We woke up early (to screaming, but we had to be up anyways) and prepped for the day. Dani was going running, Mom was delighted to be "stuck" with baby duty, and Adam/Dad/Myself went down to the Via Ferrera - the Way of Iron. Adam's friend had planned to come with, but talked himself out of it watching youtube videos late last night... Our first stop was the gear shop, were we rented harnesses/helmets/biners-on-leads, and had a very perfunctory tutorial. "Clip like this, that rock is the point of no return, have fun". Aight, awesome.
We headed across the street, down the alley, through a tunnel, and the route began. The beginning of the trail was across the top of the hill, but it gave us a good area to practice clipping in, passing anchors (and each other) while making sure to only unclip one anchor at time. The trail then veered downhill, and while it was an intense downhill, it was nothing we haven't done a hundred times before, without ropes. Then we got to the staples - bent rebar drilled into the cliff - and headed down using them like a ghetto ladder. It's a nice warm-up and training, and we slowly approached the edge of the cliff. Here we were 2000' feet over the valley, but still a dozen feet up-slope from the edge. This is where we passed the first base-jumping "exit", where they back down a hill holding an old rope before launching into the valley. Soon, we were on the cliff itself. Narrow trails with precipitous drops, the sort of stuff I love. This I would have done with the rope as a hand-hold, but wouldn't have risked without. I stayed clipped in anyways, of course. A few minutes later we passed a second base-jumping spot, this one a small platform immediately on the cliff. I couldn't resist, and clipped into the rope so I could stand on the edge and look far too far straight down. The views are incredible, the whole valley spread out below you, and the enormous cliff faces opposite stretching into snow-capped peaks
And then, you climb down another staple-ladder, and it's go time. Standing on a bent piece of rebar, holding onto a wire rope, and nothing but air for hundreds of feet below you, if not more. What's worse, in a few steps, the wall leans out so you have to lean back over space. I typically claim that I have zero fear of heights if I'm clipped in, but this proved me wrong. In the overhang I had to distract myself with the cadence of step-hand-step-hand-clip-clip, but once past the crux I kept myself intentionally hyper-aware of the enormous drop below me, the carefully managed but very high-stakes risk. I love this shit. I was first in our crew, so I made it to stabler-staples and snapped some pictures (with my phone carefully tethered to my harness, because if it goes, it's gone) and talked my father through the motions.... and then started talking to my father about anything else. I think we discussed the proper density of bagels at one point, because he badly needed a distraction. Don't look down, just do what you've been doing for the last 30 minutes, and contract your world to the 5 feet around you. He kept moving though, and soon we were through and glad for it. I have a very high tolerance for these sorts of games, and I was acutely uncomfortable. Which is right where I like to be.
A few more staple-ladders and cliff-walks and we were back into the woods, where we cut in to a waterfall with a rope-bridge. One cable for each arm, and one muddy slippery cable for feet. Probably 60 feet up with great views, but it felt pretty casual TBH. Once across, I ran forward several sections of staples (still clipped in) and leaned way out on my harness to snap pictures of the rest of us, and then the group following us, since I'd already gotten to the best angle. Once they crossed, we traded contact info, and I started speed-running another trail section of via ferrata to catch up to Adam/Dad. Now that I was comfortable, I was pushing myself. We came back out to the cliff side to descend a set of actual ladders bolted into the wall, hanging just shy of (an one just past) vertical - while paragliders passed beneath us. Slippery, wet, but ladders are ladders. We could do these any day with or without clips. At the base of the ladders we had to ford a tiny stream. Which sounds chill, but this stream slid off the mountain a few feet past the ford, dissolving into a rain that landed hundreds of feet below. With how slippery those rocks were, there's no chance at a save if you slip.... so we were very grateful for the safety line. Then came another, shorter, cable bridge, and a long section of woods (which was still a hardcore trail only 8 feet away from oblivion, but felt so much tamer now). At this point I switched from being double-hooked to single-hooked. 100% positive lock-in, but much faster.
This brought us to the suspension bridge, the final obstacle. We let the girls pass us and took a break to chill out, looking down on towns that were still 1000 feet below us despite how far we'd descended. And then, with the mountain to ourselves, we tackled the suspension bridge. Once he got the feel of it, Adam walked straight out to the middle and started hanging around. My father, on the other hand, was rediscovering his fear of heights. This was one of the best views of the trail, with the large gap carved by the stream offering a magnificent gap to cross and an expansive view of the mountains at the end of the valley. I clambered up to talk my dad through it if he needed, but once he made it to the point where the suspension cables become hand-rails, he regained some confidence.
