Days 22-24: Switzerland's Lauterbrunnen Valley

I now know why Switzerland exists:  it's to make to the other european countries seem affordable. Your eyes do not deceive you:  that menu above does indeed show a cheeseburger with fries for 17.50 Swiss francs--about $19. For one late dinner in Switzerland, we laid out $80 for six bowls of soup and three plates of French fries.  It was perhaps a good thing that the restaurant's kitchen was closed at 8:00 pm (we arrived at about. 8:15), so all they would serve us was french fries and tomato soup.  I can only imagine what it might have cost us if we had actually ordered from the menu.

I am anxious to learn from an economist why everything here is so expensive.  It can't be because its so incredibly beautiful.  There are lots of incredibly beautiful places in Europe. It can't be just because the Swiss Franc, which is issued by perhaps the only european country with a balanced budget, is a strong currency. It can't be because its landlocked.  I actually googled that question and in the 15 minutes I had to search for an answer, I only found some conspiracy-theory types who offered some lame explanations for the expensiveness of Switzerland. If you happen to know the answer, please fill me in.

The Lauterbrunnen Valley in Switzerland was on the top of my must-sees for this journey.  There was so simply no way I would have missed it.  Lisa and I travelled her 15 years ago at the suggestion of my good friend Scott Lambert. We spent three idyllic days in what I came to believe was the most beautifully majestic place on earth.  When we were here last the weather was perfect with barely a cloud in the sky, lots of sunshine, and clear air that let us see every possible mountain peak in the region.   At the time, we strolled leisurely through fields of mountain flowers in the full sunlight through the charming towns of Gimmelwald and Murren that sit atop what must be 2,000+ foot cliffs above the floor of the glacier-cut Lauterbrunnen Valley floor.  The thought didn't even dawn on me that it might be cold an rainy at the end of June, 2013. I guess I didn't plan well enough--there's a reason that area is so spectacularly green, lush, and filled with water.  It must rain here often.  

And rain it did--for three days with temperatures in the 50's and low 60's in the day, and colder at night.  Lots of clouds, suppressed views, and lots of longing for 15 years ago.  It is funny how our memories of the past come somehow blind us from the glory of the present.  For example, take a look at these pictures below.  If you experienced this would you feel sorry for yourself (as I did for the first 48 hours of my visit):

Of course you wouldn't feel sorry me.  And I shouldn't have either, but I did.  For two days, I was just sick that I couldn't see what I had seen before.  There were two excursions that I had to cancel due to weather  (1) a visit to the Shilthorn and it's revolving restaurant at about 10,000 feet that gives you panoramic views of all the major peaks of these parts of the alps (not to mention the incredible views of the Lauterbrunnen area that it gives you as you ascend from the valley floor in a high speed tram); (2) the Jungfraubahn--a train that takes you straight up a mountain to a train station at 11,500--nearly the top of the Jungfrau peak:  another incredible experience from our 1998 trip.  

Both of these excursions are incredibly expensive (98 francs round trip for the Shilthorn and 172 francs for the Jungraubahn, which can be cut to 135 if you leave around 7:30 am), and worth doing when you can see anything due to cloud cover.  We almost did the Shilthorn in bad weather because part of the fun of that excursion that I was looking forward to was hiking down from the top (which also cuts the fare by a big margin because you only need to pay for one way). I figured that despite the fact we could see anything from the top that the journey on the way down would be fun, passing through flower-filled mountain meadows, warming huts, and several little villages that dot the mountainside all the way down to the valley floor. 

When I went to buy tickets for the group, the guy at the lift station talked me out of it (imagine that), saying that it just wasn't worth the money in this weather--he explained that to me as he showed me live-cam shots of the blizzard at the top of the Shilthorn.  So, despite the cold and rain, we pressed on and did a shortened version of my hike.  

