Читать книгу Wanderlust: A Mountain Pasture in the Swiss Alps - Katharina Afflerbach - Страница 7

"You definitely need a good hat," Stefanie advises me on the phone just before we start. "You can't hear a thing with a hat. You must have your ears clear. And you'll need rain clothes!"

Fortunately, I don't know yet how right my new boss is with her last hint, otherwise I might have surrendered before I even start. I sit on the movers’ boxes in my apartment at the Eigelstein near Cologne Central Station. The day before yesterday I gave a little farewell party, and tomorrow I vacate the apartment.

It got full, the overnight bag, although I only packed the essentials. But because I don't know how often I'll come down to the valley to run errands, I take with me all the necessities of life such as cotton swabs, contact lenses and sun cream, enough for four months. I have packed in three batches: besides the bag for the Alp, there is a backpack ready for the hiking tour that I would like to do with Kathrin; the rest is mothballed.

This move is only one of several in my life, but a very special one. Because I have no idea what the Alpine summer will do to me. My rough goal for afterwards is – to become self-employed, but where, I dare not yet commit myself. Will I be in the mood for the city again after four months in nature? Will I still be city-compatible at all? Am I going to stay in the mountains? No, leaving the apartment seems like the right decision all round. So I'm free to make my own choices. Right now, I’m open to accepting whatever inspiration the Alpine summer will bring. I don’t have an apartment lease hanging around my neck, pulling me back to my old life. I've sold or given away much of the little I own, and what's left will hopefully fit into the empty nursery at my parents’ - that'll become clear tomorrow.

During her lunch break a friend comes by and we drink the last carton of juice on the sofa. Excitedly we imagine aloud what it will be like on the Alp, and we chat about my plans for afterwards. "After the Alp, I'll definitely start my own business. And if that doesn't work out, then I can take a job again," I summarize. I don't have any doubts or fears at this moment. Since my training as a coach, I regularly ask myself what the worst thing is that can happen. And, with regard to my planned business start-up, that really isn't much.

However, I don’t ask myself this same question about the Alp. I will go through the four months, come what may, even if, to be honest, I’m going to the mountains with rather little preparation and previous knowledge. During the interview in the winter the children of my Alpine family showed me photos and told me a lot about the mountain, Salzmatt. But I don't have a clear picture of life and work up there, and Farmer Arnold’s farm in South Tyrol was a year-round operation, not an Alp that is grazed only during the summer. But I've decided it's good the way it is. The four months are manageable. When the going gets tough, I'll be able to grit my teeth, I know that. I want to go to the mountain pasture, and I will. I want the Alp to serve as a transition from my old life to my new one. "I think it's so great that you're doing this," my girlfriend encourages me once again as we say goodbye. "This is gonna be great!"

The next morning at seven o'clock I take up position on the windowsill, from where I keep an eye on the parking space reserved for the move.

When I moved in a year and a half ago, what happened was exactly I didn’t need on a day like this: first, an illegally parked car in the narrow one-way street blocked the parking space ordered from the public order office, and then the moving truck blocked the whole street until the authorities had located the owner. That wasn't funny back then, especially since I had already experienced this game on the same day when I moved out of the Hamburg apartment in the morning.

I quickly abandon my observation post, jump down the stairs and place myself in the parking lot as a human bollard, just to be safe . I patrol up and down. Look up to my old home on the first floor. Sprint to the bakery on the corner to get rations for the moving team. And that's when it happens: in my brief absence, a fat limousine has made itself comfortable in the middle of my parking space. I'm looking at the clock. In seven minutes, the truck will be arriving. Jesus Christ! And heaven actually sends them just at this moment, the black angels from the public order office of the city of Cologne, to whom I promptly complain of my predicament. They clatter away through the little kiosks and bakeries in the neighborhood and finally bring the parking sinner to the space, who drives off with his tail between his legs. He will never know that my helpers came by sheer fortune, not with the truck but with the van, and that the space for manoeuvring and loading would have been enough despite the offending limo. "Oh, we must have caught the wrong one," the driver greets me as I approach him about his small vehicle in the large parking space. "But you don't have that much, do you?"

In the end, everything actually fits somehow, both in the Sprinter and in my parents' house in Siegerland. I use the last three days in my home country to visit friends and the hairdresser. And of course, on the last night before my departure there is a full moon and no chance of sleep. Saturday morning, just after five, it's time: I tiptoe into my mother's bedroom, let her take me once more in her arms, and wake Dad, who takes me to the train station. As I get on the train at 5.54 am with bag and baggage, the sun rises like a white fireball.