Brice: "How high up do you think?" Adam: "Oh, 10 seconds, what's that?" Brice: "16 feet, add 48, then another 80?" Dad: "High enough! Lets talk about breakfast foods."
<10 seconds is approx 1000', checking the maps it was actually ~400' straight down, ~7 seconds. Also, casual physics is my favorite chat-gpt usecase>
To me, it felt like a painting beneath us, not a real distance. It's the sort of height airplanes have where falling doesn't occur to the mind, because it's not a height you can fall from in 99.99% of human experience. I walked a length with my hands behind my head, then I dangled my foot over the edge and the distance suddenly became very real in my mind. At the midpoint I shot a handful of pictures, but for one shot I had to unclip my phone from my harness. I fumbled it. I don't know how large of a fumble it was in actuality, but my finger missed the ring and for a moment I was convinced I had thrown my phone into the void. But it was all cool and the shots look great. I tried to finish the bridge without handholds, but the far end quickly humbled me with a bit of a twist to the deck, leaving me thankful for guide cable. And then more gracious for terra firma.
Then we had a short hike out (unfortunately very uphill) and we were suddenly back in civilization, standing on a road in front of the Grimmelwald cable-car. Ferrata completed, my personal rating is 12/10 - must do. The sketchy shit I love, with professional engineering, and literally world-class views. I would have loved a few more/longer intense portions, but very satisfied with the quantity and blown away by the quality. I also recommend getting out before the tour-groups (first group is 9:30, shop opens at 9, or you can pickup the night before) so you can have the mountain to yourself.
Grimmelwald is a tiny and quaint town, and we wandered past cows, goats, cats, and horses (who I fed some grass before noticing the sign verbot'ing it), and met the rest of our crew. Everyone else hiked into town on trails much farther from the edge, timing it with our slower route. So we caught each other up on our days, showed off pictures, and grabbed lunch outdoors on a patio with an unreal view of <Breithorn>. On the Via it was particularly stunning, but this whole trip I am continually surprised by how amazing the views are, almost all the time.
A quick cable-car back to Mürren, which offered a cool view of the suspension bridge, and back here to blog and babysit while Adam/Dani go for a "short 4 mile hike".
<Sage time, grocery store, dinner, and an early night.>
The cables look weird because Adam was jumping on the bridge mid panorama...
Sage didn't sleep well last night. She only woke me up twice, but apparently her parents were up a dozen times, so all of them are feeling under the weather, particularly Sage who isn't happy with anything, at least not for long. So after a long and casual breakfast, my parents and I set off on a hike, while her parents stayed in to put her down and probably nap themselves.
We headed up the funicular to Almond-hubble <Allmendhubel>, where the sprinkle of rain at our chalet turned into sprinkles of snow on top. Not too bad though, and that wasn't going to stop us. To get away from the station required an uphill hike, but the trail we picked out ends over a thousand feet below the starting point, so... we sent it! We veered off to the left and immediately left civilization behind. We passed one couple headed the other direction and those were the last people we saw for over an hour. The foreground looked almost like Ireland: rolling hills, green and rocks, but once you looked beyond that you saw very un-Irish mountains in every direction. To the left, the slope curved asymptotically upwards until it became a sheer cliffs above us, at times showing the scars of avalanches. To our right, a quadratic downward slope starting with fields strewn with boulders before plunging into the valley - and then a sharp upwards inflection of more Alps across the valley.
Thankfully, after the initial elevation gain and loss, the trail evened out and we maintained our contour-line for several miles across the valley. The snow turned to sleet, the mud began to freeze beneath our feet, but we were dressed for it and appreciated the changes. Eventually the precipitation gave way to clouds, and once we rounded the curve of the mountain into the windshadow I didn't even need my coat. We found wild blueberries (and ate them, of course), crossed a few rivulets, and just cruised. It was a delightful hike, mostly due to the views, so I'll let the pictures do the talking:
The last quarter of the hike was less delightful, as we had to lose 800' of elevation. We descended into the treeline, so it was a lot of work, sore toes, and no views. We also began running into hikers headed the other direction, but still pretty light traffic - no longer a private mountain, but not crowded by any stretch of the imagination. Suddenly (and thankfully) we were spat out onto a gravel road, and a few hundred meters later we walked into the train station and onto a train back to Mürren. The group in the seats behind ours were base jumpers, so I eavesdropped their tales of various jumps and the sketchy hikes to reach them. Sounds amazing, a glimpse of a life I never chose. Then back to the chalet for lunch, and our turn to babysit Sage (still sleeping) and eat lunch while Adam and Dani head out for some trail-running. And just now, as I catch up to now, there's some nonsense being sung from the bedroom, so it sounds like naptime has ended. TTYL. <Break>
The rest of the day was babysitting, we made reservations for the Via Feratta (route of Iron), and some delicious swiss food (beef stroganoff tastes better than horse). Pretty chill afternoon and an early evening, which is fine by me.... but someone is screaming mad about it.
