Oh--gravity.

Originally written August 4th

The Italian countryside is rolling by out the train window...green fields of grapes, distant mountains poking at the fluffy bottoms of fleecy clouds, tile-roofed churches and buildings in the strangely lovely shade of reddish-orangish-brown. I haven't been to Italy in almost two years, but somehow, you can taste the warm, fertile sunlight just looking at it out the window. Although once again, I'm in a country where I don't speak the local language, so I'm back to being an ignorant American tourist. Sigh.

Although, even in Switzerland, where I supposedly do speak the language, there was very little in the way of communication going on. As far as I could tell, they could understand my somewhat rusty attempts at Hochdeutsch, but the answers I got were generaly incomprehensible, if lovely. Such communication is composed less of words and more of making eye contact and smiling and nodding at carefully judged breaks in the linguistic flow.

For the most part, though, the language barrier was no problem. On the morning of the 2nd of August, while our hostelmates were still sleeping off their hangovers from the previous night's festivities, we packed up and took the cable car back over the edge of the cliff to the valley floor. From the station, it was a short bus journey to the town of Lauterbrunnen, where we dropped off our stuff in order to go look around. Specficially, we were heading towards the Truemmelbachfaelle, a series of glacial waterfalls that drained the Eiger, Moench, and Jungfrau mountains and passed through a series of spectacular caverns on the way.

On the bus ride to Truemmelbach, we ran into a older Japanese gentleman on his own, who, besides being unable to understand German, spoke apparently no English either, so although he kept asking for information, he couldn't understand what was said to him. Since we was going to the same place we were, we kept an eye out for him, and I got to speak to him a little bit in Japanese on our way up to the falls. Having long since forgotten most of the Japanese honorifics I've ever learned (and there are so many that I haven't yet!), I was a little hestitant to ask him any questions, but I managed to answer some of his without, I hope, sounding too vulgar.

A lift took us up through the mountain so we could view the falls. After all that wide-open mountainness, these caverns were tight, enclosed, and thunderously loud as they echoed with the roar of the falling water. The water had basically sliced into the cliffside like cheese wire, making the wonderful slot canyon-type hollows of smooth, twisting rock that I'd loved so much in Zion National Park. Slender bridges of rock arched over the tumult and the walls were curved and worn like the inside of a conch shell. Though we were inside the cliff, you could look up to see daylight shining down through the thin gaps high above and small plants clinging to the steep rock. The waterfalls themselves were silver-grey and very loud; they weren't enormous, but of course the enclosed space amplified their voices considerably. We got to have a peek at the ongoing process of forming those bowls and whorls in the rock as all that water when howling ferociously by, pulled inexorably down by inescapable gravity.

Having had three days of good, tiring hikes, we opted to spend our last two days relaxing. We spent a while wandering around Lauterbrunnen, looking for souvenirs and just enjoying the ambience of a little town in the shadows of such mighty mountains. I went out with my mother for one of our last dinners together for a long time. It seems strange--hard to imagine--how long it will be until we meet again. I miss her, and Janna, and all my friends, already. But I'm drawn onwards, further up and farther in, as if by gravity.

Our last day together, we moved yet another step out of the mountains to Interlaken. Bigger and more touristy than Lauterbrunnen, Interlaken is filled with shops selling watches, Swiss army knives, and every possible item of clothing, kitchenware, or easily transportable knicknack, all emblazoned with the white Swiss cross on a bloodred background. Again, we spent our time relaxing and wandering: shopping for new shoes for me (since my poor trainers had had it) and for souvenirs to take home to the families.

We also paused in the field on the west side of town to watch the paragliders land. I am simply determined to do this one day. It is basically all the joy and fun of skydiving without that whole bothersome jumping-out-of-an-airplane business. You just strap yourself into your parachute, run a few steps down a slope, and float away like a leaf on the wind. It's gorgeous to watch and, I'm certain, even more fun to do: just hanging in the air, totally weightless, marveling at the smallness and beauty of the world spread out below your feet. Perspective really is everything.

Speaking of nothing at all like that, on the way back to our hotel I caught a silver glint in the corner of my eye and turned just in time to see an R8 go purring by us like a stalking dragon. Dear me, but that car is pretty. It slithered off around the corner and I thought I'd seen the last of it, but once we got to our room, I found that it lives below an apartment complex that happens to be directly in line with our window. So whenever I looked outside, I was treated not only to the music of the river rushing by and the dramatic beauty of the towering green foothills but also to that beautiful car crouching in its lair.

There it is!

Since it was so close, while Mom and Janna took some time out to Internet (for reasons incomprehensible to me, right before dinnertime), I took the chance to (1) walk around Unterseen, the old town, and (2) visit the R8 at home. I only got a quick glimpse, since there were other people standing across the parking lot who were looking at me funny, but that was, for the moment, enough. I continued on to spend a few peaceful minutes looking around the deserted old town square and sitting in the flower-covered cemetery, watching the paragliders drift overhead. When I returned, the three of us went out for fondue for our last meal and spent the rest of the evening packing.

Now I'm on my own again. I've only about 40 minutes more until I reach Venice, and I can't tell you how excited I am. I'm not sure why, actually, but I'm really looking forward to this city. Maybe it's because Venice has about the same relationship to reality in my head as, say, Valimar. It sounds like a fantasy, a romantic dream of city, and I'm sure I'll be disappointed by kitchy tourist stores and hordes of khaki-shorted sightseers in long queues, but at the moment, I'm going to try to just savor the fleeting flavor of romantic, idealized hopefulness.

I'm not going to say too much about being on my own. "It's a long way home to Starwood in Aspen," John Denver is singing my headphones, and I understand the sentiment. I know where my family and friends are, and it comforts me that they're out there somewhere, but they're so far away. I have to take care of myself now. The advantage is that I can be completely selfish: I only have to consider what I want to see, eat, or do, without reference to anyone else's wants or needs. But I know it'll be lonely, too.

And on that note, though it's something of a flat to end on, I'm going to spend the rest of this long train journey looking out the window.