The Descent - Kinda Faul

We woke the next morning in the cold Faulhorn bunkroom to silence, i.e., no rain. Within ten minutes we were groomed (no shower) and packed and stepped outside for the short, slightly chilly jaunt to the dining room. We paused to admire our same panorama view but of the Alps in a different mood, a deep gray backdrop to impenetrable pools of clouds lying below and between the numerous peaks. Our simple breakfast consisted of bread, a few small packaged cheeses and various condiments with coffee and tea. We settled up with the hostel's courteous caretakers, purchasing bottled water (?!) to refill our Nalgenes (the hotel collects non-potable rainwater for its plumbing), and descended the switchbacks into the cool, damp morning.

The presumably breathtaking views from the ridge we planned to follow were unfortunately completely obscured by clouds. Within five minutes of departing a thick fog rolled over us, and I snapped the above picture of the Faulhorn's protruding summit with the hostel and its helicopter landing pad in profile. The mountain's rough, rocky, snowy northern-side terrain contrasted sharply with the prior day's southern smooth ascent. We hiked an hour through the rugged, spooky cool landscape without encountering a soul. Ever descending, we hit our next landmark, the Berghaus Männdlenen Alpine hostel tucked into the ridge's folds. Not particularly thirsty but just because we could, we stopped for a coffee, unintentionally ruffling the hostel's slightly oddball three-person crew who pretended to straighten things up in our presence despite being near no-occupancy. Um, thanks, but reallly we don't care. Our brief respite ended in more ways than one, as a fairly pelting rain greeted us upon exit. We donned our rain gear and continued walking.

Sven claims to particularly enjoy backpacking in nasty weather as a good chance to enjoy the elements and test his gear. Since we had expected rain from the beginning, I was more or less in the same mind frame and we gleaned some slight masochistic glee from finally "roughing it" a bit as the rain and wind picked up, whipping through the canyon valleys and dousing us pretty well. By late morning we finally began passing a few ascending hikers, some properly outfitted and some just ignorant or dumb, already soaked and looking chilled in cotton sweatshirts, no hats and wet running shoes instead of boots. As SwissGuy's comment on the last blog entry wisely points out, don't mess around in the mountains. These kids were already looking at catching a week-long cold or worse.

The rain lessened its sting after an hour and more or less abated completely 30 minutes after that. We were entertained by first one, then several, then eventually dozens of jet black, shiny 6-inch-long Swiss salamanders across the trail--some motionless, some skittering along, and more than one pair openly engaged in what we first thought was wrestling, but later realized was copulating (truly embarrassing for all parties). The ridge path stayed high above the now green-pastured valleys below, active farms with grazing livestock dotting the landscape as only Switzerland can provide; nearly every hike here feels like an idyllic postcard walk.

In fact, during the final quarter of our hike, the livestock became downright, hm, shall we say, in-your-face with more than a few 1,000-lb ladies flopped down right across the trail, indolently observing our approach. The scattering of bulls present--as evidenced by their short but pointy horns--was not so amused and eyed us quite steadily. I'm not sure if "American Hikers Gored By Swiss Dairy Cows" would make CNN Headline News but, opting for discretion, we carefully picked our way off the path, tromping further upward though long wet grass and mud to avoid any international incidents. As backpacking luck often has it, our move proved rewarding as through a break in the clouds we thereby caught a view completely over the ridge's back side, a sheer drop thousands of feet above the bright blue Brienzersee lake flanked by cliffs. Unbelievable. We arrived at the Schynige Platte cogway rail station amidst a renewed steady drizzle. After the morning's wet, rocky, six-mile and 2,000 foot descent, we gratefully peeled off the rain gear aboard the historic cogway train that carried us the final wooded, sharp 5,000 feet down to Interlaken.

So what was our review overall? Well what can you say? True backcountry backpacking with days of solitude it ain't. But the nonstop panoramas and vistas provide the most spectacular scenery you could hope to lay eyes on. And a thought just dawned on me. Maybe removing 20 pounds of gear and eating fried eggs and sausage with beer instead of dehydrated spaghetti sauce isn't a bad way to go after all. Those Swiss, they've thought of everything.