We bought tickets to Muren (on a shelf 2,000 feet above Lauterbrunnen), and then took a Funicular to a place called Allmendhubel, a small summit above Murren, which leads to a very easy, family-friendly walking trail down to Murren--an excursion that takes about 1.5 hours, and leads one through incredible scenery of mountain meadows full of flowers, sheep, quaint villages, the clearest water you've ever seen, and even a children's adventure park, complete with a free zipline.  This easy little walk made our trip, and left me hungry for more mountain wandering.  There are hundreds of great trails in this region that I wish I had a week or two (or more) to explore.

By the end of the walk I no longer felt sorry for myself, but instead felt grateful that we had the experience we did with this mountain.  I forgot about 1998, and just felt happy to be in 2013.  It was simply stunning--terrible weather and all.

Finally, there was one part of our trip to Switzerland that didn't cost me an arm and leg. Instead of paying a small fortune to stay in the charming towns of Murren or Gimmelwald, I found a little town to the north of Murren and Gimmelwald--on the same shelf of above the valley--called Isenfluh.  This charming little village of probably 20 homes was superb.  For one, you can drive to it via a tunnel that the undaunted swiss built that carves its way through the cliff and up to the shelf aobve.  Secondly, no one has ever heard of it, which makes it totally un-touristy, quiet, and relatively inexpensive.  You want rent an apartment for about 600 francs for the week there.  We stayed at the Chalet Daheim (click here for a peak), which is the right side of the home of a non-English speaking, old swiss dude, who, like most Americans, thinks that if you keep saying the same thing in your own language--just more loudly and more slowly--that your foreign guest can understand you.

Though my Dutch helped me understand 15% of what he was saying, it wasn't enough to make the communication very fruitful, but it was certainly eventful and entertaining.  Fortunately, his english-speaking daughter handles all reservations inquiries and questions, which is frankly most of what matters.  The other questions one might ask such as--how do you turn on the dishwasher, washing machine, heater, and why is there no more hot water?--you finally understand through hand gestures, charades, and the drawing of stick figures. While Lisa, who likes her personal space, didn't care for the kiss she received from our old, swiss host (granted, he planted it on her cheek when I wasn't there, so maybe I should have been worried), I found the old man a hoot, and doubt he was trying to hit on my hot wife.

Weather notwithstanding, our trip to Switzerland was still memorable. And yes, we can't wait to come back.  I'm just waiting for someone to give me an excuse to return:  anyone in?

Final shots from Switzerland:

Outside our place in Isenfluh

Wandering in Murren

Gotta love that Swiss ambiance--cowbells and all.

Snow at the end of June on our way from Lake Como to the Isenfluh

Scott, this is for you.  

Grandma and Grandpa--view from Murren

Abby was proud of the bouquet she picked

Days 20-21: Lake Como

After the scorching heat of Venice, we were all looking forward to moving north to Lake Como and then to Switzerland.

We stayed in a town on the lake called Menaggio, which is mid-lake on the west side that sits directly on our route to Switzerland.  It sits in a convenient triangle between two other destinations on the lake, Bellagio and Varenna.

Our choice of hotel?  A youth hostel. Yes, five children, two parents, amd two grandparents in a hostel, and frankly, it worked out much better ban I thought it might.  Due to size of our group and the length of our stay (just two nights) it was difficult to find any reasonably priced accommodation in the expensive resort town of Menaggio.  An apartment wasn't an option for less than three nights (well, it was an option--I would just need to pay for the minimum three nights at already steep prices). A hotel wasn't much better as its not common to find quad rooms (and even tripples can be elusive) so with a group of nine we would need atleast three and likely four rooms.  I wasn't in the mood to pay $180-$200 (per room) for a two-star a room per night.  Thus, the Menaggio Youth Hostel at 80 euros a night was our choice:  two private rooms, one with three sets of bunk beds and the other with two.  However, only one had its own bathroom.  We used Abby as our excuse and took room with the bathroom, and set our elderly parents upstairs to shower with the granola-children at the hostel.  As the picture below of grandpa shows, the bunks fit a 5'10" man perfectly.  