Today we did Schynige Platte. Up early (but not too early), a quick breakfast, pack, and we dropped our bags off with the front desk before catching the bus to the Wilderswil train station. Today, we were taking a cog railway up to the top of <Loucherhorn>. What starts off as a traditional trainride very quickly veers almost directly uphill, to a degree (badum-tish) that feels quite unnatural. It's not fast, but a slow train is far quicker than a fast hike. You start off rising over the town, before passing into the alpine meadows where sheep and cows graze. You look out over Interlaken and the lakes (and cows) from ever increasing heights, even looking down at Harder Kulm across the valley... and then, you go through a tunnel. The tunnel itself isn't too long, and apart from some slightly worrying strain gauges mounted to the walls, rather uneventful. But once you come out the other side of the tunnel you are suddenly in the Alps. Windswept snow-covered peaks, plunging coniferous slopes... those few hundred meters feel like teleportation to another world.
And the train's still not done. We kept climbing until we eventually arrived at a snow-covered platform, where the sudden return to plumb feels off-balance. There we poured out of the train with the rush of fellow tourists, found a clear patch of pavement to regroup, checked the maps, and figured out what we're going to do up here.
Adam, Dani, and Sage took the train before us, with plans on doing the 6 mile loop-trail at the top. That was never an option for the rest of us. I was advocating for the 3 mile loop (red) , while my mother was looking at the 1.5 (pink). We figured we'd get started and see how we felt when we got to the split half a mile in. Immediately we headed straight up an icy slope. It had snowed overnight, at least at this elevation (approx 6000 feet), and we felt every inch of snow and every meter of elevation. Progress devolved into a waddle of small steps, creeping up the slope to the first overview and the start of the real trails.
The first overview was a giant empty picture-frame (aka insta-trap), and had stunning views of Jungfraue, Monch, and Eiger (The Young Woman, the Monk, and the Ogre). Where Harder Kulm felt like a mountain over the town, this feels like a mountain among the peaks of the world. The hike up was rough, but we figured we'd try out the rest of the short loop, since it should be flat from here. And it started out flat! Very snowy, but flat enough that it didn't much matter. There were some good views, but then the trail started to veer downward, and my parents noped out. My mom is often over-cautious, but it was icy trails with steep drops and no railings, so I judged them silently but didn't try to dissuade them. I told them I'd finish the pink and meet them back at base, they doubled back, and I set off alone into the alps. Ok I wasn't actually alone, there were a handful of people on the trail. But it sounds much more stoic and sexy to pretend this was a lone venture into the great unknown.
It started off pretty easy. Flat or downward trails, normal hiking without worrying about foot placement, stunning views... Great times. But what goes down must come back up, and it was brutal. Between the altitude, the slush, the occasional knee-high stairs... I was thankful my parents made the choice they did. I almost wished I made the choice they did. It was harder work than the rough uphill to the first overview, and it was non-stop for several hundred feet of elevation. Among those of us left on the trail, there was no speaking - everyone conserved their breath. A brief level section was a nice respite, but the trail veered back uphill again to sap the rest of our strength. I'd already shed my coat and my jacket, rolled up my sleeves... now I was regretting wearing longjohns and considering sitting in the snow to tear off my pants.
But I didn't, and eventually I made it to the peak <Geiss Summit>, and there I sat on my coat over a snowy bench, caught my breath, and finally remembered to take in the amazing views. My eyes had been locked to my next few steps, and suddenly I saw the lakes spread out almost a mile <google says 4917'> beneath me. Once I recovered, I looked at my options. I could take the shorter trail back as we'd originally planned, or I could set off on the 3 mile red loop. Well.... it's all down hill from here, right? Of course not, but I only need the flimsiest of excuses to make dumb choices. I sent a text to my family (Switzerland is wild, you can be on top of mountains and still have perfect 5G) and set off down the ridge trail.
It was great. The trail followed the ridge, so I had thousand-foot dropoffs to the lakes on my left, and alpine peaks across a snow-field on my right. The trail itself was a melty muddy slush that made me grateful for boots and for my years of practice river-hiking which had perfected my rock-hopping skills. I made it across the ridge, and then faced a choice. I could continue out, or turn back. Thinking that continuing out was blue (6 miles), I turned in and set off across the bowl. This trail was empty, and I really was alone. The first half was cruising, all easy trails and slowly down-hill, and I was making up time. Then second half was slowly uphill, and I felt the altitude again, but not quite as bad. Now I began running into hikers, who would say hello or thankyou in any of a half-dozen languages as I stepped off the trail to let them pass.