GPS & Google Earth representations of the hike (click to enlarge):

Day 1 - Ascent from First past Bachalp lakes to Faulhorn















Day 2 - Ridge descent from Faulhorn to Schynige Platte with Interlaken (between the lakes) below

The Ascent - Not So Faul

Prior to the July 31 completion of his two year ex-pat venture, Swedish Sven (actually from Wisconsin now residing in North Carolina) visited Zürich for a long weekend in mid-July. Since Sven and I had reconvened annually the past seven years for a group backpacking tradition, we planned to extend that theme during his visit via an overnight hike in the Jungfrau Alps above Interlaken. Bless his soul, Sven arrived bearing the most spectacular gift possible—his espresso machine (mine broke in January, was dubbed unfixable by a Swiss expert and went un-replaced); it naturally requires 220V input, perfectly suitable in Sweden or Switzerland but unusable in the U.S. Overwhelmed with emotion, I blubbered my heartfelt gratitude and ruined a few Kleenexes upon regaining home-espresso capabilities.

That Thursday evening we organized our backpacking gear for our Friday-to-Saturday hike. This being my first overnight hike in Switzerland, I wasn’t sure what to expect. For a normal U.S. backcountry trip, we’d carry a tent and sleeping bags & pads and stoves and pots & pans and fuel and a water filter and all our meals pre-dried; each pack might weigh 30-35 lbs for two or three nights out. But per my limited understanding based on some (mostly German) research, Switzerland doesn’t really allow backcountry camping. Instead various huts, hostels and hotels are scattered amidst the network of hiking trails that covers the country-- even in “remote” hiking areas--so basically you’re never really that remote. In a tiny, densely populated country whose most precious natural resource is its beauty, hiking is not a pastime but an industry.

We planned to start above Interlaken and mountain-village Grindelwald and hike up to the local peak, the Faulhorn (8,800 ft.), stay Friday evening at the hut/hostel Berghotel Faulhorn—Europe’s oldest mountain hotel established in 1830--and hike down an adjoining ridge the following day. The plan’s only wrinkle was the weather forecast: nice for Friday’s ascent but rain blowing in for our “hotel” night and Saturday descent. Via phone a week prior in broken German, I had booked two bunks in the Berghotel’s 60-bunk Touristenlager (still not entirely sure of the amenities) and then let the cancellation date pass on Thursday. Rain or no rain, we were going hiking...

But like a doomed Everest expedition, disaster nearly struck before we could leave base camp. Disaster in the form of two extremely chatty Irish women (sorry, chatty and Irish is already redundant) who somehow stole our window table at the neighborhood bar Thursday night as Sven and I were responsibly finishing up our second beer, and then proceeded to buy us several additional large beers solely to suspend our departure in order to harangue me for being unemployed, for my woeful knowledge of Zürich dance clubs, and our U.S. politics in general. Actually they were pleasant enough--and it's occasionally relaxing to not say a single word for two hours--but we wisely let them hop a cab for unknown clubs while we stumbled home to catch our early AM train.

We blearily grabbed our packs and caught the bus to the train station Friday morning, the hangover not really kicking in until halfway to Interlaken and in full swing as we cogwheel-trammed and ski-lifted ourselves to Grindelwald and then First, our trailhead at 7,100 ft. Our small daypacks were light, perhaps only 10-12 lbs, carrying little more than a change of clothes, toiletries, light blankets, snacks & emergency rain gear, having forsaken nearly all backcountry equipment including sleeping bags. The hike was not long but fairly steep at 3.5 miles and 1,700 ft. gain; we progressed slowly to appreciate the absolutely gorgeous weather and scenery, passing the classic Alpine Bachalpsee lake on the way to the Faulhorn.

Steph and I had dayhiked the same route to the Berghotel Faulhorn two years prior on vacation but not explored too much. Management maintains the small establishment's interior quite well for its considerable age, although signs of antiquity abound. Despite all supplies requiring helicopter-lifting to the hotel's concrete landing pad once or twice a week (a spectacle Steph and I observed on our first visit, really amazing), the tiny restaurant's menu was impressively complete. As Sven devoured a nice sausage-in-homemade-pea-soup for late lunch, the proprietor explained that the bunk reservations had been fairly full that evening until every party except us canceled due to weather; luckily we had all 60 bunks to ourselves.