Other than grandpa having a fitful first night due to the 20-something crowd entering the hostel at all hours of the night--which caused the porch light next to Grandpa' window to turn on and shine directly into his eyes (it wasn't until the next morning that we showed him that he actually had an exterior, metal window covering that blocked most light)--the hostel was not only a bargain but a reasonably comfortable place to stay.  Check out these views from our balcony (yes, our room even came with a balcony).

We were told to bring our own towels when I booked a few months prior--a fact I had forgotten until we noticed there weren't any in our bathroom. Our first morning most of us skipped a shower except for Jeffrey, who showered in his swim suit and then just drip dried in the room.  Twenty minutes later we learned that we could rent towels from the hostel for a euro.

It was sort of fun to see the 20-something crowd interact with each other on their own 8-week to 1 year tour of the world:  we ran into a girl from Lindon who was traveling with a German girl she met in Australia.  Where to next?  They weren't sure.  There is something appealing about aimless, "make it up as you go" travel.  I hope as many of my children as possible can take such a journey when they're old enough, staying at hostels, eurail pass in hand, and enough money to just get by--powered by a sense of adventure and a desire to explore, learn, and appreciate.

Lake Como was as good as advertised--a much welcome reprieve from the heat, the place was also startling beautiful.  Frankly, I wasn't that excited to go to Como, thinking it might be another tourist trap.  We didn't find it crowded or overly touristy.  Its water seemed clean (I had heard differently), and it countless villages that dot its shoreline, extending vertically up the hills that pour into the lake, are picturesque to say the least.  Most of the towns have restrictive building codes, and so the towns look pretty much like they did in the 19th century when this place was blossomed into a favorite tourist destination. 

We followed Rick Steves' recommendation of buying a day pass on the local ferry, which took us on a tour of a collection of towns of the lake.  We got off at Bellagio and spent most of our day there.  We had a typically long and delightfully relaxing italian lunch at a restaurant perched on the Punta Spartivento, the point of Bellagio which separates the lake into two legs--Lake Como and lake Lecco.

That evening Lisa and I dined with Grandma and Grandpa at a quaint, family-owned place in Menaggio while the kids ate a surprisingly good meal back at the hostel:  ribs and vegetables.

We're happy we stopped in for short stay on Lake Como--a great way to cap our three week stay in Italy, which offers a staggering diversity of scenery, culture, and art.   We also found the people of Italy warm and friendly, and our memories of this great country will be only be of the fondest sort.  

From Menaggio we traveled through Italian-speaking, Lugano Switzerland where we attended church on our way to Isenfluh (Lauterbrunnen Valley) Switzerland, the subject of my next entry.

Days 18-19: Getting Lost in Venice

Rick Steves says that 80% of Venice is NOT touristy, and 80% of tourists don't know this.  We found the 80% of which Rick speaks to be absolutely delightful, quaint, charming, and bulging with character.  We found the 20%--the Grand Canal, Rialto Bridge, St. Marks Basilica and Square, and the Doge's Palace exactly what we thought they'd be:  worth the visit and things that must be "checked-off" on your first visit to Venice, but crowded, hot, and super-touristy with what appeared to be the entire collection of North African countries, trying to sell us fake Louis Vuitton and Gucci bags, restauranteurs trying to lure us into their eateries with shouts of "Pizza, Pasta, Feesh!," and throngs of sweaty, dripping tourists.

The  sweltering heat we experienced in Verona continued in Venice.  This sweaty imprint was created by wearing my daypack as we walked 20 minutes back from St. Mark's Square to our apartment.

Those major sights are worth seeing but I preferred the laundromat.  Scrambling to find my way with Sam at my side through a maze or narrow, crooked streets and waterways--through which not even the best map can navigate one without getting them lost--was one of the highlights of my trip to Venice.  I found the place via some online forum, which provided no address but only directions such as cross this bridge and that bridge, turn left at the concession stand with the blue awning, and then take a right turn just before the church with the green dome, and so on.

