been close. I had brown hair/green(ish) eyes, he was blond-haired/blue-eyed. I played mainstream sports, he preferred alternatives. I took piano lessons, he insisted on drums. I got suspended from high school due to a "disagreement" over whether choir should be a required course, he had many solo parts during his time in choir. I had an inexplicable drive to get good grades that he never shared. He likes poetry (even was known to write some) and dated several girls in high school, while I was a multiple choice kinda guy and never chose to have a girlfriend. We also have an oldest sister (Jessica) and a youngest brother (Scott). I could put together a similar paragraph about any two siblings, so don't get the idea that Mark or I are the odd duck.
Mark is a senior in college this year, so I figured it may be one of the last summers we both had time to travel. We've talked about it (backpacking Europe) before, but it never worked out. I got Dani and Christine to accept Mark as our fourth participant by assuring them he was nothing like me.
So. That's the context for the context. Next thing you know we're all in Ireland and committed to spending a month together on a hectic and foreign schedule. The first few days had their rocky points — we all slept through a reserved tour that I had pre-paid for, Dani was sick for a few days, and we came as close as you can get to missing our flight out of Dublin. Stressful.
James Joyce is huge in Dublin, and, in the random near miss of the trip, our schedule had us leaving Dublin the day before Bloomsday, which is a huge celebration in honor of Joyce. Would have been a nice touch. Then, the next day, I left my Digital SLR Canon 40D on the train from Zurich to Interlaken. When we got to Interlake, our hostel was a 30-minute walk from the train station. With 40 lb. backpacks. Cranky.
I'm not saying the first week was a bad experience, but that we were fighting hard to keep from letting the negatives bring us down, and it showed. I still enjoyed that time, despite the difficulties, and I think the others would say the same. It was also never openly acknowledged that we were having more trouble than would be reasonable to expect, but I had a vague feeling that we were a few mishaps away from a breakdown on some level.
Then we got to The Mountain Hostel in Gimmelwald, Switzerland. The place is the ultimate stress reducer. Everything is slow, and beautiful.
Also cows.
One of the best things about being up in the Alps in Switzerland is that there was no pressure to do anything. Most tourists are constantly checking things off a list as they move from place to place, but in this place, just being there is enough. You don't even need to hike, because the view is always there.
We made a few friends of strangers staying at the same hostel, and stayed up with them late into the night looking at the stars in the Alps from the side of a quiet mountain path. The next day they told us about the Via Ferrata.
Via Ferrata means Iron Road. We later learned that the term comes from a time when climbers placed iron spikes in paths up/through the Alps to make the trek easier for soldiers to follow. The originals date back to the World Wars, but I doubt that the local path, from Murren to Gimmelwald, was original.
Our new friends had gotten up early and done the Via Ferrata, getting back around midday raving about the experience. We were won over, and went to the Via Ferrata in the early afternoon. Going there means buying a ticket on the cable car to Murren, which was the next Swiss village up the mountain (5 minutes via cable car and a few thousand feet of elevation), then walking to the Sport Shop on the far side of the village. When we got there, the man behind the counter told us that he had shut down the route for the day, because of high winds. There was apparently a significant chance of getting blown off the side of the Alps. We were disappointed, and more than a little irrationally cocky ("if the wind blows stronger, we'll just hold on tighter"), but we let it go and headed back. We took the path back, which winds along the side of the mountain, going downhill the whole way. Dani and I used the afternoon to buy a ticket up to Mt. Schilthorn, the highest point on our range. This involved a total of four cable car trips...
The next day was our last full day in the mountains. We were all amped about the Via Ferrata by now, so we woke up and headed over early. The man behind the counter absolutely crushed us by saying the wind was too strong, again. As we hung our heads and left, convinced this was another setback in our early string (we're still under a week into the trip at this point), I asked if we could come back later and see if anything changed. Even asking this was a stretch, because it cost us about $10 for the cable car and over an hour of our day every time we "checked" with him. Thankfully, he was cooperative and gave us a number to call and told me a good time to check in.
In the meantime, we walked back to the hostel. This was our second 40-minute walk on the same trail in less than 24 hours, and if we hadn't been in the Alps, our morale may have suffered. I invented a game where we took turns kicking a rock and trying to keep it on the path. Christine kept ruining it, and it was hilarious. I guess you'd have to be there... We also met some cows, and Dani kept trying, and failing, to pet them. Also funny.
In the end, it was Dani who made the call. I was afraid of annoying the front office people at the hostel by asking to use their phone, but it's hard to say no to Dani. She brings out the best in people.
