Wet, Cold, and Exhilarated

Before we left for Europe, I’d checked the weather in England and was dismayed to see reports of rain for pretty much every day we’d be there. Sigh. Dave and I both needed new raincoats. I have my mother-in-law’s old yellow slicker, but I wanted something vaguely chic, and Dave turned to Amazon to purchase a padded black jacket that would serve for rain as well as cold. A practical choice since Lisa had told us to pack hats, gloves, and warm coats for our excursion up to the Jungfrau where it would be bitter cold. Continuing my tradition of wearing inherited clothes, I was content to bring my mother’s long, black parka for that jaunt.  

Truth is, in the flurry of last-minute preparations and election activities and worries, I was content to hand over all Swiss plans to Lisa and Tucker. I wasn’t even sure what the Jungfrau was, and never got around to Googling it. So, we’d done as Lisa asked, but from the warm days of September to the mild weather we encountered throughout our trip, it was hard to imagine needing the winter clothes tucked in the bottom of our suitcases. 

Our lovely trail walk of paragliders and rainbows ended at the bus stop for the Trummelbachfalle, a series of waterfalls inside the mountain open to visitors by way of an elevator, tunnels, and stairs. We couldn’t miss that, but it would have to wait; hunger and the allure of creamy cheese fondue and crusty bread demanded return to the village. 

The next day was overcast and drizzly, the perfect maiden voyage for our new raincoats. We took a local bus back to the Trummelbachfalle, bought tickets, and opted for the elevator for the first leg of the climb. 

Raincoats. It was a good thing we’d worn them. Ten waterfalls draining from the glaciers of the Eiger thundered past us, over 5,000 gallons per second, in a wild rush to the river below, dousing us as we clung to iron railings and navigated the steep, wet stairs cut into the rock. 

In Europe, I am ever amazed by the trust placed in travelers. Yes, there are signs urging caution and consideration of others. And yes, there was that iron railing to keep us from plummeting into the falls, but basically, our safety was left to our good judgment. 

Tucker, Lisa, Lexi, and Paul wore yellow, magenta, pink and royal blue raincoats, vivid in the dim light of the tunnels or while snaking between the cliff and surging water. They were game for the adventure, but it tested my heart to watch those butterfly-bright colors inching between unyielding rock and the water’s force. 

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What’s with these birds? We are atop the Jungfrau, at 13,642 feet, the highest train station in Europe.  It is frostbite-cold, and we are buffeted by wind, slipping on icy snow, and surrounded by gleeful tourists throwing snowballs. There’s not a tree to harbor grubs, shrubs to shelter creatures, nor carcasses to scavenge. What do these birds eat? Where do they sleep? What draws them to this freezing, barren height? 

We are drawn by stunning views, the prospect of visiting an ice palace, and the joy of accompanying our kids on another adventure.  

First surmounted in 1811 and now accessible by a delightful ride on a train the color of Christmas, “Jungfrau” means  young woman or virgin.

I don’t get the connection. There is no blush of the rose, no wisp of springtime green up here, that’s for sure. All is glacial white, or that icy blue that colors the river and waterfalls below. In fact, beyond the crags, glaciers, and this snowy plateau, I glimpse a distant blue sea. Or is it sky?

While I am mincing about like the ancient being I am to make sure I don’t fall, Paul and Lexi are enjoying the ice, sliding and skidding for fun. And that is the vibe. Bundled against the cold but giddy, people are posing, flinging loose snow, packing it into projectiles, and laughing aloud.

Our stay outside is not long, however; the cold is cruel, and there are only so many times I can whip off my gloves to snap pictures of the scene, the kids, and those birds before the ache in my fingers begs me leave.   

We head inside the Jungfraujoch complex to  zip down the corridors and past the ice sculptures of the Ice Palace, take a just-in-case trip to the restroom, and board the train for the two-hour ride back to Lauterbrunnen. We have a dinner reservation at 6:00 and cheese fondue awaits. 

Throughout our trip, from the Churchill War Rooms, to the many-times conquered village of Rothenberg ob der Tauber, to the icy reaches of the Jungfrau, I have pondered the forces of man and nature, and the changes they have wrought. Sometimes over eons, as water erodes valleys and cuts through rock, or, over a matter of a few generations as brutal lessons are forgotten and once again, human animosity, conquest, and power-hunger have felled civilizations. With the upheaval that undoubtedly lies ahead for America after this election, it has been a blessing to immerse ourselves in these glorious settings, the lives of our children, and the still-innocent world of our grandkids.