Sam and I left our apartment in the Jewish Ghetto with just enough time to get one load of essentials (i.e., underwear and socks--items for which that most of us had no remaining clean items) washed and dried before the laundromat closed--that is, if we could find it on time. 

Even with navigation in hand we took a wrong turn or two, and we wound our way through a series of alleyways that couldn't have been more than 6 feet wide, passing various kosher cafe's and Jewish symbols hanging from store windows.  We finally emerged from the Jewish ghetto and arrived in a new neighborhood that housed our laundromat--just in time to get in a load before closing.

These are the kinds of restaurants you'll see in the "back streets" of Venice--small, mom and pop shops that have to make good food because they can't hustle in stupid tourists.   

Venice, with its 20 million visitors a year, is on most people's list of must-sees when they travel to Italy, but I have heard from a few that they hated it.   I too was a little worried that it was going to be a tourist trap. I might have felt that way too had if I wouldn't have been too cheap stay in the touristy center I--as close to  Rialto and St. Mark's as possible--but fortunately I went for the cheaper option and stayed in a neighborhood off the beaten path, which ended up making Venice a magical place.

Just as our load had dried, Sam and I walked briskly to the loan bus station in Venice to meet my parents, who are joining is for 19 days of our journey.  By that time it was 10:30 pm, and Mom and Dad were just coming off a marathon day where they flew from SLC direct to Paris, switched airports, ate lunch, saw Notre Dame, then waited two extra hours due to a delayed flight before they flew from Paris to Venice's Marco Polo airport.

We are thrilled to have two more traveling mates.

I asked Mom and Dad if they wanted to walk to our place (about a 17 minute trek according to google), or take the 15 minute boat ride.  Mom chose the $10 per person savings (with a little encouragement from me), and we began to walk the floodlit streets of Venice to our apartment.  45 minutes later we finally crossed the threshold of our apartment.

Yes, we got lost again. Before you think I'm navigationally challenged, you have to understand that there are no straight lines anywhere on a Venetian map. To complicate the matters, the same street often has two different spellings--one in a Venetian dialect and one in standard Italian, and the hard copy map I had in hand didn't often jive with my phone's map.  When in Venice, particularly if you stay off the beaten path, check your "I-have-a-good-sense-of-direction" ego at the door, and enjoy the wander.

Rick Steves says that you should get lost in Venice on purpose.  That wasn't too difficult for us, and being lost in Venice was definitely worth the price of admission.  Good night.  More pictures from Venice:

Gondolier on the Grand Canal:  crowded yet still beautiful.

Abby in her newly purchase stroller:  the first one bit the dust after a week on cobble stones.  We'll see how this one fares.

A secret shot I took of St. Mark's Basilica.  Not ever much of a natural rule keeper, I can't help myself from taking such shots--just to see if I can do so without getting caught :)

Gondelier on a side canal away from the hustle and bustle of the Grand Canal.

Me, getting a little work done on the balcony of our apartment.  That's quite a setting and conducive for focus.

Emma on that same balcony.

Another view--though in the opposite direction--off our balcony.

The track coach and his pupil with a view of St. Mark's square in the background.

The group at the Doge's Palace.  The Doges were the elected leaders of the super power, Venice, which was a mighty force in Europe for several hundred years during the middle ages.  Today it is the capital of tourism, and its population of Venetians continues to shrink--down to 60,000 from double that amount 30 years ago.  It's getting too expensive to live in a place where tourism pays a higher premium for land and food than do normal, everyday people and businesses. Here's hoping the number doesn't drop in half again in the next 30 years, although its heading that direction, losing about 1,000 citizens a year to the mainland.  Venice may just be a museum in the next century.

