Grindelwald

1. Morning Nose Stuck in  Computer

Not that you asked, but here's some advice about brain power and adding years to your life: as you age, it's crucial that you find the time to do the things you love to do. Even if you think you should give them up because, well, you're old(er). Adjust, as your abilities shift! But don't retreat, don't move away from exploring all that you love, however you may have to redefine it. Okay, that's a two line summary of an article I read (along with the comments to it) in the NYTimes today on aging and how to forestall cognitive decline. (I'm providing a gifted link here. If you read it, do go to the Readers Pick comments. They're illuminating and they challenge some of the article's conclusions.)

This is so obvious, right? Your first reaction may well be duh... tell me something I don't already know. And yet do we really live by this premise? Do we walk the walk? In fact, I'm not even sure if we talk the talk. This is the way I often speak about my trips: how many years of travel do I have left anyway? I foresee the end. And when I feel frail or vulnerable, I think of that end coming sooner rather than later. 

This, I think, is a mistake. The attitude of "can't do" is widespread in media sources, in the very fabric of our culture: look at all the things you can't do as a senior! When I come back from a packed travel day, I think -- "that was probably too much" rather than "wow, I could do all that! how awesome! let me do some more!" A commenter reminded us all of Chagall, who became infirm and could no longer paint. He adjusted and did art in other ways -- using scissors for cut-outs. Adjust, continue.

One little factoid from the article stood out for me: research indicates that at least 40% of dementia in our society is preventable.  Isn't it grand that perhaps doing things you love may keep you sharp just that much longer?

I read the above during breakfast at the Fleischerblick in Grindelwald, Switzerland. I have five days of hiking still before me here, and I'm working on shifting my perspective from "wow, that's the last time I'll be doing that" to "wow, that was awesome, let me do some more."

This is a refreshing focus for me: away from politics, onto hiking. But I have to admit it -- I started my meal with reading and talking about the news of the day. The staff here knows not to mention politics, especially to Americans, but I'm reading about how Europeans are being insulted and beaten up right now in the discourse of my country's leadership, and I find myself bringing this up just to make sure they know that we are horrified. That I am horrified. I invite their reaction. [Today, one person asked me -- why do you vote in this way where someone can win without having majority support? Most of my answers always come down to these words -- it's complicated. Why do so many people support what's going on in your country? It's complicated.  Why did they vote for him? It's complicated... I try to explain, but in fact, it is complicated.]

 

2. In a Fog

The morning began with fog sweeping into the valley. My windows would offer a panoramic view if only the clouds would lift. Currently, I can only see a few chalets up the nearby hill.

Breakfast at the hotel is lovely. They are just days away from closing for the season. The staff will get five weeks off starting in early April (and then again seven weeks off in November and part of December -- the second dead season in the Alps, so another closure for the hotel). There is just a scattering of guests. I see two couples from China. And I hear one pair speaking English.

I'm told that summer is even more hectic here than winter. People come from far and wide to ride the cog rail to "the top of Europe," to gaze at Alpine meadows and listen to the song of cowbells. (Summer brings more guests from around the world, winter brings more of the Swiss who are crazy about winter sports. On the weekends, the Swiss come up from the big cities to get away from it all.) 

I eat solidly, adding Grindelwald eggs and local Swiss cheeses to the usual.

 

 

3. 28 Chances to Understand the Mysteries of the Mountains

 

Here's how little I know about life in the mountains: I can't even guess where the mysteries are. What to expect, what to question. And I've spent quite a bit of time in them -- in Poland, in France, Italy. In the U.S. too, though not as much in the big ones. And in Switzerland. And still, I'm a babe here. An old babe, to be sure. Taking baby steps of discovery, every day I am here.

A very helpful hotel person gave me advice on where to hike today. The fog is lifting, but low lying clouds remain. They're constantly moving, and she tells me there's hope that some will burn away into nothing. Maybe she just wants to infuse me with optimism, I don't know. In any case, I'm leaving my umbrella at home.

