Still Alive, Two Weddings (No Funeral), and Kanisfluh Once Again

You might be excused for thinking that since your trampess has been silent for so long she finally met her fate on the ends of a raging bull’s horns. And no doubt the tramp sons would have thought the same if email communication had stopped as well. Tramp son 1 after a few pointed expletives simply said one encounter was bad, but two? Couldn’t I just avoid cows??? (Easier said than done as you will have noted). Reactions from the other tramp sons were various but all admitted that even though the tramp’s advice was probably correct (whack that ox with your hiking stick), all admitted that they wouldn’t have tried it considering the risk involved if the tramp wasn’t right – indeed, my sentiments precisely. Your trampess’s most ardent, blog-following niece gave quite another perspective: “forced to do military maneuvers through cow patties, under fencing only to be brutally rebuffed once again by a pack of roaming cows being extremely protective of their calves. NEVER! I honestly have trouble picturing the exact interaction and honestly, I have trouble seeing how your reasoning skills from the boardroom did not translate into speaking (at least in body language) with that bull that you were a reasonable, sensible, sensitive and loving mother yourself and that the hostility was misplaced.” Now I know that many of my friends (and famous sportsmen and adventurers) have translated their outdoor challenges into hot tips for leadership (the latest being The Mountain Within by my friend Herta von Stiegel), and this might make one reasonably think that such lessons are reversible, but tell me anyone who has translated their ability to swing a boardroom vote into a technique for fighting off a mad bull! Of course it is possible that they have done it in there own lives but didn’t really feel that the market for such a book was sufficient to warrant writing it, and if being a good mother was my trump card even fewer would be in the position to . . . and face it, I had the calves licking my legs and even that wasn’t enough to convince the bull I was a good mother! But my bull adventures are over – at least for the moment.
Fortunately, we moved on to the hills near Zurich where tramp son 1 joined us for his cousin’s wedding in a small village there. We arrived on Friday, and while the bride and groom and immediate family were in town for the civil ceremony (which must precede the religious one by law in this part of the world) your trampess sat in the hotel lobby watching the Royal Wedding (in German – until she finally found a station that allowed the English to dominate with only the odd comment in German). By the time the local wedding party returned the Big Wedding was over and my full attention went to the smaller but rather wonderful Austrian (yes I know Zurich is not in Austria but the bride’s family is Austrian and the service was definitely very Austrian and everyone wore Tracht, well your trampess didn’t - despite threats on her part, after all she had worn a sari at her son’s wedding – because, as the tramp pointed out, his family is northern German and northern Germans are neither Bavarians nor Austrians and they do not wear Tracht!) wedding. A small dinner with the family that evening and then the full monty the next day: a small church beautifully decorated by the bride and her friends, a moving service, champagne in the garden, afternoon tea on a boat on the lake, a concert on mountain horns (those long alpine horns that are longer than most people are tall) in the garden of the hotel overlooking the lake, and finally a very big dinner and much dancing. Oh yes and art work (we each were given part of a wooden jigsaw puzzle and paints – and allowed to paint what ever we wanted – at the end of the evening it was put together and framed!). The bride and groom had mounted a world map on the wall and located all their guests – the farthest afield being the US (tramp son 1) and Australia with a smattering from all over Europe – including the UK. Considering a total complement of 45 this was quite an accomplishment. All languages were spoken at all tables (we had German, Italian, English – of both the Scottish and Sri Lankan variety at ours). The bride and groom introduced every guest before the dinner began (that meant several glasses of wine before the serious eating began – by which time we were all in a good mood). Paper lanterns with candles were launched into the night sky by each guest – quite a beautiful ending to the day – and a glorious vision over the lake. (Health and safety seems not to be quite so dominant in the country!)

The next day tramp son 1, true to form, decided it would be good to have a run before supper. Your trampess feeling the excesses of the day before would be best served by being run off (the puddings were irresistible) decided to join him. And a good thing, too. Our talents to this end were highly diverse but complementary: tramp son 1 is fast but is not blessed with an excellent sense of direction; your trampess is not fast but knows how to find her way home. It worked splendidly: the trampess would set the general direction (it began badly as the first half mile was up hill) and tramp son would run ahead, then turn back, jog alongside his puffing mother, explain the fork in the road ahead and say which he was taking; your trampess would run along following his chosen path; they would again meet up and make further decisions about which way to go. Eventually reaching a war memorial (normally set on high ground), the trampess pointed out her take on their position; tramp son said he hadn’t a clue but was happy to follow her lead – and soon, almost two hours after setting out, they were heading down hill back to the WLW. Your trampess would have given up in the first half hour if a) she would have forgiven herself afterward, b) she thought tramp son 1 might have made it back on his own before nightfall and c) it wasn’t clear that some flat running was eventually going to be possible – as well as a nice downhill at the end.

