The "Top of Europe"

Photos are here. (That's the middle mountain, Monch.)

There are several things you can do in the Berner Oberland, and they all involve hiking, skiing, and seeing sights. As I’ve already added at least 20 years to my feet and knees on this trip, I opted for the Jungfraujoch and the cog-wheel train that takes you from 3,000 ft to 11,000 feet via a tunnel that was hewn into the Eiger about 100 years ago. And the railway is about 100 years old, too. Fun!

But I didn’t mind it. I would have normally been quite nervous about the whole thing, but I wasn’t. I figured that If the Eiger chose that moment to collapse in on that tunnel, then I probably deserved to go with it. I mean, It’s a tunnel that winds around inside a solid mountain. It’s lasted 100 years. I’m sure it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

There are a few stops along the way where you can look out of windows that sit on the face of the mountain. I mean, if you’re not cool with heights, you’re sooooo not cool with this view. But by the time you get to the top and take the elevator up 300 feet from the in-mountain railway station to the on-top-of-mountain observatory, you’d better be ready for the long look down.

The Sphinx Observatory is situated on a big rock that juts out from the saddle between Monch and Jungfrau (Eiger is the ogre, and Monch is the monk that’s standing between the ogre and the young maiden… that’s Jungfrau… protecting her from the ogre). Snow-capped peaks for miles and miles and miles and miles. And a pollution line… ruddy dusty-looking pollution hanging out below you. It’s weird. Beautiful and terrifying, nature and humankind battling it out everywhere you look.

I descended the mountain.

I kept thinking that people from Switzerland must be so disappointed with Yosemite. I contemplated the tiniest of white croci peering out from under the still snow-matted brown grass from last year, and was continually baffled by the torrents of water plunging off of the sides of the mountains. It something everyone has to see for themselves. It’s glorious.

I bought dinner of bread and cheese at the store in the town. I slept early.

Sputtering in disbelief

Photos are here. (For previous post as well.)

Going through the Berner Oberland for the first time was an experience I wasn’t expecting, and one that I wish I could do again for the first time.

My father was right. I had seen some dazzling things, but it was all [um, something not worth looking at] compared to Switzerland.

Each bend offers higher peaks, deeper valleys, sweeter cottages, and bluer sky. Breathtaking doesn’t cover it. Nothing does.

And then one last curve in the tracks reveals the most stirring and striking thing you've seen yet. You arrive in Grindelwald… in the valley at the foot of the Eiger. It’s a sheer drop from the top of that one, and it’s amazing that anyone has ever climbed it. You stand like a doofus looking at it between the train station and the hotel, and for the first time in your whole trip, you don’t care that you look like a tourist. You snap too many photos of it, then you finally go to your hotel.

So that’s what I did.

I ate some mindblowing fondue and had a delicious beer, and then I went to sleep.

OMG, Switzerland.

Guh. (That kind of says it all.)

I was afraid that I’d be cheated out of some spectacular views today (Thursday) because it was hazy/cloudy in Lugano. As the elevation rose, the clouds burned off, and I sat, mouth agape, trying to wrap my head around how spectacular these Alps are.

I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if Switzerland has a national army of garden groomers on hand to clip every little blade of grass in the alpine meadows. Some rivers look like someone laid a huge piece of crumpled cellophane over some rocks, others look like they’ve had glass laid over them.

There are no words to do justice to the beauty of these mountains. There are very few words to describe how genuinely long the tunnels under them are. The trains emerge from them for about 1.12 seconds, just long enough for you to get an eyeful of the most picturesque thing you’ve ever seen in your life, then back into another tunnel. But it’s mostly just ridiculous views, towering mountains, classic looking Swiss chalet type deals, and goats.

The photos don't begin to capture the awesomeness. I will never be able to afford the camera that can.

I had to change trains in Lucerne, so I decided to skip one departure for Interlaken and try to find that bridge from the poster I had as a kid. Someone gave my sister a travel agency poster for Lucerne (which I grabbed when she moved out… was it Suzi who gave it to her?) many, many years ago and ever since then I’ve wanted to see it. I got about 50 feet from the main entrance to the station and I saw the bridge. In a lake. Filled with swans. And ducks. And yes, crystal clear blue-green water. I walked over the bridge, and there are paintings in the trusses of the roof… I think it must be the story of Lucern or Switzerland or something.

And I said to myself, “Oh man, I could really live here.” Seriously. I mean I could for serious live here. I grabbed a little snack for the train, and am now sitting aboard the “Golden Pass” rail line, waiting for departure. In a town I need to visit again. And again. And again.

