You get what you need in Switzerland - Destination Travel Mag

The following article was published in the August, 2013 edition of Destinations Travel Magazine. To read the article at the Destinations website, click here. 

I was tired after a summer day of hiking the Swiss Alps, but the couple at the outdoor bistro table next to me looked exhausted. While my sore feet breathed a sigh of relief, they had plodded over with roller-bags in tow, from the direction of Interlaken’s train station. They looked out of place, out of sorts.

I sipped a local beer and gazed off at the snowy peaks whipped up like meringue towards heaven, and the newcomers all but fell into the sidewalk chairs of Des Alpes restaurant.

My waiter came by to check on me and then engaged the new customers. The man something in an unfamiliar language – not the English, German, Italian or French I had been hearing while in Interlaken and the Alpine villages.

The waiter didn’t understand either. He looked over to me and said, “I have no idea what he just said.”

“I don’t know what language he’s speaking either,” I said.

“Oh it doesn’t matter,” the waiter replied. “I may not know what he said, but I know what he needs. Watch.”

The waiter turned to the couple and held up two fingers in a peace sign. He said in English, “Two.”

The couple nodded.

Then he put his hands together in front of him, one on top of the other, and separated them vertically to about a foot apart.

“Large,” he said. They nodded again.

Then he made a fist, held it in front of his chest, brought it to his mouth and then abruptly down to the table, as if slamming an empty stein.

“Beer,” he said. “Two large beers.”

The couple smiled and nodded ferociously.

Then he turned to me and said, “the international language of beer. Everyone understands it.”

As he disappeared back into the courtyard of the open-air restaurant to fetch their brew, the couple next to me melted into relaxation. They turned out to be from the Czech Republic, spoke Czech, and from what I could gather had a rough journey getting to Interlaken, Switzerland. The waiter did not know this, nor did he know what they wanted to eat or drink. But as if some alpine soothsayer, he knew exactly what they needed.

I looked around at the row of chalets nearby then to the lush green foothills encircling the gorge just ahead, and finally back up at the mesmerizing white-capped peaks, which were just then turning pink from the fading daylight. I sank back in my own bistro chair, had a long drag from my own beer and I too melted into relaxation. It really didn’t matter what the Czech couple or I wanted. At that moment, anything we could ever need was right here in Switzerland.

It is hard to describe adequately the beauty of Switzerland’s Lautebrunnen Valley, which is part of the Berner Oberland – the Bernese Highlands. Situated in central Switzerland, the town of Interlaken sits between two pristine lakes and serves as the sentinel before the valley’s opening. This massive cleft cuts into one of Europe most aesthetic mountain ranges. Isolated alpine villages zigzag through the foothills and cling to the cliffs as tenaciously as their grazing goats. An efficient (of course it’s efficient, it’s Swiss) system of trains, cogs and cable cars string it all together, providing easy delivery to villages, hiking trails and snowy summits. Watching over it all is the queen summit of the Berner Oberlands: Jungfraujoch. 

The Jungfrau, or the Top of Europe as it is referred to, is one of the Swiss Alps’ most divine mountaintops. It boasts an ice palace, Europe’s highest railway station at 3,454 meters above sea level and an observation station playfully nicknamed, “The Sphinx.” But the main attraction, as it is in so much of Switzerland, is the view.

I began my trek into the mountains earlier that day by riding the rail from Interlaken to some of the small vacation villages ringing the valley. Each one embodied the essence of Switzerland. At the town of Kleine Scheidegg, a St. Bernard dog, complete with a barrel on his collar, was keeping watch at the train station, sniffing the hikers and families that strolled past with their eyes pinned on the Top of Europe.

 

There I boarded another train that chugged through the mountains to the Jungfrau. I don’t know if it was the altitude, the crisp mountain air or the extraordinary view that made my heart skip a beat, but as soon as I stepped onto the Sphinx observation deck all five senses were in awe.

On one side, a massive glacier field stretched between two mountain ranges and fell over the horizon. Opposite this, green hills rolled down and cascaded over the cliffs into the valley’s maw. All around the peaks stabbed into the sky like the spearpoints of a hundred marching soldiers. Snow spun in torrents from each tip and dissipated; a few daredevil hang-gliders rode the same currents down toward the far-off valley floor.

Off to the side, like a queen upon her throne, stood the Jungrau summit. She is an imposing crag, comprised of equal parts strength and natural beauty. It is hard to describe the feeling of standing in her shadow, except to say I almost genuflected.

After exploring the observation deck, I made my way onto the glacier and into the snow. The persistent snow was a welcome juxtaposition to the warm summer scene playing out just over the edge, back down in the Lautebrunnen Valley. I found a row of Adirondack chairs perched on an icy rise overlooking a row of helicopters. All around visitors hiked far off into the tundra or hopped a tourist chopper to buzz the mountaintops.

When I finally pulled myself away, I felt like I was descending Olympus after a divine audience. The cool alpine air was ambrosia for my body, the incomparable panorama like manna for the soul.

Arriving back at Kleine Sheidegg’s station, I opted out of any more trains. I threw some sausages in my trusty yellow backpack, patted the St. Bernard and began the long, winding hike down to Interlaken.

At points the trail declined steeply, at others it wound back through wooded glades only to pop out along the ridge of the soaring valley walls. But always it went down, down, down.

Rocky terrain gave way to rolling emerald hills, which themselves were deceptive. I was still atop the valley, high above the floor, following the landscape as it undulated and stepped lower and lower.

. At the top of one crest I looked down upon a cluster of chalets – the village of Wengen – perched along the ridge. There were some signs that a few months from then would guide skiers around the bend. But for now, the sound of cowbells clanged even though there were no cows around. Far across the gap, on the other side of the valley, a herd was grazing on a hillside, the gentle ding of their bells echoing across to my ears.

I reached the valley floor and the town of Lautebrunnen, where a train would speed me back to Interlaken. But Lautebrunnen is more than just a boarding platform. Before I hopped the train, I entered the village. At the local cheese shop I bought a wedge of the owner’s recommendation, and paired it with sausage made from up the valley. After grabbing a crusty loaf at a shop nearby, I trekked back toward the mammoth valley walls. I sat by the town’s cascading waterfall, in awe of the wonderland around me.

The day certainly sapped my energy, which is why I ended up at the bistro table at Des Alpes. As the Czech couple sipped their hard-gotten beer, the waiter strolled back over to me and asked if I wanted anything else.

I told him no, I didn’t want anything. I was happy relaxing after a long, fulfilling day.

He nodded suspiciously and produced an unmarked bottle filled with clear liquid.

He put a shot glass on my table and filled it.

“You need some schnapps. Homemade, on the house,” he said.

The fumes were potent. This was the stuff they put in the barrel around the St. Bernard’s neck.

 “Everybody needs some schnapps,” he said.

He was right. Switzerland really did have everything I could ever need.