Living off my hike.

(pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31736054@N04/ )

I really am, too. a couple of weeks ago (is it 2 now? Wow, that was fast) 6 of us made our way to Andeer, a village high in the Alps. Daniel's grandmother lives there in a house that was in her husbands family for generations. The village could easily be one from one or two hundred years ago, minus a few electric signs in shop windows-the buildings lean and slope towards each other, and a few are covered in the traditional art of the region; frescoes, mostly black and white, in a style I might have mistaken for Italian if I hadn't known better than to step on Swiss culture's toes. We spent all of Saturday seeing the village-the river, the old covered bridge and attached forwarning (going faster than a walking pace over this bridge will result in a 5 franc fine), the church with it's steeply tiered garden-and the small bakery, butcher shop, and dairy store, for food.

As I couldn't eat the bread or the cheese, the fondue was out for me, but I sauteed some veggies and stuck my tongue out as everyone slurped hot cheese. I was the first to go to sleep, followed by Maya, too sick to hike with us the next day, and it felt like being a little kid to sleep in the quiet, dark wooden guest house, which reminded me so much of my first home.

Sunday morning we were cold and red-eyed, out in the autumn air before the sun and on our way up. And up. It was 3 hours before we reached the first plateau, the site of a little lake filled with bugs of all kinds and surrounded by eerie, huge rocks. We continued to a meadow further on, where 2 of us (michael and Kati) went down and Freddy, Daniel and I contemplated our route.

"I'm just going to be honest you guys," I said, "I don't know if I can make it UP that thing." The thing in question was the massive rise behind us, a near-vertical rocky, tree-studded climb. Freddy, a friend I met through couchsurfing a few weeks ago, shrugged,
"Well, I don't really care, it's been gorgeous just to here, so I'm content." Dainel nodded,
"Yeah, either way. It would be nice to see the top, but..." And it was so obviously a "but nothing" that I grinned and interjected.
"Ok fine, we're going." and we did. We started by descending for a moment to a lower lake, then retracing our path halfway back and cutting onto a steeper trail headed for the peak. I led, the designated pace-keeper as the only one with doubts. Minutes into the trail I was beathing heavily, but feeling just as heavily stubborn, and I pushed myself to envision my legs as something apart from the rest of me; ideally something I couldn't feel, as my muscles were starting to burn and twitch more with every heave up the rocks. I finally stopped to rest and lifted my eyes from my feet. Woah! We were already a good portion of the way up, and even tired, it was heartening to see the view open behind us with new clarity of the facing mountains.

We made it up so quickly I was laughing at myself for having doubted anything, and when we rounded to the other side, it was a wholly different landscape-we were on a kind of plateau overlooking a deep blue lake and one of the old summer-farm-houses-turned-rented-chateau, where farmers once stayed while their cows grazed on the lush alp plants. To the right, a rise of boulders swept away the view of meadows beyond, and only some plants clung to the side of the mountain. It was stunning. The grass across the valley was a rainbow of greens, yellows, and even some browns, the autumn colors just starting to touch the sharp green tones of summer. Here and there, patches of early snow twinkled under the sun.

Ahhhhh, the Alps...It was suddenly easy to realize where I was on the globe and how bits of impressions I have had throughout my life have shaped the experience into something spectacular. A mountain is a mountain, but an alp is something magical and legendary, steeper than California's mountains, and mythical in it's hosting of such old, visible culture. Undoubtedly, the tribes that formed into what is now Switzerland walked along the same path that we just had, and brought animals and supplies to build homes at the spot we looked down on. For that matter, Daniel's ancestors probably did too. The fact that I come from a very 'young' (regarding my culture's influence there) country is so obvious when I am in an 'old' one!

We started down the opposite side with the sun hitting our shoulders in a pale yellow light, and by the time we had crossed the far meadow to find our trail, its last orange glow warmed our backs. We were giggly with exhaustion (ok, I speak for myself here) and reayd to eat again. My sweat was drying but the wind felt colder as it blew my damp shirt against my skin.

For a moment, at the top, I had imagined living here-I knew that you can work, like people have for centuries, as a summer caretaker and maintain the herds of all the farmer's cows on one alp. I had imagined this lifestyle with its difficulties and it's long, quiet pride, and felt so envious of the people who do it. the thought of Returning to Basel for work was distant and dull, and it became even moreso as we neared the alp house built by Daniel's ancestors, a rock-roofed shack with a barn triple its size, overlooking the deep blue gulf the valley had faded into.

Looking over the valley, I thought of my dad, and his way of looking at nature with a very light, calm energy. I had to smile as I pictured him there with me, standing and quietly grinning at the pure fantasy of how gorgeous the natural world can be-I gave myself an internal reminder that such beauty is everywhere, and not to downplay the importance of little beautiful things just because they are not as overwhelming.

We sat, talked, and split the last of the chocolate, savoring the evening and drawing it out as long as possible. When we finally started the last climb down, I realized I wasn't envious of the lifestyle after all, just glad to share a little of a feeling that all the people who have ever climbed a mountain have felt. It was such a breath of fresh, living air into a cyclical schedule of week and weekend, work and rest. And, as every time I have hiked until sunset, I was ready to descend and find my week.

For the past two weeks I've nursed along all my little sensations of the hike to remind me that the possibility to feel that freedom is always there. With the seasons changing, days shortening, and the undeniable approach of winter visible everywhere, I often find myself in conflict iwth my surroundings, wishing for a warmer day, a brighter sun, a longer evening. Somehow it's easier to see the changes for what they are from on top of an alp: part of a cycle that I am deeply connected to. A system of exchange between life and death that is as necessary as breathing in and out, and as gratifying. It is was sustains us, this exchange, and what makes my week worth returning to. Because at the end of any season, there is another, and at the end of any work week there is a mountain to be climbed :)

As always, I am left cheesily in love with being outside. Speaking of which, gotta get out there now!