We spent the late afternoon at the Faulhorn's peak, perhaps 50 ft. above the hotel itself, gawking at the amazingly clear 360° views including the region's famous triple feature of Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau peaks. We unpacked onto the best two bunks available (the Berghotel also features six small private rooms, of which two remained booked that evening, so Sven and I were not the sole guests present a la The Shining's Overlook Hotel). Dinner was spectacularly mountainous cuisine: Alpine macaroni in cheese sauce for Sven and classic Rösti hash browns topped with Spiegelei fried egg for me, washed down (gingerly this evening) with a single beer.

The expected storm arrived as dinner ended, rattling the old dining room. Violent wind and rain lashed in as I cracked open the exit door, slamming it shut again to regroup like in some melodramatic movie. Laughing in disbelief, we sprinted outside and up a flight of stone steps to the bunks, drenched, cold and panting after 15 seconds' exposure. The bunk room temperature had plummeted amidst the approaching cold front at 8,800 ft. to perhaps 40-something degrees. We bundled up with the lightweight fleece blankets we'd brought, reinforced by several heavy wool blankets provided with the bunks, and allowed the angry, pounding rain to lull us to sleep, dreaming of tomorrow's adventure...

Some scenic pictures: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.595lcmoz&x=0&y=dv5ybu&localeid=en_US

Rehrücken of the Year

Stop the clock! Fantastic news! As of Saturday night, both Steph and I have achieved our dinners worthy of Meal of the Year 2008 honors. Blog followers may remember Steph nailing hers in June at a French bistrot in Lucerne. I found mine last night--in none other than Zürich itself (gasp!)--at the hip Blaue Ente or "Blue Duck" restaurant (those foggy on Meal of the Year may review the protocol here).

Dining out was probably our #1 pasttime in underrated but undoubtedly world-class restaurant city Chicago (judged by both restaurant quantity and high-end quality), but in Zürich we've unfortunately been shaken from that favorite hobby by ridiculous prices for less than top-notch cuisine. Not that Chicago didn't have its share of duds, but at half the cost on average vs. Zürich the "risk" was easier to stomach. And the grocery store food here is so phenomenal that our home kitchen results make rampant restauranteering less necessary.

So how did we discover this Zürich gem? Ha ha, we didn't! After some assiduous Web research, my younger brother and sister-in-law T&A sent us a very generous Blaue Ente gift certificate way back in December (they claimed we did something nice for them in the past to deserve it) during our down-in-the-dumps Kloten apartment hunting phase. After surviving that, Steph and I waited nearly nine months for a special occasion to use the gift, in this case the occasion being our first open weekend since early May.

As with all romantic dates, ours started with a bus ride to the restaurant, a block off the lake. The restaurant's contemporary decor included a refurbished large mill of some sort, smack in the middle of the dining area. We started with glasses of prosecco (Italian sparkling wine) then--determined to quickly dent the gift certificate--pulled out the big guns ordering our first-ever bottle of Barolo, the purported king of Italian red wines (it did not disappoint). Our starter selections of signature duck confit ravioli (me) and gazpacho (Steph) were solid if not spectacular. Then came the best decision I've made all year--Rehrücken aus der Sommerjagd, Eierschwämmli à la crème mit hausgemachten Schupfnudeln und Preiselbeerjus. Luckily we procured one English menu along with the standard German to aid translation: roast saddle of venison in cranberry sauce with accoutrements. Simply amazing, forget about it. Steph's gebratenes Lammcarré, or ribs of New Zealand lamb, also ranked highly but not quite equal. For dessert, we finished the wine of course.

We capped the excellent evening (after another bus ride) with two final glasses of wine at a normally packed wine bar, on this Saturday night nearly empty, mirroring much of Zürich so far this August, Europe's primary vacation month. And as proof of the interconnectivity of the cosmos, our Chicago Meal of the Year co-conspirator Sasha achieved her 2008 MOY the same Saturday night (OK, maybe eight hours later) at restaurant Fuego in Santa Fe [food photo courtesy of Moises's iPhone]:

A huge debt of gratitude to T&A for the gift certificate that, even after the passage of time, indeed proved quite uplifting--specifically by removing that pesky MOY monkey from my back. They can pick my restaurant from 4,000 miles away any time.