Sometimes you have a hunch that a little thing's going to turn out big. Then you get the butterflies in your stomach and the rustle of a notion in your head. I felt the same way when I had the idea, not just to travel to the Alp by bus and train, but to walk the last part of the way. When I discovered the Via Alpina during my online research , my heart jumped and I knew I had to do it. The long-distance hiking trail leads over five thousand kilometers through eight Alpine countries and over 14 passes. I figured out how to start in Meiringen in the eastern Bernese Oberland and walk west as far as Gstaad, which is about twenty kilometers south of the Salzmatt as the crow flies. And as luck would have it,my friend Kathrin wanted to accompany me.

In Frankfurt we get on the same ICE train and race along to Bern, where I deposit my Alpine luggage and get a Swiss SIM card in the Swisscom shop. In the late afternoon we reach Meiringen and march to our accommodation: we secure accomodationin the attic of a stable and are thrilled by this romantic start into the adventure. Fascinated, we inspect old milk cans and dusty tools piled up in front of our room door. "Look at this!" we call to each other in turns, showing each other articles from farming times past.

But now, after the long journey, we are wracked by hunger. The only thing we can afford is a kebab in the Istanbul Snack Bar at the train station – for a double-digit amount. Per serving, of course. Yes, we’ve really arrived in Switzerland. A drink of radler, here called Panasch, and Pringles for dessert, don’t come cheap either, but they’re essential. On the way back to our hostel the evening sun bathes the Haslital in a golden glow, so that the ears of the cows on the pastures shine. Full of excitement and confidence in what is to come, I go to bed.

Seven days of hiking lie ahead of us. We will overnight in Grindelwald, Lauterbrunnen, Griesalp, Kandersteg, Adelboden, Lenk and finally in Gstaad. On the very first day we have 1,350 meters of ascent, 23 kilometers and eight hours of walking on our schedule. Sunshine and the last meters of fresh snow accompany us on our way over the Große Scheidegg. Our foreheads burn, our knees ache. In the evening, a few Swabians serve us local apple juice on the balcony of our six-bed dorm in the youth hostel.

The next day we have 20 kilometers, seven and a half hours walking time and 1,100 meters of ascent ahead of us. We start climbing Kleine Scheidegg early in the morning in the shade of the Eiger’s north face. However, the higher we get, the more we are plagued by snow. We sink partly up to our knees and need double and triple the effort for the last passage. Kathrin arrives at the top first, and involuntarily becomes a celebrity. When some Japanese tourists see her coming out of nowhere, they think she is the next Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner and pull out their mobile phones. I'm also allowed into the photoshoot, before we reward ourselves with Coke and Mars bars. But gradually, we begin to feel uneasy in the face of all the snow. On the descent to Lauterbrunnen we think back and forth about how far we to continue. The next stage would lead us across the mountains and over a spectacular pass, the Sefinenfurgge, and we would not sleep in a village in the valley, but in a camp in the mountains. So in the evening we rent snowshoes in Lauterbrunnen to be at least a little better prepared. But the reasonable and urgent advice of the experienced tourist information staff in Lauterbrunnen and Mürren win out. In our hostel too we are strongly discouraged.

"The danger of avalanches is simply too great. You really shouldn't cross the Sefinenfurgge with all the fresh snow now," warns our hostel mother. So we simply replan our route, book a second night in Lauterbrunnen, and climb the Schilthorn with our snowshoes the next morning.

We have the mountain all to ourselves. Everything around us glitters and sparkles in virgin white. There are no traces left from the Inferno ski race in winter except for a few orange fences, as we force ourselves up the steep race track. I can hardly believe that I'm really doing this right now: spontaneously climbing the 2,970 meter high Schilthorn under winter conditions, when just a few days before I was in Cologne with my lawyer at my ear. Yes, I would have walked alone to the Alp. But without Kathrin at my side I would never have reached those two peaks.

The snow will bring further changes to our plans in the next few days. Instead of crossing the mountains, we have to make our way around them. We cover the additional kilometers by train and bus until we rejoin our original route in Adelboden. In between, we even have time for a stroll through Interlaken, a visit to a café and a spell in a sauna.

Ultimately, the last 21 kilometers from Lenk bring us to our destination of Gstaad. We check our budget and the menu and decide that we have truly earned a Swiss cheese fondue.

Now I have to get used to being alone. I have to say goodbye to Kathrin, who was there when I fell in love with mountain farming and who accompanied me on foot to Gstaad. Until Bern we're still on the same train, then I get off and get my various belongings from the depot. I'll sleep in Bern before going on to the Aebys’ tomorrow. When I take the skilift down to the youth hostel on the Aare, my knees tremble.