I returned to second insta-trap a few hundred meters from where we started, and made my way back to the train station through a maze of nature trails ("This would be edelweiss, if it weren't buried under snow"). There I met up with my parents! We compared notes, checked the train schedule, and while we were talking Adam/Dani/Sage showed up, having just finished the whole circle, complete with some sketchy ladder climbing (with a baby strapped to his back). Enough time for a snack and a diaper change, and onto the next train down. Great timing all around.
We rode back down to the station (note: Sitting with your back down-hill is way more comfortable, regardless the direction of travel), Sage flirted with random grandmothers and admired the moos, and we enjoyed a job well done. Back at the train station, we checked the time-tables and found we had 45 minutes before the train to Mürren. So the womenfolk camped out at the station, and then menfolk set about reclaiming our luggage. It was a 15 minute walk, or a 10 minute wait for the bus, so we set off uphill. The hike wasn't that bad, but my ankles are definitely feeling the miles I did this morning. Luggage recovered, we settled in for the train ride... 20 minutes later we stopped at some random town <Lauterbrunnen>, bailed off the train shouldering our way through the crowd, and jumped into a cable-car. The car filled right as we reached it, but that meant we were the first in line for the next car, and got to pick our spot! The cable-car was massive, probably 60 people, with a platform beneath for a half-dozen pallets loaded via forklift. At the other end, we got off the cablecar and immediately into our fourth train of the day, which took us to Mürren.
Another hike up a long uphill (dragging bags), a long driveway uphill (carrying bags), and a long staircase (I packed far too much in these bags), and we were finally in our airBNB! As painful as it was to get here, it is amazingly well located, and the views are stunning. Once or twice so far I've mistaken the window for a poster of the alps. We had the windows wide-open as we blew off body heat and I had a few glasses of tea until I didn't hate everyone anymore, Adam and Dani went shopping for dinner, and my parents entertained the baby who has passed beyond tired to manic.
Dinner was wine and pizza, and afterwards we took a lap of the town, checking out the waterfalls across the valley, the head of the Via Ferrata (the sketchy trail you have to clip-in to hike), hit the coop for cookies and napkins, and then hiked back uphill to the house again.
TLDR: Great day, but I'm sore. We're talking about taking an easy day tomorrow, and hopefully we do. But knowing us, we're probably still gonna do some r̶e̶t̶a̶r̶d̶e̶d overambitious hike, but at least we won't have our bags with us this time.
We saw the horses! They were tiny... The farm adjacent to us has two mini-horses that were running about at breakfast.... at first glance, I thought they were sheep. I'll have to check with sage to see if they count as a neigh (horses, cows, etc), or a dog-dog (any four legged animal smaller than a horse and larger than a meow). Breakfast was good. Adam/Dani/Curtis/Hannah are hiking up a mountain, so we're chilling out back at the hotel with Sage and we're going to take the funicular up to meet them.... after we give them a head start of an our so. So just baby-time now. Such a sacrifice lol. Back to drawing butterflies! <break>
We loaded Sage up in her backpack and headed down into town, to catch the bus to the city. The hike was easy and downhill, and when I got the straps adjusted correctly my rider? pillion? rode easily, and happily named all the animals we passed, including the mini-horses! (Turns out they're Neighs!)
The busride was crowded but quick, and we arrived at the train station with no drama. The train over to Harder Kulm... <Editor: We had to abandon our blogging and our balcony, sounded like a sheep parade was coming. turns out it was just a trailer of sheep leaving the farm next door> ...The train over to Harder Klum came in 20 minutes... but it was also a 20 minute walk to the funicular. I was feeling fine as a pack-mule, so we walked! We saw lots of dog-dogs, some cows, a couple neighs, and a meow. Sage is afraid to to sit on my lap or play games with me, but she's happy to ride on my back. Putting Sage in her backpack reminds me of picking up a kitten - she instantly relaxes into travel mode. We hiked across the city, down a side street, and then down the river - the water is a stunning cloudy turquoise color. Maybe because it's glacial? I might look it up and write down why here: "The river Aare's bright blue, turquois, or green color is due to tiny particles of glacier sediment that sink slowly to the bottom of the water."