So, though I'm taking credit for sheer doggedness, Dani also played an important role. The man on the other end of the line told us the route was hike-able!! (possibly just because he could tell how disappointed we were after being denied twice). Side note: what's the difference between being maddeningly stubborn and inspiringly determined? Is is just the final outcome?
We quickly got our stuff together and headed to Murren for the third time. I just had to grab my bandana, because that's what seemed the most rock-climby.
Yes, to this point I haven't even started writing about the actual experience. I told you, this was a top-5 adventure in a month of adventures. It wasn't just the experience itself, it was the timing and adversity involved.
Listen to this. This hike is easily the second-most dangerous I've ever done, and the first was illegal, because of deaths. This hike was legal and a fee was charged, yet, there was exactly zero supervision or training. The man in the store gave us each a harness with two carabiners, and said to always have one clipped to the guiding wire. If we fell, it should catch us "within 5 meters or so". We put them on (Christine was in the bathroom and missed the tutorial). He pointed us to where the trail started. We walked to the edge of the Alps. Just like that, we were completely on our own. We didn't see another soul for the next 3-4 hours.
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| This could never happen in today's America. |
As you can see in the picture, you have the hooks on the wire, and you slide them along as you move. Every few feet you have to unhook them both to get around the hook in the mountain, but you're supposed to do it one at a time, so you're never completely detached.
The next three hours were exhilarating, terrifying, and mesmerizing. Mark led the way, then Christine, Dani, and me — at least at first. Dani has a legitimate fear of heights, and had a point in the first ten minutes where she froze and started swearing (she never swears). That seriously worried me, especially since it came at a point where we were on a ladder she probably could have jumped off and been fine. I suspected the level of difficulty would get much, much worse, but I had no idea just how bad it would be.
The first real test was a 40-yard stretch where we had to move horizontally along a sheer cliff face. Nothing above, nothing below. Those iron rings, by the way, often had some give to them. Not the sort of thing you just jump onto with your whole weight. Everyone got really loud when we saw it this portion coming, then got really quiet until it was over. My journalistic impulses overcame my sheer terror, and I paused here for a few selfies. My palms were sweating, my legs were shaking, and the others had disappeared around the corner of the cliff. I was completely alone, suspended a few thousand feet above a Swiss village. Incredible.
You just have to take one rung at a time. Focus. Step. Focus. Shift hands. Focus. Wipe hands on jorts. Focus. Nothing else matters, and all of your brain's power is working toward a single goal — not dying.
The best word to describe my learning curve is dangerous. I get used to something new, then get bored, then find ways to push the limits. This is how I got a concussion by going off a jump on my second day snowboarding. But, I digress..
Anyway, we're over an hour into the Via Ferrata experience at this point....
The rope bridge was our second real challenge. I'm careful!
Our enormous final obstacle, and there were several notable portions I haven't mentioned, was the suspension bridge. This thing was way too long to trust, and though it appeared sturdy, when you stepped on it, it proved otherwise. Not only that, but the handhold was only on one side, so you felt unbalanced the entire time. Oh, also, you still had to clip and unclip every few feet.
When Dani saw it, she said "I can't do that", and I believed her, because I felt similarly. Even though many parts of the hike were frightening, you were at least up against the mountain the whole time, which was comforting on some level. Besides, I've seen way too many movies where bridges of this sort snap with hapless people trapped between solid ground. The alternative was hiking three hours back the way we came.
We went one at a time.
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| Photo cred: Dani |
When Christine stopped in the middle to untangle her clips, leaving herself 100 percent unanchored, we didn't even know what to do. We didn't want to shout at her and startle her, but if a gust of wind had come along at that moment, there was nothing keeping her on that bridge. She made it.
When we all got across the bridge, that was it. We were done. A quick walk back to the hostel to turn in the harnesses, and it was over. I grabbed a mug and walked up the path a little ways, already feeling familiar with this tiny village. There was a hollowed-out log a few hundred feet past the shops, a hollowed-out log which was full of fresh Alpine spring water delivered by a steadily dripping faucet. I sat and filled my mug again and again, as I reflected on what we had just accomplished. I have given up hope that I will ever have a better glass of water.
The Via Ferrata brought us together as a group at a time when we really needed it. We shared so many things over those few short hours: anticipation, fears, concern, awe, adrenaline, wonder, achievement. We forgot everything else, because we didn't need anything else to make that experience perfect. We weren't trying, we were just doing. I will always look back at the Via Ferrata as a defining point in our trip in the best possible way, of special significance because it came so close to not happening.
