The Sounds of Switzerland
Bells ringing and cogwheels spinning.
Engulfed in blankets to stay warm, I tune into the melodic thrum of rain drops exploding onto the roof and trickling across the window pane of our bedroom. I flutter my eyes open and gaze up to the roof of our chalet in Switzerland. Perched above Lauterbrunnen Valley, the small town of Isenfluh starts to stir. But we aren’t greeted by rays of warmth permeating through the windows. Instead dark clouds overtake the skies as rainfall drenches the landscape beyond. The night before we snaked our way through the murk of the mountains, immersed by the stillness of the countryside. There was nothing to see - at that point - but so much to hear.
The rain makes slow, squeaky strokes downward that quietly echo into our wooden cabin. The grass glistens as the pavement turns a darker hue of grey. In the distance, snow drapes over the Jungfrau mountains like a soft blanket, as if the peaks are also trying to be shielded from the weather brewing above. I press my feet down onto the floor and hear tiny creeks from the floorboards. Making my way to the sunroom, an all-windowed space situated at the front of chalet, I sink into a cup of hot coffee and take in all of nature’s faintest sounds.
Our hosts left us a dozen eggs, fresh from the chickens scurrying outside our window. You can hear their feathers ruffle as they waddle across the yard. We pull out a few eggs and I watch the shell crack against the bowl and release a bright orange yolk. The pan sizzles from butter creating small bubbles that pop awake. We leisurely make breakfast while pouring a second cup of coffee.
The day slowly crept by as we read in the sunroom and researched our next stop of our trip. There were pauses in the rainfall, making space for the swoosh of the birds flying by in between the storm clouds. Sometimes faint gurgles of a car or the rogue rooster impulsively clucking would jolt us out of our drifting thoughts. It brought us back to the chalet, into the coziness of our tiny mountain retreat.
We awoke the next morning to the absence of the gray fog and immediately gasped at the landscape that was hidden by the clouds the day before. Large cliffs stretch above grasping at the hazy sky. We packed a day bag and hopped into our car eager to embrace the mountains.
Quick feet pat against the pavement as eager hikers make their way to the Wilderswil train station. A cogwheel sits idle while a gentle hum pervades through the tracks. The doors open begrudgingly and people make their way to a seat. Low murmurs of whispered conversations blossom around us while the train staff scurries around getting ready for departure. There’s a sudden thud and the cogwheel starts to move.
It’s isn’t graceful or swift. We pudge our way up the mountains but that slowness gives us more time to take in the changing scenery. We pass tiny wooden homes sprinkled through the rolling hills and curiously wonder how residents get from their secluded chalets into town. Homes turn into speckled dots and suddenly we’re cloud-level. Lakes congregate in the mountain valleys and clouds slowly drift by the valley. Large peaks continue to tower above and are speckled with soft white snow patches. There’s a steady screech from the wheels and a sudden halt. We’ve made it to Schynige Platte, our hiking trail for the day.
While the cogwheel was full of hikers ready to embark, we managed to take a more deserted trail. It’s quiet and the faint breeze creates a soft purr that fills my ears with a calming satisfaction. We ascend the spine of a mountain, taking in the steep views that drop dramatically from both sides. The green landscape rolls into an opalescent lake that stretches as long as the mountainscape. Descending into the valley, the peaceful silence of nature is first broken by a faint clink. We turn a corner and that one clink morphs into a choir of bells swaying in the wind. As we approach, the sounds become louder and silhouettes of large cows emerge in the distance. We see our first heard, casually grazing across the side of the mountain, constantly in search of their next bite. More herds would pop up every 1/2 mile or so, calmly making their way through open fields. One thing on their mind, food. They were unfazed by hikers, passing by and snapping photos.
A quick whip of a flag comes into ear-sight and we see a small wooden hut in the distance. The area is known for ‘hut hiking’ where travelers trek from one cabin to the next seeking rest, shelter, and an indulgent bite to eat. Rich aromas of sausage fill the chimneys from the hut and release an intoxicating smell into the air which urges us to walk faster. As we walk in, soft sounds of patrons are slurping from bowls and piercing into dishes. We slid into a booth by the window and enjoyed spoonfuls of pumpkin soup and bites of apple pie.
Our time in Switzerland was one of a kind - a place to find reprieve from the speed of our travels and listen into the world moving around us. The prominent sounds of the countryside imprinted fond memories that I can still hear like a faint murmur, occasionally whispering in the back of my mind.
