Jungfrau Region

After turning in our exams on the first of November, Pete (from Maine), Paul (from Duke), and myself decided to finally get a closer view of the Swiss Alps. So we took a train to Interlaken, extreme sports capital of the world and birthplace of tourism in the 19th century. We arrived at night and checked into a hostel buzzing with numerous groups of American study abroad students from Florence and Madrid signing up for expensive skydiving and yelling as they played flip cup (college drinking game) in the lounge. Though Paul, from Kappa Alpha, took some prodding by, whom he would consider, two mountain hippies, we decided to skip out on the party and wake up at 5:00 am, leave commercial Interlaken behind, and enter the Jungfrau (translated from German by Paul: “young virgin”). According to lonely planet, “If the Berner Oberland is Switzerland’s Alpine heartland, the Jungfrau Region within it is the holiest of holy.” It is pretty much two huge valleys that branch off from Interlaken and connect by a train that loops around the region. Five enormous glacier peaks dominate the entire surrounding boarder leaving any mountain enthusiast speechless.

Our goal was to see the sun rise at Jungfraujoch or the “Top of Europe” (11,333ft, highest train station in Europe. We passed through the wispy falls of Lauterbrunnen with fogged windows, zigzagged up steep foothills covered by orange, red, and green pines and cedar. November brought traces of snow, yet the skies were crystal clear for the entire weekend. We reached Jungfaujoch and stood out on the deck of the Meteorological station with a 360-degree view of what seemed like all of Switzerland (supposedly, on a truly clear day you can see the Black Forest in Germany). We descended to the lower train station and had rosti (Swiss German dish which is pretty much a hardy breakfast served in a skillet) and liters of Rugenbrau (Berner Oberland beer). Because it was the off-season, none of the gondolas were running, which meant that if you hike above the villages, you wouldn’t run into anyone. We took a stroll above Kleine Scheidgg with the face of Eiger staring us down. On the south face of the foothill, we sat in the sun and watch crows dance in the wind, I built a cairn on an outcropping of stone, and Paul napped. It seemed surreal to experience such solitude and tranquility in such a popular destination. However, it almost turned out to be too tranquil because we lost track of time and almost missed the last train. We got off the train at Grindelwald, a small traditional Swiss ski town at the bottom of one of the valleys, bought as many different micro beers as we could find, checked into our hostel and drank at a local hockey match.

Saturday, we woke up, bought food at the Coop, and planned to hike to Bachalpsee Lake from the top of a Gondola (this was before we knew the gondolas had closed). So at 8:00am, we made our ascent from Grindelwald at 3,393 ft to the lake at 8,600 ft. In retrospect, it all turned out for the best even though at the time my body would have preferred an alternative form of transport. We hiked up the narrow mountain roads through farms and groupings of traditional Swiss cottages. We passed an old Swiss man sitting on his stoop smoking his pipe. After many changes in scenery, we reached the lake, which reflected Wetterhorn and Schreckhorn like mirror images, and ate our lunches at its shore. On our descent, we passed through a deserted village on the edge of a cliff overlooking Grindelwald far below. By that time, it was starting to get dark and Paul was beginning to make comments such as, “I didn’t know we were leading a National Geographic photography tour.” So I appeased him by initiating extreme descending which consists of racing down the trail and jumping off of things. At 5:00pm, we passed the same old man on his stoop smoking his pipe as we enter Grindelwald and began a desperate search for rosti.

It was a far better time to go to the Alps than I expected it would be; clear, warm in the sun, cold in the shade, snow scattered everywhere the light didn’t shine, barely any tourists on the trail, and the autumn leaves covering all the trees. In addition, one week later the weather changed from freezing and windy with snow covering even the foothills behind my house in Prengins. It was a weekend well spent.

I hate to boast; however, the Jungfrau Region was eerily reminiscent of a region many of us are quite familiar with, the North Cascades, a familiarity I would never complain about. I plan on returning to both regions for winter sports very soon.