Back on the Wagon

Good grief! Here I go again with feast or famine complex--22 blog entries in June (thanks, Europameister!) and since then only four posts in six weeks. In my (weak) defense, nearly two weeks were spent in the U.S. without much Internet access, sufficient to knock me off my game. So today's is a quick placeholder entry, an overdue notice of resuscitation for my perpetually disappointed fan base. What on earth has our faux-Swiss family been up to??

The weekend following our July 4 visit from M, we hosted Swedish Sven's reciprocal visit to Zürich from our Scandinavian excursion in June. Since Sven and I usually reconvene annually through a group backpacking tradition that started in Death Valley seven years ago, an overnight hike to the heart of the Alps in the Swiss Jungfrau region seemed only fitting for his visit. That's the first story to recount, the tale of a mountain's moods and my first experience roughing it Swiss style. Next came Steph's and my nearly two weeks back in the Midwest U.S., of which I'll rehash only part, the most ridiculously noteworthy being another backpacking trip--pitifully ill-fated--this year's installment of said group's backcountry excursion to the forests of northwestern Wisconsin.

A mere two days after returning from the U.S. to Switzerland, still fairly jet-lagged, we hopped a 7-hour train to Adriatic coastal beach-town Rimini, Italy, for a trial weekend of who-knew-what with 8 strangers, other friends of new Europameister acquaintances. And just last weekend then featured Zürich's annual Street Parade, one of the largest techno/rave parties in the world and the biggest in Europe, bringing nearly 1,000,000 people to little Zürich on an August Saturday to do what ravers do best. Yes, we participated.

So there are the teasers, now all that remains is making up yet again for all my lost blogging time. Be back soon...

July 4, Swiss Style

Surprising- ly, we saw more fireworks than expected during our first July 4 in Switz- erland, i.e., exactly one. Some loony American ex-pat in the next town over blasted off a doozy, of which we observed only the bright red crest over the eastern city hillside from our evening patio vantage. Considerably more entertaining was a weekend visit from our frequent European partner in crime, our fifth rendezvous in eight months with Steph's college roommate, M. Sadly for us, this second visit to Zürich marked her final Euro weekend trip as her Fulbright teaching grant reaches its conclusion in mid-July and she leaves Germany after nine months to return home to the U.S.

Our July activities with M--already familiar with Zürich city from a January tour--focused more on the outskirts. As we like to do with guests, we ran her ragged and then fed her well. Steph lacks a true road bike and M wasn't moving hers back to the U.S., so they had bargained and wheeled and sealed a deal for M to transport her bike from Essen (not easy, even on Euro trains) to Zürich for Steph's discounted purchase. We celebrated M's arrival and the deal's consummation with a group ride after work on Friday, the same 13-mile round trip that Steph and I had blundered into (but now we're pros) featuring unexpected vineyard, lake and mountain views. We relaxed that evening, drinking wine and grilling pizza from scratch (have you ever grilled pizza? Slightly challenging but fun.).

Saturday we hopped the train 90 minutes south to the new-favorite Vierwaldstättersee area for a day hike from little town Küssnacht am Rigi to Lucerne. The area sits at the Alps' foot--before the mountains get too serious--featuring excellent views of peaks above lakes. We hiked about about three hours and 7.5 miles from Küssnacht under Mt. Rigi, up through a network of forested nature trails and back down to destination Lucerne under Mt. Pilatus (we visited Lucerne and Pilatus with my parents in June). I love maps and also thus Google Earth, so above is a representation of the hike from bottom-left to upper-right (click to enlarge). After emerging from the forest, rather than hoofing it another mile or two directly to downtown Lucerne, we elected the more reasonable option of pausing for Kaffee + Kuchen at a tiny village bakery and then relaxing in a lakeside park waiting for the ferry to shuttle us across the lake and ultimately deliver us downtown. We found Lake Lucerne equally as charming on this beautiful summer day as on our introduction. After several tries at finagling in German (finagling isn't easy when you're not fluent), we managed an early outdoor dinner seating at our Old Town Lucerne restaurant of choice, the brasserie that served Steph her 2008 MOY-to-date in June; everything was again excellent.