The goal is to take a trail to the Hotel Wetterhorn. The hotel is at the end of the road that comes from Interlaken, although it's not entirely true that it is "the end" because in the summertime, a bus actually picks up a narrow single lane from there that goes even deeper into the mountains, climbing another few miles for those who live up there, or those who want to get closer to steeper hiking trails. My own trail zigzags through the hills and ends at that hotel. From the hotel, I can take any number of trails in any direction for a "there and back" kind of a hike.

Sounds good to me!

When I leave the village, the clouds are low enough that I don't really pay attention to the mountains. But as I keep going up, the clouds play with the rocky facade, revealing something to me, just a little here and there. And you'll see what I saw of the base of the highest mountains, never quite displaying for me, for you the entirety.

First, though, I look around at the structures that dot the landscape. Initially homes (this first one with emerging daffodils in the meadow), but very quickly it all changes: I walk a path that passes alongside farmsteads and barns. I smell it, I hear it. 

So, let's pause with the descriptions and look at my photo selection. Why so many from the hike? (I posted 28!) Well, because nothing stayed in place. Every time I looked up, I had a new perspective -- on the mountains just to my side, and of the Grindelwald valley below.

The mountains require patience and humility. Those who live here know it. Me -- I'm just learning.

 Okay, this view is very close to my hotel. It's still very cloudy.

 

And then I start smelling and hearing cows. I come across barns with proud signs announcing cheese. (I peak inside one barn.)

 

Next to one barn, there is a tiny shed with Alp and Kase banners slapped on it. Even after only a day here, I know what Kase is. 

 

 

 

I'm curious: I open the latched door and peak inside. A refrigerator! With (drum roll) local Swiss cheeses.

 

 

I pay attention to flowers, you know I do. I come across loads of crocuses. Most are still shut tight. But at least they're standing tall and ready for that burst of sunshine. [One thing I learn at dinner tonight is that in this corner of Grindelwald, there is no sunshine at all for two months out of the year. The Eiger peak (standing tall at about 4000 meters/over 13,000 feet) blocks it until about mid February.]

 

 

 

Primroses everywhere...

 

 

 

Glancing back toward Grindelwald, I see that the town is now obliterated by an intervening hill. But the mountains reveal themselves. A little. Here and there.

 

 

 

Cow stables. One after another. Gotta love that smell of cows, wintering over inside.

 

 

 

Now I look to my right: the wall of mountain. Take a photo, quick, before it disappears again.

 

 

 

Glance back to Grindelwald, take 2.

 

 

 

Look at that wooden hut. Then look up at that enormous wall of mountain. Right next to it.

 

 

 

This is what peak (sic) a boo looks like!

 

 

 

Back on the trail: as I go further up, the grass is that much less green. And yet, here's this one solo daffodil...

 

 

 

What draws your attention, the stream or the mountain?

 

 

 

Imagine living in that house...

 

 

 

Looking back toward Grindelwald, take 3: now there are two hills shielding the view...

 

 

 

The path takes me past a barn with many baa-ing noises inside. I pause. The farmer here gives me a nod. I ask -- do you speak English? Nein....  Yet somehow we come to an understanding. I want to see his sheep. He shows them to me. For milch? -- I ask. Nein.... Ah. Must be for meat.

 

 

 

He shows me his other sheep: English - American, he explains. (This would be the origin of the species I guess). Gross. Ah -- we are the source of the big sheep in this world. Too many sad double entendres there.

 

 

 

Schweizer! -- he says, pointing to the next pen. So, the Swiss gave us the black sheep....

 

 

Because I am enthusiastic, he beckons me to follow him to his yard where he keeps... two chickens. Seeking commonality of interests, I tell him we have six, then immediately regret it. Typical Americans,  always showing off that they have more...

 

 

 

Still, he smiles, finds two eggs, and offers to share his loot, passing me one of them. I explain that I cannot take it -- I'm staying in a hotel, but this is probably beyond our incomprehensible communication levels.

 

 

 

Such a warm guy. This is where he lives:

 

 

 

And across the path, there is another farmer. I can hear (and smell) that he has cows, but I don't disturb him. He's already double tasking: smoking a pipe and putting in a solar panel.

 

 

 

Look to the right -- more of the mountain is visible now...

 

 

 

Glance back to Grindelwald take 4: yet another hill blocking view of the town...

 

 

 

Whoa!....

