Interlaken to Gimmelwald

From Interlaken to Gimmelwald, a (very) small Alp town, we had to take a couple trains, and, when those couldn’t climb the mountainous terrain, we had to go by cable car.

That took us to Murren, and from there we could cable car it again, or walk 40 minutes. Downhill even! That sounds easy, right? Well, with about 50 pounds of gear on our back, plus our day packs, it’s harder than it sounds. After huffing and puffing, multiple breaks, shin splints, sore shoulders, and what I can only describe as Charlie-horsed calves, we stepped into the Mountain Hostel.

We spent the rest of the time sitting by, well, the Alps. It’s hard to describe what it looks like, with the Alps pretty much right in our faces. The bright sun shone on the pure, perfect white snow topping the mountains before our eyes. Streams of water fell from cliffs of which heights I could only guess. Below the dark gray rock where, because of the altitude, vegetation struggles to survive, pine trees sprout by the hundreds, making the low mountain side look as if it was covered by shag carpeting.

We spent the rest of the day until sundown on the porch with a couple beers and cheap wine. When the sun went down, it got chilly quickly, so we headed in. In the commons area, there were locals, climbers, 50-somethings, 20-somethings, gung-ho hikers, couples, drinkers, and more Americans than I would have expected. I met a fellow a little younger than me from the UK who had climbed up and down the Schilthorn. He was visibly shaking, flushed (perhaps sunburnt), but in good spirits; he had an air of accomplishment. He didn’t look like that much of an experienced hiker, so I used that as cause to think about trying it ourselves (that’s another blogpost)

At 9:30, we were the first to go to bed in our six-person room. The one window in the room, looking out to a wall of Alps, was open. At 3am, I woke up sweating; the window was closed. Someone in our room apparently didn’t understand that six people in a walk-in closet might need some ventilation. I needed some air, so I went down the two flights of stairs and went outside. The sky was completely clear, revealing a blanket of stars, except where the Alps stood – jagged dark cut-outs against the sky. I stood staring into the stars, waiting for a shooting star. No meteors, but out of the corner of my eye a wave of light brushed the sky, or my eye. Could have been Northern lights, could have been my imagination. I walked back up to bed, unknowing what The Alps had in store for me the next day.