Alpine Tom

When Sam, John, and Ethan first proposed a trip to Interlaken to go skiing, my heart sank deep into my abdominal cavity. Immediately, the first trip outside of Rome was riddled with contradictions. So many questions piled up. How could I ski? I don’t know how to ski. I actually hate skiing. Last time I went skiing I thought I was going to die. How, if I failed to ski in Massachusetts, could I succeed in the Swiss Alps? Yet all the while, how could I bail on our first trip outside Rome together? Would I regret it for the rest of my life? Definitely. Would I even have a life to regret after I tried to ski in the Alps? Hopefully.

View from Hike

As good friends seem to do, the boys informed me that not participating in this journey was simply unacceptable, a non-existent option. So, on Tuesday before our expected Thursday departure, we—Ethan, Sam, John, Hallie, Jess, Lauren, and I—went to Termini station to reserve our night train to Interlaken, leaving Rome on Thursday at 19.55. One swipe of the credit card and all of the sudden, I was going to Interlaken. It all seemed too easy.

Wednesday and Thursday were riddled with fear. I was actually overwhelmed with genuine fear. Skiing causes significant problems for me. I never did it when I was young, and now, I am six feet off the ground and useless in the snow. When I ski, I fall. When I fall, I fall hard. That’s the situation. I’ve had a total time of about 4 hours on skis in my entire life, and they were very, very bad hours. As if that weren’t enough, I was also completely unprepared in terms of the gear required to ski. I have not a single piece of clothing, save a winter jacket, that has any use in a mountain/snow setting. So, as a result, I basically packed everything I do own in my pack in a fleeting attempt to compensate for my lack of weatherproof materials. Not waterproofed and scared of the snow, I set off for the train station taking me to some of the most serious skiing in the world.

Termini Station. 1920 hours. 21.02.

I arrived at Termini at the scheduled meeting point around 7:20 PM. Of course, John and Sam failed to follow protocol and were, as a result, not at the meeting point. The rest of us found them and we all went to wait at the track for the train. We were in a sleeping car with 6 bunks for the 7 of us. One would be on the floor, but we were going to wait until after we were all drunk to decide who that person would be. Everyone came packing his/her own poison. The girls brought some crappy white wine and vodka; John and Sam each opted for his own personal bottle of disgusting whiskey; Ethan and I took the classy route with two nice bottles of Chianti. Next stop: Interlaken. Well, actually, next stop Spiez. We had to switch trains.

The train ride turned out to be a total blast. The room was small and cramped, we were all too close to each other, and it was hot. But there wasn’t a care in the world. I think I had even forgotten that were en route to Death Mountain. Some highlights: John drinks too much whiskey, has to go stand outside in the hallway, finally does fall asleep but nearly falls off bunk and kills Hallie, who is sleeping on the floor; Ethan makes a special offer to Lauren, but fails to execute; Lauren gets angry because Ethan keeps telling her that she is the one who has to sleep on the floor because she is the smallest, which according to Lauren, is not a fair reason to make her sleep on the floor because its not her fault that she is the smallest; Ethan brings his camping sack and hangs it from the hook; John wins the rock-paper-scissors-drink tournament; Tom transforms into Dad, checks everyone’s passports before going to sleep, ensures that all valuables are stowed safely near everyone’s heads, masterminds an organized effort to get everyone to bed in a safe and efficient fashion.

We arrived in Interlaken safely and on time. We decided to walk to Balmer’s, our hostel, from the train station, which turned out to be a great idea. When we got off the train, it was pitch black dark, but the light from the stars was just enough to outline the massive figures of the mountains that surrounded the town. During our walk, the sun began to rise, illuminating even better the daunting snow covered peaks that immediately reminded me of my skiing commitments. This fearful reminder was trumped instantly by the beauty of the place. I guess here is the first instance where words start failing. There might be a bit of that in this retelling, so consider yourselves warned. There’s just no way to describe the place, so I might have to use words like beautiful, spectacular, breathtaking, amazing, splendid, shocking, gorgeous, and incredible in a weak attempt to recount the experience. It will fail, I will sound like a bad poet, and we’ll have a lose-lose situation. Accept my apology in advance.

Our first look at Interlaken - as the sun rose on Friday morning en route to Balmer's

Balmer’s is a great hostel. It has been catering to awestruck Americans and other European backpackers for over fifty years, and they’ve got it down to a science. We made it up to our room and decided to take a quick early morning nap. Ethan—who I forgot to mention, is a dedicated and insane skier that likes climbing through uncharted mountain terrain and jumping off cliffs while attached to skis—could not resist, and disappeared into the snow for the day despite running on no sleep. When we woke up from the nap, the remaining 6 had our first Swiss meal. Eggs, bacon, ham, cheese, hash browns. Excellent. The food was great, but the best part of the meal was the 30 Swiss franc (about 28 dollars) worth of tap water that we ordered. Classic. I carried my water bottle with me everywhere after that. John and Hallie, in the span of about 5 minutes, decided to go skydiving. At 2:30, they would leave to jump out of an airplane at 12,000 ft. I suppose I would have considered it, but it was very expensive and my only goal in Interlaken was to survive skiing.