 

 

 

Small hut, massive mountain...

 

 

  

Clouds, mountains, huts... I reach pivotal intersection. I turn back.

 

 

4. Time for Tea... or Beer

I'd come to the Hotel Wetterhorn, I'd climbed beyond it, and I turned back. Now, again at the Wetterhorn, I decide to take a pause. Inside, in the restaurant. For a cup of fruit tea. I can always count on the Swiss to have a nice fruit tea on the menu.

I sit to the side, watching the two (Swiss) couples finishing up a lunch. Was it good? Do they come her often? I've noticed that Swiss diners are on the quiet side of the spectrum. The French used to be very quiet too, but that ship has now sailed -- younger people eschew the reserve.

 

 

 

Here, I get lazy. The Grindelwald final bus stop is just in front of the hotel. The bus is free for all who live here or are staying at a Grindelwald hotel (we all get special passes for the area, not that the driver cares about seeing it). It just pulled up and is ready to head down the hill. 

I hop on.

Here's a surprise: at a further stop, these dudes get on with their wet and slushy snowboards. And they have open beers. And they drink them. That's a first one for me! (They speak a mix of British English and German and they clearly know the norms.)

 

 

 

5. Downtown

I stay on the bus until it gets to the commercial blocks of Grindelwald. Ironically, this is when I see some of the high peaks.  How different it all looks when the clouds are pushed back!

 

 

 (Grindelwald, downtown, in the daytime)

 

 

I stop at the only open bakery in town -- the Grindelwald Bakery. Later, I learn that they make an award winning sourdough bread -- winner of several national competitions. Right now, though, I'm hungry for a coffee and something sweet. I tell the salesperson to pick her favorite. She points to the hazelnut croissant. Hazelnuts are very popular here.

 

 

 

I walk up the hill back to the hotel. You'll know I'm almost there: I have before me that white church...

 

 

 

 6. Dinner at Home

When I booked my stay here, I had read about the restaurant that is part of the hotel. I was intrigued. It's a young team -- the chef is from a new generation of talented cooks -- and I knew that there is some unusual mixing and matching of flavors taking place in the kitchen, even as the food is mostly sourced locally, with an attention to our more modern understanding of what makes for a good meal. Of course I was going to try the place  -- I just let them decide which night would be my Fiescherblick night. They reserved a table for me for tonight.

The first thing I do is arrive late. I have dinner reservations for 8 pm each night and I forgot that for this place (which serves a tasting menu over an extended period of time) starts dinner earlier. They'd made a  7 pm booking for me. At a minute before 8, the waiter comes up to my room asking if I am... alright. Heavy blush here!

The dining room is on the quiet side. Half of the diners speak French, the other half German. I can tell, because when someone speaks, I can hear them. So enters the American. Late for dinner. Blushing and throwing out apologies. Loudly, by comparison.

I thought I'd do the 4 course tasting menu, but after my blunder, I decide to do the full 5 (you can do as many as 6 if you come with a larger group).

Not only do I have no regrets but I am, in fact in a stupor of amazement. The food here is out of this world excellent. I haven't worn my food focused hat for a while now, but the evening did spin me back to the days when I cooked delectably (especially when I cooked at L'Etoile in Madison) and took groups on food tours (before it was fashionable to do this; now, they're a dime a dozen, which gives you pause...). I thought tonight that the chef took me, took all of us to new levels of creativity. The so called salad dish? It's the only one I'll post a photo of here. This one:

It's stunning and delicious -- various lettuces, prepared in different ways, over a pumpkin puree and even as I write this, I am not doing it justice. Which is why I wont describe anything more. 

The chef came out to chat  with me for a few mins afterwards. I know that at least one of the brothers who own and run this hotel spent years in Zurich managing fine dining establishments, which explains why the meal works so seamlessly, why the staff know the foods so well, why they seem genuinely happy to give you each new and exciting dish. But of course the talent belongs to the young chef. He hails from Interlaken so you could say he is home grown. I hope he stays here and isn't lured to some establishments in New York or London. Wait a year or two and you'll seem the place get its Michelin star. Then come back and tell me how right I was!

Full, happy, and feeling so much better...

with love...