I was dressed for mountaintops but instead ferrying a toddler, so I had to strip off my coats before boarding the incline. My father refused to return the baby, so I happily traded the baby-pack for our communal backpack, and after a quick wait we headed up the mountain! The incline was pretty quick, and offered great views of the city.... before disappearing into the clouds. We went through a short tunnel and when we came out the top we could see glimpses of the previously hidden mountains on the other side of the valley! And then they disappeared back into clouds. When we arrived at the top, we met the hiking crew! The four of them had just finished their ascent, were relieved to be up top, and happy to see Sage again. However, the views were all clouds, with glimpses of random hillsides at various altitudes now and then. We wandered up to the peak/ outlook and had a lunch of snackfoods almost alone. As we finished our food the weather cleared, and our empty patio was suddenly crowded. The views were fantastic, showing both lakes, the town between them, and dozens of paragliders in the air. We located our hotel, watched the gliders, and figured out which train routes we'd taken so far - typical mountain-top fun. And meanwhile we accidentally photobombed probably a hundred Asians.
The ride down the incline was less fun... it was so crowded I had no view, and Sage was exhausted and threatening to riot. Back on the bottom, we discussed our plans for the afternoon. Sage was going to nap, Hannah/Curt had plans for a second lunch and were considering catching a train to the next town over for the afternoon. We had been planning to go three towns over - rumors on the bus said there would be a cow parade - but from what we could find online, the cow parade is later in the week... So with no confirmation it was happening and reservations for an early dinner, we decided to hang out in town and play it by ear.
Our first stop was the landing field for the paragliders, where we found a bench and watched them swing through giant S swoops before stalling perfectly still in the wind, and slowly lowering themselves to the ground. Pretty cool, and we found out a booming business selling 15 minute rides whenever the weather is good for $190 (and the weather hadn't been good, so they were making up for lost time). We were then ambushed by a drunk swiss man dressed in a suit covered in a printed pattern of rubber ducks. In broken English, he explained that he had to sell 100 tiny rubber ducks, and make 100 euros, for his wedding. At this point he pointed over to a group of nearly-as-intoxicated men wearing froggy hats. We bought 2, despite his desperate please we buy at least 15. We wished him the best and he (eventually) went on to harass other tourists.
Then we did some souvenir shopping, mom wanted some chocolate and took us to a chocolatier that had gelato! And then she was astonished when my father bought some... (How can you be surprised? Bringing dad to a gelateria is like dragging an alcoholic into a bar"). I tried some, it was fantastic. A few more souvenir shops (they really want to sell swiss army knives and watches), and we made our way back to the train station. We took a quick bus-ride back to our town, and got off two stops early in order to Cinque-Terre a new route back... But we accidentally ended up almost exactly at the Italian restaurant we ate at last night, which meant we ended up on the same roads seeing the same sights...
As we approached one of the intersections a man started motioning us across the road. There was a cacophony coming, and I couldn't imagine what would be so loud that we still had time to cross the road. Rally cars could be that loud, but we'd have no time to cross safely. It must be construction, slowly heading towards us. But in a twist of bizarre fate it was a cow parade! With no planning and no warning, we lucked into a cow parade, and it was chaos! Shepherds and milkmaids driving their flock (about 50 cows) from their summer pastures on the mountain down to their winter pasture in the valley - and the cows were all dressed in their holiday best, which mostly meant wearing flowers on their heads. Their keepers kept them on course (and from running freely down the street) by blocking them with their staffs, and almost as abruptly as it started the last few cows wandered past. We'd spent so much time debating and researching possible parades just to stumble upon it accidentally... A different bus, a different stop, we would have missed it.
Then, we finished our hike back to the hotel to compare our cow pictures and update our journals. <Break>
Curt had set up reservations for dinner in Unterseen, the old town, at a restaurant that's been there since 1697. After an appetizer of fondue, We settled in for a traditional meal of rutsi (essentially hash browns) with egg, bratwurst, stroganoff, and/or cheese on top, and roche (a mashed-potato style dish including pickled vegetables). I chose stroganoff rusti with the traditional meat... cheval! It was the best horse I've ever had (you know, out of all 3? times) - stewing the meat was a great way to tenderize the typically tough ungulate, and it's leanness complimented the gravy nicely. My mother was aghast, and refused to even try the mushrooms (her favorite) in case there was any contamination from the horse. The rest of us all sampled every dish, and it was a delightful meal with almost all the swiss classics.
We wandered back through the old town, hit the paraglider park, found some (more) gellato, and grabbed a bus back to our home town, where we noticed the Alpenglow as the sun illuminated only the peaks in pink, well after it had set for the rest of us. As we hiked back to the hotel we snapped photos of the rosy peaks, and right as the sun set, we noticed the moon rising right above Jungfrau - so well we could even see the visitors center at "The Top of Europe". So, of course, we snapped more pictures of that. Shooting digitally means you don't have to worry about wasting film, and if you take enough at least one of them has to be good, right?