On another thought, you’ve really got to hand it to the Swiss. Everything I’ve seen is spotless and charming, what’s modern is nice modern, what’s old is kept up very lovingly, everything is efficient, everyone cordial, and the standard of living looks to be a lot higher than most places I’ve seen thus far. All that and being isolationist (but friendly with neighbors), avoiding the EU, sustaining many different cultures in one country (FOUR national languages?! I’ve never even heard Romansh!) and making awesome watches, chocolate, and cheese.

Sigh.

Seriously, I could live here.

It's a town for spending money

Photos are here.

Fortunately, I don't have cash for Bvlgari.

The train ride today was fairly unremarkable except for two things; the color of the rivers and the height of the mountains at the end. I saw a river that was clear and aquamarine... then I saw a river that was red as vino rosso. Then the Alps start to rise up, and there are a series of lakes in between mountains. If these are the foothills of the Alps, the real thing might make me collapse.

Tonight Lugano, a tiny resort town, tomorrow classic Switzerland in Grindlewald.

For dinner tonight I had the most delightful Caprese and a plate of French's mustard a sublime risotto with saffron. Yurm.

For desert, marmalade tart and cappuccino. The tart tasted basically like an orange fruit roll... the more or less generic ones that used to go in homemade lunches when you were in grade school, but with the flakiest crust I've encountered this side of the Atlantic. And this coffee after dinner thing is awesome, but it's keeping me up nights.

I walked down the hill and intended to take the funicular back up. Sadly, I did not find the funicular at the bottom of the hill! It was a hell of a walk back up the hill!

The bed in my room promises to be the most comfy yet. Oh, dear sleep, thou shalt be mine.

Unable to lose myself

Photos are here.

My second day was pretty much spent trying to get lost. I hopped to the other side of the Grand Canal and walked and walked without a point to my walking, and ended up at the Frari Church. A woodcarving by Donatello, an impressive painting by Titian, Titian himself (well, his ginormous tomb)... all of it in a VERY old church that had timbers spanning the arches. Pretty amazing.

I don't have photos of any of these churches because Italy is apparently pretty conscious about conserving their stuff, unlike other places.

I took the vaporetto out to the eastern end of the city, which is pretty much a huge garden park. Then a vaporetto back a different way with the intention of losing myself in the streets. Didn't happen. I can always get back to the canal. I guess it's hard not to, though.

I tried a place I'd seen the night before for dinner and it was a real let down. The night before, dinner had been leisurely and had taken probably an hour and a half. Each course came out in a rapid fire at this place. Bleh. Oh well.

I walked toward St. Mark's (again, because it's awesome), and in yet another attempt to get lost, I headed down a little alley and heard a man calling out behind me, "no, no... noo." It dead-ended and I turned around to see him half chuckling at the stupid tourist (didn't tell him what I was trying to do). As I walked by him, I said, "Basta Chianti..." meaning I "enough Chianti" as if I was drunk... and he chuckled and said something about that's what happens when you're in Venice, but I didn't turn around again.

Gondoliers singing and paddling (no, I didn't take a ride... the cheapest are about $120 for 40 minutes), candlelit restaurants at the water's edge, a romantic's paradise. When one of the dueling orchestras is playing "Bolero," you know you're far from Oregon... and when the orchestras in St. Mark's Square are playing "Memory" from Cats, you know it's time to leave.

Venice is every bit the fizzy pastel sunsetland portrayed in the watercolor prints sold in the cheesy tourist shops. But it's when the last bit of pink is draining from the velvety clouds that the city gets incredible.

I went and had a good night's sleep.

Il Mare Mediterraneo

Photos are here.

I'd never seen the Mediterranean before, but it's beautiful in color... chalky blue-green. All throughout Venice. When I stepped out of the train station, it FELT different... it had just rained, and it was moist out. Oh yeah, and then there were the buildings jutting out of the water.

Since I couldn't check into my hotel until 1pm, I decided to go to the neighboring island of Lido and get a better look at the Adriatic and have some lunch. I got my 48-hour vaporetto (essentially a water bus) ticket, but decided to walk from the station to the Rialto (main bridge over the Grand Canal) and catch the vaporetto there. The little alleys were quiet and the little squares (campos) were warm. Then I got to the Rialto and everything went apey.

This bridge is easily the largest tourist trap I've yet seen. People everywhere. Shops selling cheap souvenirs everywhere. Nuts crazy ape times.

