With an inopportune time gap between leaving Lucerne and checking in to Zurich, I decided to make a detour to the western city of Bern (train station lockers are damn convenient, I’ve discovered). Much like my now-former destination, a significant urban area is dedicated to preserving the medieval history in Old Town. Fountains with purportedly-potable drinking water (we’ll find out soon) were plentiful as both markers and decoration of the various historical and mythological figures like Joan of Arc, Moses, and Charlemagne. However, the prime symbol of days gone by has to be the Zytglogge: a massive cuckoo clock tower once marking the western border of the city-state.

My timing was unfortunate as several exhibitions and tours are currently closed, either for the day or the season, so I wasn’t able to get the birds-eye view I wanted. The cathedral of Bern was another lovely with supposedly an amazing spectacle at the top of its tower but it’s mandatory for two non-strangers to go up together in pairs. As for strike three/four, both the famous Bear Pit from whence the city is named and the nearby Rosengarten had hibernating occupants so I made due with the scenery alone.

I finally got a chance to have non-insanely-expensive cheese fondue from a traditional Swiss restaurant as well as grappa – an aperitif alcohol served beside espresso. With time sufficiently berned I headed to the final city of this trip: Zurich. I plan on doing a spa visit which undoubtedly won’t allow cameras (the cathedral interior didn’t either, which is why I don’t have any above) but I’ll just have to describe in sufficiently smug detail instead.

When it comes to mountainous locales in central Switzerland, there are two choices: Mount Pilatus and Mount Titlis. Since I don’t have the flexibility for yoga I decided on the latter for my second day in Lucerne. From the foot of the alpine village Engelberg snowshoers, skiers, snowboarders, and sonderers all take a series of gondolas to different sub-stops prior to the Titlis peak. The first of these is Trübsee, an all-in-one family fun park and beginner-level ski slope.

Though bunny slopes for Bavarians and snow tubing are just fine, my real destination was at 10,000 feet. The world’s first 360 degree rotating gondola (the Rotair) offered spectacular views of both the Uri Alps and the village below.

The summit of Titlis is composed of five separate levels including souvenir shops, restaurants, panoramic vistas, a glacier cave, and the outside peak itself. While the crowd of disproportionately-Indian tourists rushed to that, I entered the decidedly-frostier glacier cave. Light displays pushed multicolor patterns through several layers of transparent ice, and both a frozen throne and chaise lounge were available for hacks to take cheesy photos in.

Outside in the sunny chill, a weather tower and open-foot chairlift operated the backside of the mountain but the piece de resistance was cliff walk: an open air suspension bridge in constant motion from people walking across it.

Capping off the descent, I took a detour to ride a toboggan down the last portion of downhill slope. While it was mostly families with small children, the adults were having just as much fun careening into each other and off-pieste.

With a heavy heart (and a grateful nose) I bid the livestock next door goodbye and left the provincial Saint Niklaus for a more urban climate in Lucerne. Whereas my previous stops were vacation destinations, this city truly felt like a lived-in place with businesses catering to tourists as well as locals. My timing couldn’t have been better though as I stumbled upon a tradition unique to central Switzerland alone: Fasnacht.

During the weekend and week before Carnivale, this region of Switzerland has a “practice run” of sorts which includes live music, parades, costumes, folk dancing, throwing oranges at passersby, and burning effigies (okay one of those is false). A solid third of the populace participated with outfits ranging from historical (a la the Swiss Guard) to legendary (at least six Elvis impersonators were there). The Rathaus (ironically German for “town hall”) Brewery was the perfect spot to take it all in along with delicious pretzels, beer, sausage and alcoholic tea.

Aside from the festivities, Lucerne’s most well-known attraction is found in the heart of the city. The Löwendenkmal, or Lion Monument, is dedicated to the Swiss soldiers who perished during an insurrection attempt on the French Monarchy in 1792, as it was custom for an honorary Swiss Guard to be present in their company. The historical caretaker family of this display, the Altishofens, would later include a glacier garden, a hall of mirrors, a watchtower, an alpine home, and an open geological time capsule called the Felsenwelt in its vicinity. The latter of these was by far the most expansive with motion-activated displays of geological history of the area and a ‘cosmophone’ which translates voices into radio waves to be heard in the future (you best believe I Rickrolled some future generations).

The final stop made in the city proper today was its wooden covered bridge Kapellbrücke going from Saint Peter’s Chapel to a Starbucks across a channel of the lake. Panels underneath each gable depicted paintings by local artists or groups (I couldn’t tell) as well as a souvenir shop/distillery in the direct center.

I’m debating two different courses of action tomorrow, and it may be a game time decision in where I end up going out from Lucerne. You’ll just have to tune back in tomorrow to find out; same bat time, same bat channel.

As predicted, jet lag hit me like a truck the moment I got into an actual bed in 48 hours. Not even the au naturale alarm of next door’s rooster roused me earlier than 11:00 so I had to hustle down to base camp ASAP (luckily I already paid for my lift ticket and ski rental ahead of time). Zermatt is a ski town through and through, but I’m surprised by the variety of restaurants, bars, and shops to choose from.

Undoubtedly the coolest part is Hinterdorfstrasse, where centuries-old buildings still serve as rental properties for the über-rich to feel cultured (I’m not jealous YOU’RE jealous). Horse-drawn carriages and square taxis take folks wherever they need to go in this auto-less village, yet it remains extremely walkable. As far as personal recommendations go, you can’t miss with the Lego Bar, the Brown Cow (an Irish pub with live shanties every Thursday), or the upscale cocktail lounge Papa Caesars.

With the late start, I decided to choose carefully the slopes I’d ski (and hopefully not pieste-off the locals). The Klein Matterhorn, aka Matterhorn Glacier Paradise, offers a chance to cross the southern border into Italy and experience their Alps for a modest additional fee (though be warned: their routes are for the experienced skier). I had a cappuccino at 3000m and terrific views of the signature summit the entire time, though the rust on my talent for slalom showed (or the Swiss idea of a blue is skewed).

Nightlife in Zermatt is great on a Friday night, and the Eurobeat energized my tired legs as much as the lager at the bottom. I can wholeheartedly suggest Schmuggler’s Höhle for a quick drink before the Greenline bus takes you back from the ski lift, though I’ve heard some other stops quite literally off-pieste on the way down also have drinks a-plenty for sore muscles (just don’t forget you still need to finish going downhill and not just metaphorically).

I’ll spare you the details on my uneventful last night in Zermatt, but once again I can’t recommend this place strongly enough within your budget and timeframe. Though maybe it’s better to stay in a place not as far off the beaten path that I took; at least brush up on that Duolingo before departure!

“I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my bucket list” – Susan Sontag

The ever-present “why” query made the rounds again whenever I mentioned Switzerland as my next intercontinental destination, and once again I’m without a solid answer beyond “I want to”. There’s certainly plenty to enjoy in the land of Neutral Chocolate Bankers (dibs on that album name) but this trip will be more of a variety show rather than a thesis, as evidenced by me trying to visit three different locales in a week. But before we can get to the new, we have to go through the same old, same old.

The transit marathon begins with a quick 90min flight to JFK in NYC along with a 4.5 hour layover into an overnight 8 hour flight across the Atlantic. After making Dad proud with 10k steps between terminals to kill time, I decided to put the Amex to good use and check out the Delta Sky Club. The spread and drink selection was on par with Reagan International in DC, and I chatted up two lifelong friends on their way to Florida where the rest of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood were waiting (for those too young to get that reference…idk Google it).

I discovered two snags while landing, breezing through customs, and picking up my bags and tickets: I forgot a European plug adapter, and Swiss truly are brusque to idiot Americans. Luckily, another traveling couple lent me a spare while on the 3hr train ride from Zurich to Saint Niklaus (not really a town so much as a hamlet wedged in a massive gorge) where I’d be staying in southern Switzerland. My broken German and emphatic gesturing didn’t avail me in finding a replacement with the AirBnB hostess so I headed to the next (actual) destination once checking in – Zermatt.

I’ll post about Zermatt proper in the next entry, but I did want to take a moment and acknowledge the feeling of isolation and solitude so far; I am in deed a long way from home and among strangers whom I don’t readily communicate. I ain’t throwing in the towel any time soon, but not since my first night in Japan (first international trip and solo) have I felt like this. The optimist can see this as jet lag and lack of meds, and for once I’m rooting for him.

See you tomorrow after hitting the powder hard (and then going skiing when I can’t feel my face).

Welp, it’s that time again. I’m homeward bound after a quick stop off at the highly-commercial Blue Lagoon, and it’s been a fantastic voyage.

A major objective on this trip was to feel more genuine in my own skin: to feel like the choices made reflect an internal rather than external authority. Some locations/events/foods were chosen for the novelty, but never did I feel like you adoring fan(s) were behind the wheel. Hopefully you’ve gotten as much out of this trip as I have. Until next time, mahalo.

It’s unfortunate that I’ve gotten used to the 9:45 dawn just in time to go back below 60′ latitude, but I figured there was enough rental insurance to get one last ride into backcountry so I beat the rising sun to the Northwest Peninsula. Crossing under the mountains and over seas, I made my way to the Saesfullsnesvollkr National Park – a geological mosaic of tundra, mountains and volcanic rock. With the Arctic Sea to my left, I realized how utterly barren this land was (and how much more this must have been for the initial colonists).

Unlike what I’ve come to expect from experiences in the US, there was no trailhead to explore the desolate coastland. With gas reserves running low, I was forced to abandon plans to head to Kirkjufell in lieu of the ethereal “next time” (ideally in June for whale watching and snorkeling between tectonic plates). With an early retreat, I instead visited the Reykjavik downtown for one last hurrah. With “Little Saturday” (aka Thursday) underway, I shared camping stories with revelers from Scotland, got Latin-themed drinks and salsa lessons at Pablo Discobar, and even sang karaoke and played beer pong against the natives (poor, noble amateurs – they never stood a chance).

Every guidebook in paperback or electronic format will state the Golden Circle is a must-see in Iceland. While there is room for additional stops based on timing and desire, the three main locales are Thingvellir, Geysir and Gullfoss. Having my own rental car (and time table), I was able to hit the first destination running just as the sun started cresting the faraway hills and peaks.

Thingvellir’s major claim to fame is being the oldest Parliament in recorded history with various crimes being defined initially in the early 900’s and then again in the 1500’s with much stricter punishments. A long canyon called Almannagja formed from tectonic shifts was used to march criminals to the gallows, the headsman’s block, or the lake depending on the severity and gender of the miscreant (women were drowned only). Centuries later, this ominous pathway became a national park and nature’s splendor is put on display instead.

Next up was the largest lake in Iceland: Thingvallavatn. A trick I learned in the Lava Tunnel is that Icelanders tend to name things by the description of its surroundings (or by whoever find it), which makes the translation “Lake of Althingi” appropriate as it surrounds the meeting place of parliament centuries ago. The third and final landmark in Thingvellir was the Oxarfoss, a runoff waterfall which fed into the lake.

On the way to a lunch detour, I passed a Danish family getting a close look at another Icelandic trademark: their horses. Standing somewhere between a pony and an adolescent horse, these inquisitive equines eagerly accepted bribes of hay and headpats in exchange for a photo op. This may seem reckless, but I feel like you have to break at least one minor law to understand a new culture (and let’s not pretend anyone follows speed limits in America). The stench of manure (and my crimes) followed me to my next stop – Faxafoss. While not as impressive as Gullfoss or Skogafoss, I still enjoyed the freshwater spray to mask the downwind trail of local farms.

Appropriately enough, I went full steam ahead to the next destination and origin of the word for all international thermal waterspouts: Geysir. The landmark was situated on a caldera of superheated flowing water which burst at semi-routine internals for the main attraction Strokkr and bubbled furiously at the others. Even on the surface, water temperatures could elevate to boiling – a fact that several signs pointed out on the way up the hill. Beyond Strokkr sat a vista under construction with one view overlooking the park and the backside surveying farmlands for miles in each direction.

Sulfur’s not the best thing to inhale for extended periods of time, so I made my way to the final official stop on the Golden Circle: the aptly-named Gullfoss or “golden falls”. It’s difficult to capture the immensity of this grand waterfall cascade, but like Skogafoss the day before I held no illusions of grandeur next to it. On a whim and a prayer, I drove through fading sunset to reach Secret Lagoon Resort in hopes of seeing the Northern Lights amid relaxing hot springs, but alas the conditions weren’t quite right (also my phone sucks at night vision so I don’t have good quality photos of the clear sky from the Secret Lagoon).

Reykjavik was getting familiar at this point, and my hiking boots were itching to be used (I thought I had gotten rid of the infestation). The first stop on my backcountry tour was the Lava Tube, a 5,000 year old cavern dug out by a river of molten rock. The constant dripping of water was the natural filtration process, which in theory made it potable but I stuck with the tried-and-true Nalgene. This locale was the site of minor silver screen fame (Noah, Halo, and an Icelandic series called Trapped), but you could easily imagine any cave scene taking place here.

Past the three natural sky lights was the true earthen trail into the tube. Deep-red pigment left over from iron oxidation reactions covered the walls and ceiling in irregular patterns; my initial guess for the crimson markings (sacrificed Viking virgins) was suspiciously and hurriedly denied. In other areas, bubbled gray lines denoted the slow release of liquid magma over the course of months a millimeter at a time. We finally reached the end of the standard tour at a “party deck” of sorts where the occasional concert or wedding can be booked.

I followed the winding highways to the southern coast and the dwindling glacier of Solheimskall. I’m going to alienate most of you (five total) readers, but the landscape here was highly reminiscent of the new game Death Standing; check out a quick trailer for comparison. To my disappointment, this one did have traversable ice caves – I’m following up on this for an add-in later this week.

Finally, I stopped at the vast waterfall known as Skogafoss. Even as a veritable oasis of civilization in the sparsely populated countryside of Iceland, I felt a great deal of traditional culture was maintained at this travel hot-spot. Farmlands for Icelandic horses and sheep butted up right next to the guest houses (which probably did no favors to smell), and hydroelectric engineering was supposedly in the works to take the whole site to self-sufficient levels of power. But the real winner was the falls themselves; I understand the general layout is the same everywhere but I can’t help but feel very small compared to the outpouring of force these natural features exude. In short, there ain’t much that makes my ego take a back seat, but this is certainly one of those times.

One thing that does take a while to get used to in Iceland is the climate. While normally I’m a sucker for a good rainy day, it does induce some last-minute itinerary changes that can be frustrating. So when I get emailed from the car rental warning about incoming storms with metric-system values of wind speed and temperatures, I decided to err towards caution and spend the day indoors. My first stop was the Harpa Music Hall seen briefly yesterday. This building was truly a multinational effort: a Russian composer and his Icelandic singer wife were asked to lead the campaign to secure funding from various European firms as well as contract with American and Chinese construction companies along with a Dutch architect utilizing Austrian electricians. Ultimately, the plans had been reduced from a single-purpose music hall to a conferencing center side-piece to justify the cost. The name “Harpa” was chosen for its instrumental (the harp, obviously) and mythological ties – the term being a reference to spring and new life (something the project reflected several times over).

The chamber music hall boasted an impressive setup of sound-altering wooden inserts cut in various sloping patterns in a perimeter about a meter from the actual walls.Curtains of dampening felt could be raised or lowered depending on necessity, but the real spectacle was the undulating light patterns which gave the space its nickname “the Northern Lights.”

Next on the tour was the expansive main hall named after the volcano Heldburg. The acoustics were accounted for prior to any other construction which resulted in an antechamber designed to reverberate sound at specific intervals; apparently operas could echo for up to ten seconds with the right apertures into the auditorium. The red and black scheme evoked the imagery of Iceland’s volcanic landscape, and the material in the seats were designed with the same sound absorption of the human body – meaning there was no need to fine tune the quality depending on the attendance.

Sufficiently cultured, I decided to wander downtown during a break in the rain. Iceland is supposedly famous for hot dogs, so I tried the house special; I won’t lie – it’s not for everyone (hot dogs shouldn’t crunch), but I enjoyed it all the same. Reykjavik’s best flea market offered deals on clothing, antique music, jewelry, videos, military memorabilia, books and an entire wing for foods. As adventurous as my stomach is, I did not try the fermented cheese shark.

As much as I try to avoid the typical sights in a new country, the Hallgrim Cathedral is truly iconic to Iceland and I figured I still had time before my dinner reservation. The sheer scale doesn’t do justice in a photograph, but I suddenly recalled why these structures were so integral to these societies. It would take years (if not decades) to complete construction, and all the while industry kept people employed and connected to the community.

One food recommendation that I kept seeing was a restaurant simply called “The Fish Company.” Friends, do not sleep on this place. I’m not one to boast a supreme palate but this was the greatest fish I’ve ever tasted: haddock, cod, plaice. The atmosphere was also on point with low lighting and stone wallsreminiscent of a castle (but like, not medieval. They should’ve sent a poet).

On a whim, a local bar named Fredrickssen’s seemed an apt place to get a nightcap before heading out. The tap selection was amazing, and I got to chat with an Australian couple about their experiences and upcoming destinations on a month-long holiday. Sadly, the Viking history comedy show I planned to see at the Harpa was cancelled so I called it a night with one last shot against the sea.