In the last hours before the Alpine adventure really begins, I want to clear my head once more. It's pushing me out, out of the dormitory, away from the fidgety backpackers. The Aare is only a few meters away. The famous outdoor swimming pool directly at the river is full to the last place. Young and old enjoy the sun and water and simply let themselves drift in their pleasure. 'I don't think I'll get to see an outdoor pool this summer,' I think, imagining the four months of Alpine pastures ahead of me. And since I’m warm-blooded, probably no mountain lakes either. I'm drawn to the wall on the bank, from where I can watch the slackliners balancing across the Aare. A few onlookers marvel at their daring. One of them actually makes it all the way from the entrance on the bridge to me on the wall by the shore without falling, even though the River Aare surges and rushes under him. I am happy for the rope walker, I feel the pride and the fulfilment that I read in his face.

Now's a good time. I'll open the diary Kathrin gave me. 'This book will accompany you through your new life on the Alp. Fill it for us with wonderful stories,' is the dedication from my friend. There's tears already. I must think of my mother, who always said goodbye to me on my many journeys with the words: "Travel for me! See the world for me!" I do, I will, and I will try to share my adventure with all those who have supported me.

Two more stages, then I'm with the Aeby family. 'Fribourg,' I think on the train, 'I'll be in Fribourg soon! Remember 1998, 16 years ago, when we studied there, two friends and I? ' Memories come up, memories of another life, so easy, so happy, so carefree!

What fun we had! USA or Australia, we didn't care where our fellow students spent their semester abroad. And it was certainly a coincidence that in Bourguillon we were put up in the dormitory of the Baldegg Sisters, the "Sisters of Divine Providence", outside the town, on the other side of the Fribourg gorge, which the post bus is racing along.

A moment of goosebumps. I’m making a perfect circle. The bus stops in front of "our" confectionery from that time. The displays in the shop window still look as tempting as ever. Unfortunately our money wasn't usually enough for the éclairs and millefeuilles, and I see myself ogling the windows and calculating my funds. Then we drive more leisurely, because it is quite narrow here, past "our" dormitory and "our" chapel, further through the rest of the village, and as behind it the meadows and pastures begin, the circle is closed, and I have the feeling of entering a new orbit.

At the bus stop two villages away, Stefanie, Yves (nine), Pascal (eight) and Livia (five), a four-person reception committee from my summer family, await me. They welcome me warmly and they all try to speak High German so that I can understand them. We load my luggage into the trunk and get in. The children crawl onto the back seat and listen eagerly to what we adults have to say in front. Before we move to the Alp the day after tomorrow, there is work to be done on the valley farm.

"You'll get to know everything," Stefanie encourages me as we drive along the gravel road.

Arriving at the farm, the children take me and drag me into the stable. It's milking time. Yves and Pascal already know that I will be responsible for the goats on the Alp, and explain to me, outdoing each other, what to do, that their cheeks only glow: where the concentrate is, how much hay the goats get, where I replace the milking machine, where the milk goes. I have to learn all this in a hurry, but up on the Alp things will be different than down here: the stables, the procedures, the ropes.

When we walk over to the house after milking, I also greet the four-legged family members, Rex and Netti.

"Rex has been sitting in the trunk of the cheese van for a few days now because he's afraid that we'll forget him while we’re moving," Yves explains to me.

'So another one ready for the Alp,' I think.

While I stroke Rex so that he gets to know me better, his mother Netti pushes herself from the side to my legs. For me the two are at first glance two black, medium-sized dogs with a few spots of paint here and there in their fur.

"How can I tell them apart?" I ask Yves, who looks perplexed and can't answer the question at all.

'My goodness,' he must think, these are two completely different characters, not to mention the obvious differences in gender, height, weight and facial features. Only a city slicker could ask such a stupid question. Or a German. Or someone who won't survive the Alpine summer.'

I will be able to answer my thoughtless question myself the very next day. Netti is the loving, gentle soul, and Rex is the king. The king of the mountains! And my faithful companions, my best friends on the Alp, angels in my heart.

At dinner the boys continue to outdo each other with their reports of the mountains. "It’s good you've already caught Alpine fever because it's about to start again," laughs Stefanie. "We've been up there many times in the last few weeks to fence and prepare, and now it can't go fast enough for everyone." The boys, who are already of schooling age, can come to the Salzmatt prior to the summer holidays only on the weekends and one night during the week, otherwise they stay with the grandparents on the yard. But we'd better not bring that up right now. Their euphoria is simply too beautiful to look at! Just after the kids go, I go to bed too. Tomorrow I'll start work at half past five.

Carefully, so as not to wake the children, I tiptoe through the dark house next morning. I want to be sure to be on time! When I enter the stable, Stefanie and Markus are already there.