Another year, another vacation. My brother planned this out, and I agreed to it without knowing any of the itinerary. Sure, I could have read the planning email chain and done my own research, but that would ruin the surprise. Truth is, I love this chaos.
Dramatis Personae:
Adam - My brother
Dani - His wife
Sage - Their 19 month old daughter
Curtis/Hannah - Friends of Adam/Dani
Me/Mom/Dad - me/mom/dad
Adam/Dani/Sage/Curtis/Hannah had all flown out a few days prior, and my parents and I had a 6pm flight out to join them. The advantage of a 6pm flight is I could finish packing, set up the cat feeders, and still had time to attend an emergency conference call for my work project, which officially begins production today. The disadvantage of 6pm flight is it arrives at 8am Swiss-time, aka 2am Baltimore-time, aka bedtime.
The flight was pretty unremarkable. I almost spotted my shop (Baltimore Hackerspace) from the air, but I got distracted when I saw where the Key Bridge wasn't. Then we arced up the coast and across the north Atlantic, racing towards tomorrow far too fast. I managed to grab about 3 hours of sleep in 15 minute chunks - punctuated by muscle cramps, limbs falling asleep, cabin announcements... It was rough, but better than no sleep. We passed over Paris (which is massive) just before dawn, and an hour later I got my first glimpse of Switzerland: Very green, and never flat.
I bluffed my way through customs (I have no idea where I'm staying), but I have an American passport and a return ticket, so they don't really care. Then we grabbed our bags, exited the airport, crossed the street, descended an escalator, and immediately hopped on a train.
Our train was packed, so I ended up sitting next to a (pedal) biker with a broken hand, who dressed like he was homeless, didn't smell like he was homeless, and spoke zero English... I'm not complaining, just curious. Most of the views were tunnel walls or fences, and our glimpses beyond were very foggy. Cities are cities, the farms are cute, and a scattering of churches and castles on hilltops, just like Italy.
For our second train, we had to make a two minute transfer.... but unlike Italy the swiss trains are precise. The two minute layover is intentional, because they know the trains will be there exactly on time, sharing the same platform, and they've timed how long it takes to disembark, take a few steps, and board the connection. This time we chose seats on the second level for better views, and sailed down the coast of some huge lake on our way to Interlaken (which makes sense: Interlaken means "between-the-lakes"). I shot a few practice shots on my new camera to get used to it... I'm pretty sure it's smarter than I am, and I left my DSLR at home to force myself to learn it... we'll see how it goes.
The weather in Interlaken is cold with a side of downpour. We darted between awnings until we found a grocery store the size of a small mall, with clothing, mobile phone, and restaurant departments. We all bought sandwiches and, revitalized, planned our next move. It was two busses and a 1/2 mile hike to our hotel. On low sleep, in the cold rain, with our bags, uphill. Or it was a $20 uber. Sold.
The roads are windy, and so narrow it's barely enough for one car, let alone passing... it's like Irish back roads, only in Switzerland they all go dramatically uphill. We got to the hotel, but we're far too early to check in, so we're just hanging in the lounge, which is all couches with a wall of glass looking out over the valley. Dad napped, mom did email, I wrote this, and now that the rain's stopped I'm gonna head outside and wander a bit. Small wander, not a big wander. Ciao. I mean, Guten Abend? That's definitely not quite right either.... <Break>
Everyone else got back from their hike, we finally checked in, mom didn't like that room and we got a free upgrade, and after all that, it was nap time! I thought it was reading time until I woke up 20 minutes later. Despite the rain, we took a half-hour walk down to an Italian place. The town is super cute, all the homes have gardens and excessive wood trim, and there are basins? troughs? fountains? of water all along the sidewalks. They look like they're for watering horses... but I haven't seen any horses yet.
Dinner was pizza, which was great, and Sage spent the whole time flirting with the waitresses and being shy to the waiters. The menus are in German, French, and Italian (3/4 the official Swiss languages. The 4th is Romanche and rarely used), which meant we basically knew what we were getting, but the details were all a surprise. During the meal the rain cleared up, and the fog lifted to become low clouds which is a vast improvement. Afterwards, we meandered back up to the hotel - cutting through random alleys (in our family, this has become known as "Cinque-Terre style") and admiring fish-ponds, ornamental flowers, and meeting one very social kitty.
And with that, it's like 8pm! I'm going to read and then sleep until I can't anymore....