The next morning the tramps moved from their parking spot (did I mention it was next to a dairy and that the cows walked past every morning and evening on their way to and from pasture???) and headed back to Austria. With tramp son 1 staying on for two weeks (spring break and his students hadn’t handed in their final exams/papers yet so he was free to spend time with us – sadly not the lovely wife who was sitting exams herself and had to miss the wedding and the hiking holiday – though tramp son had enquired first as to the quality of the internet connection before he came – since he had serious work to do and could not be left satelliteless as it were), it was clear that the previous assault on Kanisfluh could be attempted again – this time perhaps with better weather conditions.

The tramp decided he was not yet ready for such a long hike but tramp son 1 was game for the adventure. Your trampess made a large bean soup the day before so that the tramp would not be left without lunch and so that there would be something for the hikers to eat on their early afternoon return. Your trampess decided to hike in her five finger barefoot shoes but kept the leather boots in her back pack in case the downhill trek proved too much for the light foot approach. The tramp had warned us that the lifts down were not yet working in Mellau but that there was a winding road behind the lift station which would bring us down a less steep route than the one we would be taking up (always thinking of our knees!). If we were too exhausted even for that, we could of course call him and he would collect us and bring us down from there.

The hike up took about 3 hours (clearly tramp son 1 could have done it in 2 ½ possibly less but being a gentleman he waited for me to catch up and when we were on less steep ground our speeds were not so very different – and there is a goodly portion where one walks across a meadow and along a slow incline before the final assault). Given the time of year, and the fact that no lifts were running, we were astonished at the number of people we found at the top (later we were told that there is a car park near the top on the far side and that many people do the short hike up from there – did they, I wonder, appreciate just how hard we had worked to get to the top??) But never mind getting to the top, this time getting down was much more of a challenge. Tramp son’s hiking boots had seen good service all around South America, and God alone knows where else (I guess Kanisfluh and Verbier last year as well at a minimum) and he was clearly suffering – despite first aid in the form of band-aids, one heel was definitely worse for the wear so that when we got to the non-functioning lift station (which also meant non-functioning restaurant, so not even the possibility of a pick me up espresso) he really had reached the end. And while I was still in my five fingers, my little feet were feeling rather warm. It was unanimously decided to make the emergency call home. The tramp said he would find out how to reach us but could we please start hiking – uphill in order to go down (I know, I know, and it was several kilometres uphill before the road started down) – and oh yes the sign said 10 km to Mellau (yes, 10 km – or another 2 hours walking! After the 5 hrs we had already done!). Well I told tramp son 1 not to wait for me but to just steam ahead since it would require two trips to take us down (a Smart only having 2 seats and even though it is a Smart it can’t drive itself). Over an hour later, tramp son 1 well out of sight, and your trampess wondering if she was climbing another mountain and needed a new plan to paraglide down to Mellau, the Smart finally came into sight. Assuming the tramp had driven tramp son 1 down and was now picking her up she smiled and got in the car. But no, tramp son was still walking – the road, it seems, was appalling – long, winding, and well, almost unpassable. We would all have to go together. Once the tramps caught up with number one son, he suggested that your trampess sit between his legs – after all he said, Mum is light and does not have a very big bum (at moments like these a compliment is an unexpected bonus!). Notwithstanding the absolute truth of what he said, it became clear that it was better to drive with the roof down (praise be for the cabriolet) and me on his lap. I held on to the front of the roof for dear life (with the bumps we were taking, despite the tramp’s extremely cautious driving, not to mention the usual hairpin turns, your trampess could have been decapitated by a sudden stop, in the meantime the son was taking some brutal bumps on his thighs). Happily we made it to the bottom without encountering another car, and particularly not a police car. A few stares from the few folk we passed but nothing more serious.

Tramp son’s shoes were inspected – it appeared that the lining was completely worn – not unlike the wearer’s ankles which were quite bloody – all the compeeds having slipped. Boots were consigned to the rubbish – an excuse to purchase five fingers on his return to the US. Oh yes, and bean soup never tasted so good.