Stefanie would like to take the opportunity today to show me goat milking and the morning washing of the milking equipment before we move up to the Alp tomorrow. I try not to be too slow, but here in the stalls everything is so completely different to the milking parlour, which I got to know at Farmer Arnold’s in South Tyrol. It's especially tight, and before we can start milking, we first have to clear away the dung from the last twelve hours among the animals. I'm always stumbling over myself or getting in the way of myself. After only a few minutes I'm damp with sweat. And then of course I want to do everything right, because my boss is watching me. She is not even strict with me, but on the contrary, she is full of understanding and is used to training a new employee every year. But I am annoyed with myself, because I know that every beginning is difficult, and I still put myself under pressure.

When the milking is done and Markus brings the milk to the cheesery, Stefanie shows me how to wash the milking dishes. To top it all off, there is a vinegar wash today, which is brushed and scrubbed even more extensively than before, and during the entire process the engine of the cow milking machine runs in the tiled and concreted room in which we are working.

It all just comes at once. I can hardly understand Stefanie and what she is telling me. With this brush you clean this hose, with the other one you clean that hose. There seems to be a separate brush for each hose. And everything looks the same to me! It would also be nice if the milking equipment of cows and goats could somehow be cleaned identically. But no, of course not, of course the cow stuff is disassembled and cleaned differently than the goat stuff. And then one has to be rinsed for ten minutes and the other for five minutes at the milking machine. I surrender, and Stefanie comforts me with the fact that she will explain everything to me again on the Alp. I'm just going to watch. Silently Stefanie finishes the complex washing. Every movement of hers is perfect. Will I be able to do that one day? I don't believe it. We haven't even arrived at breakfast yet, and we’re already finished. And I'm still not on the Alp!

I'm sure this venture will be anything but easy. The term "polepole" comes to mind, which means slowly. It’s what the mountain guides said to Kathrin when she climbed the Kilimanjaro a few years ago, it’s what she said to me when we were on the Schilthorn a few days ago, and it’s what life is all about. In peace lies strength. One step at a time. Seven at a jump – that only seems to be for the professionals.

When we load the cars after breakfast and drive onto the Salzmatt, the world looks more friendly again. It's starting to climb! We want to take some things up so that we can move in one go tomorrow. On the way up Stefanie shows me the cheese cellar where "our" Alpine cheese is stored and matured, the gold of the Alps. We drive along the Schwarzen Sense, which forms the border between the cantons of Fribourg and Bern. In Sangernboden, at almost a thousand meters, the last village before the Muscherenschlund, we turn right. Meter by meter and curve by curve, the Salzmatt is now approaching. I concentrate on listening to Stefanie's explanations of the valley and the farming families who farm the other Alps. I eagerly absorb everything in order to be a part of this world as quickly as possible. However, this very first trip to the top do not seem magical to me. I'm way too excited for that. And only now it becomes clear to me that the Salzmatt is the highest of the pasture Alps in our valley, situated at the foot of the Kaiseregg. I deliberately didn't look at the area on Google Earth in advance, but I want everything to come "live" to me. Now I'm a little speechless for a moment. Somehow, with all due respect, this place looks a little dead. Instead of flowering meadows I see at first sight snowfields and brown mud. And of course no animals, because they only come up when people are there. 'Of course', I think, 'I’m not coming to the Alp as a tourist, when everything is green and blooms and looks ready for postcards, but I’m experiencing the Alp’s reality, from A to Z. Mother Nature will take care of the blooming of the Alp outside and Stefanie will take care of it in the cabin and on the terrace.' Sometimes it's funny: you want to walk around the world with an open mind, yet find yourself making the simplest fallacies!

When we reach the top, we unload the two cars and store everything in the cabin. Livia is also involved. At lunchtime Stefanie has a surprise for me: "I didn't have time to prepare anything. So you can choose whether we make ourselves a fondue or a raclette!"

I enthusiastically choose the cheese fondue. Stefanie stirs up a fire in the stove and puts on a pot of Fendant white wine. As the flames grow and the wine gets warm, she rubs the cheese into a bowl, which she then melts, handful by handful and with constant stirring, in the wine. Finally, she dissolves the starch in cherry brandy and mixes the now milky-white schnapps with the cheese. In no time at all, the fondue is on the table next to the bread and apple pieces that Livia and I have prepared. The smell of melted cheese unfurls through the cabin. The first fire of summer cracks in the stove. Mark comes in and sits with us. I skewer a piece of bread on my fork and dip it into the fondue. When I put it in my mouth, my eyes close of their own accord. So simple, and so good! Like the Alpine season ahead of me? I don't know, but if this is a foretaste of the mountain summer that starts tomorrow, then the adventure has really begun.