Sam and John listening to the same iPod in the same bed

Me and the evil woman that made us pay 30 Swiss franc for tap water

So, and then there were four. Sam, Lauren, Jess, and I opted for a free hike up a mountain near Balmer’s—about the only free thing you can do in Interlaken other than breathe. It was an easy 45 minute hike up to the top, but it ended up offering some great views of the area. I took a moment to draw for a while and we hung out at the top for about an hour, enjoying the view. I also peed off the edge. Nice.

A view of the Laken from the Hike

Balmer’s suggested that we rent our skis during the day, so on the following morning we could just go straight to the mountain. We hiked down and headed to the ski rental place, where they hooked us up with everything we needed for the mountain. I had to get skis, boots, pants, helmet, gloves, and goggles, along with the lift ticket. I opted for a one day rental with the option to extend for Sunday, because at that point, I wasn’t sure if I would be around on Sunday. So why waste the money, right?

One of the many views from the Mountain

Interlaken had already squeezed a good bit of money out of us, but the people at Balmer’s convinced us that “Night-Sledding” was something we had to try. So, another 75 bucks per person down the drain, and we were going night sledding. John, Hallie, and Ethan all returned very much alive and completely stoked from their respective adventures during Day 1 in Interlaken, and all of us rallied for the trip to the night sledding mountain. After our first gondola ride in Switzerland and a very bizarre flashlight-lit lesson on tobogganing by a funny Swiss guy, we set off for the sled track. It was pitch black dark, but we figured that the track would be lit. We were wrong. Night sledding was apparently going to occur in the dark, lit only by the stars. After our eyes adjusted, we could see just about clearly enough to make out the difference between white, which corresponded to the snow on the track, and black, which corresponded to either a tree, rock, or massive crevice leading down to the valley below… This was apparently safe, according to the funny Swiss guy. So, imagine 100 20-22 year olds, flying down a slick toboggan track in the middle of the night, flirting with serious injury at every turn. I managed to avoid any wipeouts, but I came close a couple of times to significant catastrophe.

Despite the rager that was occurring at the nightclub below the hostel, we opted to go directly to sleep with high hopes of a great day of skiing. That was a good idea, because it gave me some time to pray as I lay in bed waiting for the morning.

Here comes the fun part. Thoroughly scared, I followed our crew to the bus stop, skis in hand. All of us were completely decked out in the necessary mountain garb. You rent off mountain in Interlaken, which is great, because you get shuttled to the mountain dressed to ski. No lockers, no lines, no paying for anything except food once your up there. The ride to the mountain was (insert any lame awesome words here). As we got higher and higher, the mountains got bigger and bigger. The expanse of the view increased as well, until we got to the level of the ski town, at which point we were just high up.

As promised, Ethan took us all to the bunny hill for a skiing lesson. This ended up not lasting very long because the bunny hill was tiny and had no slope, so there was not much to work with there. It was nice to move around on skis before going up the real mountain, though. We decided that we were ready to graduate from the place where all of the 18 month old kids were skiing, to head up to the place where all of the 3 year old Swiss prodigy skiers were skiing. (There are small, crazy, Swiss children all over the place that are about 3 feet high doing things on skis that normal humans would never even consider.)

Pleased with the situation

After about 3 seconds on the first lift up, I realized that I had gotten myself into a very serious situation. The absolute shock of Interlaken beauty was being weighed against the fact that I was going up to 7500 ft above sea level to ski. Luckily, the former was strong enough to let adrenaline take over. Ethan took us to a great run for our first go-round. It was wide and just steep to practice wide S-turns and some carving. I fell immediately.

The beginning actually went pretty well for me, all things considered. The falls that I was suffering were acceptable falls. I was staying in relative control, I guess, and fell usually as a result of getting my skis mixed up, crossed, or split. I was pretty dedicated to the pizza for the first hour, which is a conservative beginner position to put one’s skis in as you go down the mountain. It acts as a snow plow and keeps you traveling at a manageable speed. Ethan rode along with me for a bit and helped me take the next step towards turning. I actually got the hang of it.

I was pretty happy after the first section of skiing. The view from that first run yielded the most outrageous and best natural site I had ever seen. I was amped just to be there, which really helped in the skiing department, as my brain did not have enough RAM to process the amount of danger I was actually in.

The comfort zone disappeared as we made our first turn off of the nice wide section and moved on toward the narrow, CLIFFSIDE catwalk second section. This was very frightening. A catwalk resembles a mountain road: a narrow path carved into the side of the mountain that is bordered by the resulting wall and cliff edge leading down towards imminent doom. In this picture there is a catwalk that I went on later in the day (not the same one, but similar idea).

View from lift. That run is the catwalk from our first trail. Click on the picture and check it out. You can see the skiers on it. It was steep and epic.

The first run was long, and ended in a very difficult step and twisty section that last for about 10 minutes. I took my share of spills, but nothing catastrophic So far so good. That run was a blue run. The mountain is divided between blue, red, and black, for beginner, intermediate, and advanced. There is nothing “beginner” about these beginner blue runs, as even Ethan admitted. They are no joke. The one we went on took at least 35 minutes to ski (including restarts after wipeouts) and there is no turning back. They are a significant challenge to any average person interested in skiing. So, after surviving one of said blue runs, I was pretty happy.