Waking from Sunday sleep-in saw clouds and light rain roll into Zürich (summers are rainier here than Chicago, but also not as hot and humid) and we took it relatively easy, consuming ourselves with cooking all day prepping for the homemade Mexican food fiesta we had promised M for her birthday the prior week; authentic Mexican is as difficult to obtain in Germany as in Switzerland (probably all of Europe). I really usually avoid tooting the horn, but sometimes the combo of Swiss ingredient quality and our practiced preparation yields fantastic results--perhaps the best Mexican dinner we've ever made, bite-for-bite like Chicago's Frontera Grill, source of most of the recipes. Corn tortillas, roasted salsa, poached chicken and guacamole, all from scratch among other condiments and side dishes. A truly gut-busting good time.

Steph sadly escorted M to the train station the following morning on the way to work. We'll miss her dearly, since her proximity in Europe and our frequent excursions together provided that hardest-to-attain and most valuable missing element from home, that is, a close friend at hand with which to share adventures and experiences. We're anxiously anticipating her return trip to Europe!

Pics from the weekend here: http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.3lpztl1n&x=0&y=1xy94p&localeid=en_US

The Secret Life of Hans

Although I fairly recently updated the peanut gallery on the SOTD (State of the Dog), we accum- ulated several more pictures for a brief post. You may remember Hobbes--alias Hans--battling swans for position some mornings in the Zürichsee. On less combative days, rather than downhill to the lake we occasionally head uphill via tram to a stream feeding it. Zürich's attention to green space is superb, so a ten minute trip from our front door grants access to several miles of rolling, forested streamside path that feels more like North Carolina wilderness than a metropolitan periphery. Hobbes of course has "discovered" and committed to memory (that oh-so-selective canine memory) several excellent stream access points near which he now can't be contained.

So here are some extra pictures of tennis ball fetch in his favorite waterfall lagoon, just an average day in the super secret and spoiled life of Hans. http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=2hd8fyj.ciho81u3&x=0&y=8o2fv5&localeid=en_US

Happy Belated July 4!

Happy belated 4th of July to all you patriots! Or as nobody says in German because it's not a holiday over here, Frohe vierte Juli! Looks like the weather cooperated for the long weekend in Chicago at least.

Keeping with the theme, I'll share two pieces of Euro-Americana from the past few weeks. To facilitate complete study, please feel free to click on either picture to examine more detail. Americana Exhibit A lies as close as our neighborhood grocery store, another inimitable U.S. contribution to cuisine--that's right, the bun! You might think that ubiquitous corner bakeries and a huge variety of freshly baked artisinal items in every grocery would have snuffed out the standard U.S. white bread hamburger bun long ago. Well, think again! It's BBQ season and while some fancy Kaiser roll or potato roll or whatever might seem more interesting, the world acknowledges that with most grilled protein, bleached spongy white bread remains a necessary accompaniment--topped with sesame seeds, of course.

Exhibit B comes from a Swedish bar bathroom poster, an exciting Southern U.S. themed July 4 "Day at the Races". The poster's ample English promises delights appealing to grease monkeys (Cadillac, Corvette, hot rods and Harley Davidson) among other highbrow evening entertainment elements (line dancing, Jack Daniels and rockabilly music featuring the band 'Rednex') with ever-popular American cuisine and sport (hickory smoked spareribs and football). Alas, the poster's Swedish words are mostly unintelligible (I'm learning German after all) but Galopplöpningar must be horse racing, although Elektrisk tjur (guitar?), Appaloosa, Westernprylar and Curly are beyond me. One should mean 'mint julep'. The event also boasts och mycket mycket mer!, but I can't fathom what more I'd like to see. Who'd imagine Sweden could host an Americana event where we'd feel like foreigners??

It just proves that given today's rapidly shrinking globe, home is closer than ever even 4,000 miles away. Returning to the U.S. later this month, we wouldn't bat an eye to discover the hip new trends include dried cod, dill schnapps Älplermagronen and yodeling.