I caught the vaporetto and headed to Lido, where I instantly fell in love. I think it was the first time I said to myself, "wow, I could really live here." I walked to the other side of the island where the beach is, and I sat, with only a few other people around, looking out at the ocean.

When I finally walked back toward the vaporetto stop, I saw a restaurant all covered in white (I guess) wisteria, a sweet little patio where I HAD to have lunch. I had a pizza with cheese and capers and it was ah-maze-ing.

I finally went back to the main part of Venice and didn't have any trouble finding my hotel (no, I did not use a map... just from the directions I read... more on that later). Hotel Centauro was at the end of a tiny little two-person-wide alley off of Campo Manin. One charming, tall, hot, good-suit-and-haircut-having (no, i didn't fall for it!) desk clerk later, I entered my room.

At first glance, the room was gorgeous. Fabric on the walls, ceilings that were far too high with timbers poking through the top. Yes, gorgeous and wonderful. But Hotel Centauro had its shortcomings, which is why I imagine it was the cheapest thing I could find in the center of Venice.

I had a little chill at the hotel then went walking. Venice really is a special place, guaranteed to melt the hearts of even the most devout cynic. In the late afternoon I walked to St. Mark's Square and got into the basilica with no problem (say what you want about Rick Steves, dude is completely right about everything, including going in the late afternoon/evening to this particular place), which is good because apparently there's usually a huge line.

At first glance, St. Mark's is dingy on the inside. Then you realize that there are all different colors of marble making the walls, that there are golden mosaics in the domes, and the floor is rolling and uneven due to the 1000 years (or so) of the island settling (they built venice on millions of trees cut down and shipped in... which is sooooo hard to believe). It's a beautiful and very Byzantine church, at first very strange to my western eyes. But it's hard not to love.

I then went to the top of the Campanile (the tower at St. Mark's Square) and gazed over Venice (seeing all the way to the Dolomites) and fell even further in love with the place.

Then I toured the Doge's Palace, which I'll just say is quite a bit more impressive than I thought it would be. The largest oil painting in the world resides there, and it's in a spectacular room.

I took a brief break at the hotel, then decided to hunt for food. Now, the thing is, the plan was to "get lost." Literally, I wanted to walk until I didn't know where I was and stop and have dinner and then find my way back. I tried this several times while I was in Venice, but I failed every time. I know I brag about it a lot, but my sense of direction is truly honed, and if I can't get lost in Venice (seriously, more tourists standing with a map out in front of them scratching their heads than anywhere else I've been... in fact I'd hardly seen any until I arrived in Venice).

I had dinner on the patio of a charming little place, eating Caprese with the creamiest mozzarella I've ever tasted, followed by a lasagne Bolognese that makes all other lasagne look stupid. And a small bottle of chianti. Seriously. This meal was amazing. Followed it up with cappuccino and a walk to St. Mark's. Which is truly stunning in the evening.

Honestly, I liked the city in the daylight, but at night... at night, it's breathtaking... and nearly empty. I felt like I pretty much had the place all to myself. Make a note: If you ever go to Venice, DON'T YOU DARE stay on the mainland and just go in for the day. You'll miss the best part.

End of day 1 Venice. Oh, except I got bug bites in the Hotel Centauro. Bastards.

Mom, Dad... recognize the song of the gondolier?

All aboard THE NIGHT TRAIN!

Thank you, James Brown. And don't correct me.

I have to admit, I was a little excited about the night train. There's something about it. Something so old world and romantic about. Yeah, too bad you're with yourself, PR.

I splurged a little so that I could have a sleeper to myself. I wasn't too excited about being stuffed in a sardine tin with a stranger for the night, nor was I excited at the prospect of someone in a six-sleeper taking off with my bag. So, me, tiny room on a train, 12 hours in front of me.

The only problem with the night train is that you can't see the scenery. We went through the Austrian Alps, and I missed them, but more about that in a sec.

I got an approximate (and surprising) 6.5 or so hours sleep on this train, thanks partly to episodes of "The Office" that I remembered to load onto my computer before I left home. But then my battery ran low, and the only outlet in the cabin gave little pulses of electricity every 15 seconds or so.

I fell asleep around 11 and woke up at about 2. I scurried to the window and could make out the shadow of a mountain with snow on top of it. I stayed awake for an hour or so, then fell asleep again.

I woke up at 6:30 and the landscape looked different. We were in Italy. We went over a river that was a beautiful aquamarine color. Definitely different.

A sweet breakfast, three hours, and a two mile long bridge later, we were in Venice. And Venice is DEFINITELY different.