Days 15-17: Church in Pisa, Volterra, Cinque Terre, and the Furnace

Church in Pisa and Volterra:

On Sunday we went to church at a branch in Pisa.  As we sat down in the little, marble-floored chapel with rows of chairs instead of pews, out of nowhere I got a little emotional.  I felt like I had stepped into a time-warp and was sitting in a small, branch building in Holland as a missionary.  When we started singing the opening hymn, How Firm a Foundation, my feelings became more tender, and I had a hard time singing the opening hymn.  That happens to be my favorite Dutch hymn, as the translation better communicates the message of the hymn.  For example, the line “What more can He say than to you he hath said” reads this way in Dutch: what more can He say than for you he hath done.” That’s a subtle but powerful difference.

I had attended so many similar meeting in small chapels with 50-60 people throughout Holland, and for some reason the blessings and wonderful memories of my two years flooded my heart and mind.

Though we couldn’t understand a word that was said other than “Joseph Smith,” “Moroni,” and Nephi, it was great to attend church with the saints in Pisa.

After church we drove to a great hilltop town of Volterra.  This is an old Etruscan town with phenomenal views, charming backstreets, and a great museum full of Etruscan artifacts.  The Etruscans were the predecessors of the Romans, and eventually their civilization was extinguished by the growing Roman Empire.  Our day here consisted of a great lunch, the museum, and an aimless yet fulfilling stroll through its crooked lanes.  Images from Volterra:

The Cinque Terre

The Cinque Terre, otherwise known as the Italian Riviera, is a series of five connected towns built into the hillsides right on the coast in the northwest section of Italy.  These are not glitzy (French Riviera-like) towns built for yachts ad the rich and famous; on the contrary, they are gritty, down-to-earth places built for everyday-people (and about 10,000 tourists a day thanks to Rick Steves and other guidebooks talking this region up).

Steves says that you must spend two nights here to really get a feel for the region (particularly because the tourists leave in the afternoon, and evenings are un-crowded and delightfully quiet and peaceful in these seaside villages built on hills that would make San Francisco look like Kansas).  Unfortunately, when I put this trip together, I found it very difficult to find accommodations for seven in one place at a reasonable price.  I decided to settle for a week in Lucca partly because the Cinque Terre was only hours drive.

Unfortunately, Rick Steves was right. We didn’t get the full Cinque Terre experience because of that; we did what most of the tourists do.  We shuttle in for a day, and left in the late afternoon just as it was starting to get good. 

Our plan was to drive to the first town, dump the car, and take the train or walk the trails between towns (all five towns are connected by rail and a trail that provides some dramatic scenery).  After we parked our car in the first town, Riomaggorie, we intended to walk to town #2—apparently the easiest of the four hikes:  just 20-30 minutes on relatively flat ground.  Unfortunately, there had recently been a mudslide that wiped out some of the trail between towns 1 and 2, so we had to alter our plans.

We hopped on the train for town # 4, Vernazza, a town that the kids and I loved, but Lisa didn’t care too much for.  Vernazza is a gem, and therefore, crowded.  Not one for cold water, Lisa didn’t join the kids and me as we played in the ocean just off Vernazza, swimming from rock to rock, and jumping off whatever we could.  Instead, she got to sit in the hot sun on the rocky beach, watching Abby and a band of topless Germans.  Let’s just say, as Seinfeld said, that there is “good naked” and “bad naked” and I wouldn’t classify this as “good naked.”  It just isn’t that attractive—a swimsuit would have much  more flattering for most of these woman.  But I digress . . .

From Vernazza, we took the train to town #5, Monterosso al Mare, the biggest and perhaps most resort-like of the towns.  I wanted to hike from Vernazza to Monterosso, as the views are supposed to be the best on the hike.  However, by that time, it was 2:00 p.m., very hot, and the whole deal really wasn’t conducive for a three year old.  At Monterosso, we settled into a sandy (well, mostly) beach, and had a great time.  This was much better for the family: everyone’s tops were on, and mom could join in on the fun on this sandy beach. 