As an amateur stained glass artist and an avid fan of Blown Away, I jumped at the chance to go to the Corning Museum. We started by hitting up all the demos. The glass blowing demo was first, where two artists transformed a ball of glass into a completed pitcher in only 20 minutes. The blower balanced heat, air pressure, and gravity to shape the glass while her assistant kept up a fascinating commentary explaining every step and stepping in whenever a second set of hands was required. Watching their unspoken coordination and their comfort at working close to the limits of the material was inspiring - their familiarity with the constantly-changing pliability of cooling glass was clearly earned with years of practice. Each heat gives the artist about 20 seconds to sculpt, so they moved with an alacrity and efficiency that was as much dance as fabrication - but a dance driven by practicalities and more beautiful for it. I absolutely thought they had dropped the piece when transferring it between punts, but the smooth downward arc was an intentional parabola designed to minimize stress. What looks like an awkward pull or accidental sag quickly transforms into a arcing handle or a subtle spout. An additional note of nerd-admiration: They had cameras in the ovens, protected by thermally-resistant borosilicate glass, a nice flex developed in Corning's research labs.
Almost immediately, we jumped to the hotwork / sculpting demo. Since we'd arrived early, the crowds were small and we were able to sit front and center. Entirely unplanned, this put us in the perfect position to watch the sculpting through the filter panel. Like welding, hot-work is too bright to view directly; unlike welding, it is only painful and not blinding. The sculptors have glasses that attenuate the brightness, particularly in the wavelengths given off by sodium (the Na in soda flares particularly bright), and the filter panel was made of a large panel of the same glass (flex).
The sculpting demo was just as informative, as the host talked us through the techniques behind the sculpting, such as the difference between hot and cold joints, where to use them, and how she can tell (refraction layers) - and as she discussed we could see the very changes she was describing. She made an adorable penguin, the demo finished, and we headed into the museum proper.
The upper floor was dedicated to the science of glass, and I loved it. To be fair, this is the intersection point of several of my hobbies. Exceptional exhibits on fiber-optics (ranging from fibers a few inches across to those the size of a human hair), prisms, enormous space telescopes, and really nerdy stuff like why chromatic aberration happens and how to cancel it out by stacking multiple lenses with certain shapes and chemical compositions.
Lunch was down at the cafeteria, where I had a surprisingly good Pho, and then we headed to the exhibition hall. I enjoy glass artwork, I love playing with light, and the exhibition hall was delightful. They definitely weren't all wins, but there were several really clever experiments.
The best, however, was this:
The population of the major cities on each continent, over time. Beautiful to look at, packed with data, and we spent probably 15 minutes identifying various wars and how hard they hit given cities and countries. It was nerd-bait, and my father and I were transfixed long after my mother had wandered off.
Soon, however, it was time for the "Glass Breaking" demo. As someone who has driven battlebots into bottles and attempted to cut a tempered glass table-top, this was familiar territory. I did learn you can use polarized light to highlight the stress concentrations, so now I really want to build a polarizing box for the hackerspace. The finale of the demo was a Bologna Bottle - differentially tempered glass similar to a Prince Rupert's Drop, where the exterior is hammer-proof but the interior will shatter with a tap. Cool to see IRL, but solidly 3rd place on the demo roster.
Then we swung through the gift-shop, which is as much a showroom as the rest of the museum (That cute inch-tall penguin from the demo? $40!), and made our way to the gallery proper.
Sullivan. I took a pic so I could draw inspiration from the shape-work.
I love old shit, so I read the first several exhibits with interest. The oldest relics of glass, the level of technology those relics required, mind-boggling antiquities. But as we moved on, we quickly realized just HOW MUCH glass there was. It would take days to give this section it's proper due - and it was all interesting work and well done, but almost exactly like the Vatican, it devolved to speed-skimming the Magna Opera of masters. Tiffany was great, but a better salesman than artist. Special shoutouts to Frank Lloyd Wright, Lloyd Sullivan who did his style better, Vera Liskova, and basically everyone who did weird stuff with cut glass, that room was gorgeous.
Also, Ghost Walk under Infinite Darkness by Andrew K. Erdos (and shoutout to the museum staff who knew exactly what I was asking about and replied to my email within an hour!)
Day 2/3: Finger Lakes:
To be honest, we didn't travel all this way for the Corning Museum, although it was totally worth it. My brother invited us up to an air-BNB on the Finger Lakes, and I automatically say yes when people invite me places I haven't been yet. Corning was just on the way.
The entire Finger Lakes region is gorgeous, rolling rural hills that slope into one winery or another and suddenly plummet into lakes several hundred feet deep. While the winery part is a joke (kinda... there are almost 200 wineries, vinters, and cellars along the coasts), the geology is wild. Glaciers carved out valleys only 1-2 miles wide but over 600 feet deep, and then flooded them. We stayed in Dresden, a small town halfway up Lake Seneca, right on the waterfront. The entire town is a few blocks across and charmingly quaint.
I'd love to tell you how brightly the stars shone, and how beautiful the Aurora is, but it was cloudy THE ENTIRE TIME. Luckily they were all altocumulus, so the horizontal views remained gorgeous. We had a delightful time, visiting restaurants and wineries (the food was amazing, the wineries meh - but the soil favors sweet wines and I'm rather dry), and most importantly, hanging out with my niece who is kind-of talking, almost walking, and a delight.
The next day, my brother, father, and I decided the day's main event was going to be kayaking in the lake. We had all independently reviewed the satellite imagery (because we're nerds, apparently) and decided the two options were the Naval Sonar Research Station a mile out into the lake, or the random stream 700 yards up the lake. Due to the wind, the distance, and a desire to retain our perfect record of never being shot at, we chose the stream! They both took kayaks, and I grabbed a paddle-board with a kayak paddle (faster, but wetter) and we all headed down the coast.
After the half-mile paddle (I measured afterwards), we got to the Keura Lake Outlet! This stream connects to the next finger-lake over, but there were a few dams along the way. We didn't expect to be able to make it... but we also weren't going to quit unless we were forced to. Full speed ahead! We'll call in a pickup if we make it the whole way. The alluvial delta emptying into the lake had a few options through it, so I stood up on my paddleboard to plot a good course. And promptly fell in. Wildly, the water was pleasant. The Finger Lakes are legendary for their chill, averaging 39F year-round, with only slight surface-warming in the summer. Must be a shallow river.
We headed up-stream, fighting under or around driftwood, and avoiding the channels shallow enough to beach us. Battling the flow and heading upstream, we counted literal dozens of osprey over us, uncountable number of catfish beneath us, and enjoyed nature in it's glory. After a quarter mile, everything clicked. The stream split in half. Half continued straight, increasingly shallow, and left veered off past a grate/fence towards a powerplant in the distance, rushing fast and bath-water warm. Later we did some research and discovered this powerplant doubles as a bitcoin-mine, diverting power to wherever profits lie at the moment, but always pumping out heat. No wonder nature loves the outfall.
Orange: Out. Pink: Back. Red: Several bad ideas all at once, saved for next time.
We headed another quarter-mile up a markedly colder stream, carefully exploring and zigzagging to wherever was deepest. Even sitting on the nose of the paddleboard to lift the fin from the water, I began to ground out. None of us were looking forward to miles of portage, so we decided to head back. The float back to the lake was quick and delightful, and then we had to get home.
Which was now significantly up-wind. It was a long sustained burn, all of us ducking low, digging deep, and thinking little. About half-way across I sprinted into my brother's draft in an attempt to almost-literally ride his coattails.... but the chop meant staying in the draft was a fight with every stroke, and I soon gave up and resigned myself to the slog. On the upside, after the exertion the frigid water almost felt tempting. We still had to force ourselves, and had to dive in rather than ease in, but of course we did it. Sooo much colder.
Corning was on our way to the Lakes, Watkins Glen was on our way back from the Lakes. As the glaciers retreated and the surface ice melted, this valley remained as the best path down, leading to eons of erosion and a slot canyon over 400 feet deep. In the 1860s* - recent by geological standards - paths were carved into the banks for tourists, and these paths (or at least their modern replacements) are fantastic. Carefully balancing the beauty of nature with the human desire to go touch it, they wend back and forth across the glen, vaulting over bridges and cutting beneath waterfalls. At times we had to skip from rock-to-rock, and once jumped up on the railing (even my 60y/o mom!) to tightrope past a flooded section of trail, but all of that only made it more fun.
It's beautiful from an artistic perspective, you can go geologist and start evaluating rock layers, or you can indulge your inner hydrologist and examine bowels and cascades. The stream and the valley keep the temperature comfortable, at least in the summer months. We hiked most the way up the canyon, taking the requisite pictures through waterfalls, and I got a bit distracted trying to shoot ultra-high-speed video. After we got to the top of the canyon, the path split. Half of us took the high-and-dry route back over the top, my father and I decided more canyon more better and did the whole thing in reverse, which offered a new perspective and felt more like a different trail with familiar themes than a repeat. If you ever visit the Finger Lakes, this is my only must-do recommendation.
Day 4: Baby
To be honest, even the lakes were an afterthought. My other brother invited us up to meet my new niece, Ada Marie. She is four weeks old, and she is perfect.