The rest of the day was spent doing more of the same. I started to get the hang of it and, believe it or not, the fear seemed to slip away. Being in such an incredible place really helped because I felt the strongest of desires to experience the mountains on skis, the way they were meant to be experienced. You can get some amazing views from the decks of the restaurants by the lifts and gondolas, but there is no replacement for flying down the runs and slicing through the snow with the Alps as your backdrop.

Adrenaline was running sky-high by 4 pm, about a half hour before the lifts closed. I had just suffered a brutal wipeout, the worst of the trip, and luckily everyone was watching. They had finished the run and could see me coming down the hill. Something bad happened that resulted in me going too fast. The tips of my skis got crossed, I went flying, my skis popped off, poles were left behind, and I, alone, slid about 30 feet across the trail, over the edge, and down the bordering hill, only to come up with a smile on my face at the ridiculousness of what had just occurred. The chorus of laughter waiting for me at the next lift topped it off perfectly.

Lauren and I went back up for one more run before the lifts closed, which turned out to be a great idea. The mountain is so extensive and there are already so many runs that it never felt crowded once, but for our last run that was even more so the case. The highlight of the trail happened about half way down. I was in front of Lauren and had just taken a nice swooping right turn off a hill, finishing in a wide section that led towards the more technical curvy part at the end of the run. The valley seemed to open up and I got to slice back and forth, with two huge mountains to my left and right, without anyone else in view. The sun had just set behind the big mountain across the valley, and I was alone in this perfect place. That 45 seconds was definitely the highlight of the trip and something I’ll hopefully never forget.

Saturday night was spent at the awkward Americanized discotech at the hostel. We were too tired to go anywhere else, so we packed away two beers and hit the sack. I had gone immediately after returning from the mountain to extend my rental and lift ticket. All I could think about was skiing Sunday, so sleep was the priority.

This is right next to the starting gate for the highest runs we did - about 8750 ft above sea level. My personal altimeter read "holy shit".

We woke up as early as we could muster on Sunday and packed up the room. We checked out and left our bags in the baggage area so we could spend the day on the mountain. I was so pumped to ski again. One day in the Alps had forced the most unexpected 180 possible: I loved skiing. And I wanted more.

Stoked on Sunday, en route to the mountain

Happiness in preparation for Day II

I have written in my notebook under Sunday, February 24^th: “Best Day of Life Candidate”, and that could not be closer to the truth. Charged with the excitement from Saturday, we went all out on Sunday. I did the same blue runs to warm up, and then Ethan took me along a red run that I managed to survive. I did feel the change in difficulty immediately. It was a lot steeper, a lot faster, and it required you to have much more control over your body to get down safely. I did not exactly have that control, so I fell a couple of times, but I managed it. I did part of that red run again and took the lift back up to the catwalk run. I asked Ethan to take me down the cliff next to the catwalk, which other more advanced skiers had been doing all weekend. It looked manageable if you did it right, so I figured with Ethan in front it would be fine. What an excellent idea by me. That section was exhilarating and the adrenaline was really pumping, because I was doing something I probably should not have done. I made it down only falling once. Nice!

A little bit later on in the day, I was on the lift with Ethan when I decided that I should attempt a short black run. I had seen it the day before and considered it impossible, but I saw it from the lift on Sunday and thought I could handle it. Ethan went first and I tried to follow by example. It was an extremely steep situation, but my turning had gotten much better by that point so I was able to cut down the black with pretty good control. I fell a couple of times, but only into the mountain. Conquering the short but substantial black run was a great feeling. Ethan wanted to go off jump of the top of the mountain or something, so he sped away and I did the black run alone one more time and then conquered a small section of mini-mogles before my final lift back up to the gondola. Succeeding/surviving the blues, and then that final black, was one of the greatest things I’ve ever felt. At the end of it all, I could say that I had skied the Alps. Definitely did not expect that. Sunday was just one of those days that does down in the books.

Extremely high up

Unfortunately, we had to leave the mountain early in order to give us time to get back to Balmer’s, power shower, pick up our stuff, and get to the train. This post is already so long that I will say only that we did all of those things. The train ride home sucked. The guy that booked our tickets at Termini made a huge mistake that resulted in us running all over the Milan station on the way back trying to get it sorted out. In the end, we ended up split up in two cars stuck with a bunch of weird people, one of whom was definitely trying to rob us. Ethan I stayed awake and stared at him for 3 hours until he left our room, but we got no sleep. We arrived as zombies back in Rome on Monday morning, tired, useless, and ready to go to class.

Monday was a brutal day to endure, but we were all so stoked that we had just conquered the Alps that nothing else seemed to matter. A great weekend in a great place, perfect blue sky weather, nice temperatures, great skiing; quite simply the best weekend I’ve had in a long, long, long time.

Ciaociao.

One of these days I will fill you in on some more quotidian Roman things, but things are happening real fast over here and its entirely too much fun to be on the computer.

Videos from the Mountain:

One of Our Many Runs



Skiing!