By the time we pulled out of the Cinque Terre it was 7:00 p.m., and the place was already quiet, 80% of the tourists had left, and I found myself wishing that I could spend the lazy evening there. 

I regretted not having spent more time there to get a flavor for it in the evening.  I had built this place up so much in my mind from all the reading I had done about it that in some ways it was a disappointment.  We didn’t hike it and we didn’t stay long enough to truly savor it.  And even though I found it as beautiful and charming as I had expected, the fact that I couldn’t savor it made it less than what I had built it up to be.

Thankfully, I have yet one more reason to return.  Images from the Cinque Terre:

From Lucca to Venice

We left Lucca and Tuscany on Tuesday and drove to Verona.  This was supposed to be a “filler” day that would split up the 4.5 hour drive form Lucca to Venice in two small segments, and give us a little time to do nothing (I was also hoping to get a little office work done). 

Just before leaving Lucca, I booked a room at the Holiday Inn Express in Verona, which is just about an hour out of Venice.  The plan was to check into the hotel, let me get a little work done for the first time in a few weeks, and then hop into Verona’s old center in the evening to see its well-preserved and still marble-clad roman arena.

I decided to spend a little extra on the Holiday Inn because I wanted a nice place to unwind before we headed into Venice the next day.  When we stepped out of the van onto the pavement in front of the Holiday Inn in Verona, we felt like we had stepped into a furnace.  We had been spoiled with incredible weather up until that point—low 70’s for most of the trip.  It had started to heat up on Cinque Terre day, but by the time we got to Verona, it was 90 degrees and the humidity was rising.  As I walked into the lobby, I reflected on how happy I was for paying a little extra for the Holiday Inn to make sure we had good air conditioning, as opposed to choosing an older hotel with makeshift, retro-fitted AC.

Sadly, just after lady at the front des handed me my keys, she said, “Oh, just to let you know; we’re having a little problem with our air conditioning. It’s not working, but we have technicians here now and it should be fixed soon.”  Two hours later, the seven of us almost spontaneously combusted from the heat.  I thought I would have about three hours to get some work done in my “nice” hotel room before we checked out Verona, but by the second hour, my kids were climbing the walls, begging us to get out of that room before their innards fried.

So off to the Verona city center we went.  We were so hot by the time we got there that we spent about twenty minutes in a fast food joint (a “pasta” fast food joint), sipping Fanta and ice cold water.  We then meandered over the old arena, and learned that we had arrived five minutes too late—apparently, they don’t let any new visitors inside the arena within 60 minutes of closing time.  So we never got the see the arena.  If the rest of Verona hadn’t been so charming, we might have felt bad but that old town, and square next to the arena was spectacular.  This might rival ‘il Campo from Siena. 

We spent the evening in Verona, wandering in the old city center, and we found it delightful.  We ate dinner at another recommendation of Rick Steves, and we were glad we did (again).  Add Verona to the list.  One more place to which I must return.

At some point, we got the courage to return to the Holiday Inn, praying as we drove toward it that the AC had been fixed.  The second we hit the lobby we knew nothing had changed.  I went to the front desk just to confirm:  indeed, the AC was still not working, and likely would not be fixed that evening.  I don’t know why I had hoped for anything different: this is, after all, Italy, where locals joke that you should call a plumber not when you need one, but just to reserve one, because by the time he finally shows up to your house, you will actually need one. 

We walked to our rooms, hoping that perhaps by opening the windows we might let some of the evening’s cool (now 80 degree) air into our rooms. If the hotel windows actually opened more than 3 inches that might have been possible. 

At a certain point in the evening, I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I filled up the tub with cold water, and I submerged my baking body and sat there for twenty minutes while I read my Dan Brown book.  This actually helped and for about 60 minutes I felt great, yet before I fell asleep my temperature has risen again, and checkout time couldn’t come soon enough. 

Good night. Tomorrow I will share Venice with you. Images from Verona: