... is the memory of a journey of many years ago 'the Bernese Alps ... a memory that has given rise to a story that, willingly share with you.
At Slopes of the ... Young lady
I often pick up those four folders of photographs with the red cover and see me sitting behind the wheel of my good old Clio, loaded on the shuttle train Goppenstein leads to Kandersteg. Make an impression in cross-speed trains coming in the opposite direction as the car sways on the railway vehicle. Arriving from the Simplon, however, this is the fastest and most direct way to reach the gorgeous scenery of 'Bernese Oberland and the charming town of Interlaken, squeezed between the lakes of Thun and Brienz, the first austere e ombroso, il secondo gaio nella sua luminosità e accattivante con le sue trasparenze che variano dall'azzurro allo smeraldo.
Mi tuffai in quelle placide acque in un caldo pomeriggio di fine luglio ed ebbi quasi la sensazione che i miei pensieri si congelassero nel cervello. Meglio godersi il lago – pensai – a bordo di uno di quei pittoreschi piroscafi a ruota che tagliano silenziosamente le onde lacustri, meglio dedicarsi a lunghe e sane passeggiate in montagna: per chi, come me, è abituato al tiepido Mediterraneo, qui in Svizzera, è possibile immergersi solamente nelle calde and steaming hot springs of Leukerbad.
We waited a few days before embarking on the magical ascent to the Jungfraujoch: For this trip, which is characterized by many sights, really if done in a day wasted little sharper. I think I went for three mornings after the Interlaken station to check the weather before deciding whether to venture in the excursion. I still remember those little cog train, after passing through lush green valleys, climb up the wooded mountains. I can not forget the pine branches that touched the convoy, the villages of Murren and Wengen surrounded by the sun, the steep slopes of the Lauberhorn in which, during the winter fall like lightning samples of alpine skiing and arrival at Kleine Scheiddeg. This station marks the boundary between the quasi green pastures and the Kingdom of the rocks and glaciers. Here you hear the echo of adventurous expeditions to the summits of the Jungfrau (m.4158), the Monch (m.4099) and Eiger (d. 3970) and through the endless glacier 'Aletsch. But we, that we are not accustomed to the cold waters of mountain lakes and even the steep and treacherous rocks of the Alps, much prefer to get on that little red train that runs along the railway is the highest d 'Europe.
The small convoy of more than 25% slope, inaccessible through tunnels dug into the mountain. I still remember a long tunnel about seven miles, stops and Eigerwand 'Eismeer' viewing stations where, through openings cut into the rock, you can enjoy the incredible mountain scenery. We come finally to pass the Jungfraujoch, at the turn of the Jungfrau and the Monch. In the presence of the "young lady" (this is the translation of the name Jungfrau in Italian), we improvise skiers. My wife Nicole is doing very well, but I am just denied: the cold of the over ten thousand feet I cut your breath and skiing I can hardly stand up. After the nth tumble, I dedicate myself to seraphic contemplation of the glacier and mountain landscape while sipping a drink in the mountains. In the evening we return to the valley. In Camp Interlaken Valentina, who was then almost six years, has made friends with Eline, a Dutch girl by blond braids and a little face very suitable for an advertisement for cheese. For them, the diversity of language is not a problem and, together with their small saucepan, prepare concoctions of grass and mud while their mothers become familiar in English. I, however, sitting on a bench, I plan trips for the following days. Nice to enjoy the evening, the cool by the lake and then there's great excitement. In a few days will be the Swiss National Day. A neighbor, next to his trailer, is made to sound the horn and, on all roads, from arcades to the Bernese Mills Bridge in Lucerne flags waving red-cross. Then this is the day of the festival with his fireworks accompanied by classical music, the people walking the streets, the lights and gaiety of children. Slowly fades the evening, but the extraordinary images of a land which, although close, he touched my deepest feelings of travelers.
Taken from my book of short stories, "Mr. Blogaventura" dedicated to all friends of this small space.
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