Here I sit on a friend’s terrace in southern Switzerland’s Lötschental, enjoying a postcard view of the Alps. The sky was grey when I got up at 8:00 because Heidi’s East-facing house (yes, I have Swiss friend named Heidi!), perched several hundred feet above the narrow river valley a five-minute walk away (already at 1,500 meters), is so close to the 4,000-meter mountains that the sun doesn’t appear until 10:15—12:15 at New Years!
For me, there are fewer more delightful experiences than feeling the sun warm my cheeks, as it does on Greek beaches in June, while the crisp, just-below-freezing air, invigorates. This equilibrium between two conditions dangerous in their extremes creates a harmonious, energizing environment and releases abundant amounts of whatever chemicals our bodies produce when they’re in a state of idyllic well-being.
Heidi’s chalet is perched on a mountainside at the fifth level from the road. The village is in such a narrow valley that the dark, squatty, timber buildings constructed using notches, rather than nails, appear to be stacked on the mountainside. There are small parking areas at each level, since one would have to burrow into the mountain (or build scaffolding) to support a garage. From the bus stop (it seems public transportation in Switzerland will take one to even the tiniest of inhabited enclaves), I trudged 500 meters up a road with switchbacks and a 40-degree grade to the three-flight metal staircase that leads to the chalet. It’s like having an apartment in Paris accessible only by one of those steep Montmartre staircases.
The chalet clings to the mountainside on the west side, where all one sees is a wall of grassy earth (already in February this year) distinguished by log crutches that brace the mountain in an effort to hinder avalanches, abundant evidence of which appear on the mountains visible in the majestic panorama seen from the windows on the chalet’s east wall. Clinging to the steep wall of mountains across the picturesque, rocky river lie descending patches of dark pine and larch forest interspersed with sheaths of snow, indicating the patch where avalanches once tumbled, reminders of the treacherous environment that appears simultaneously so glorious and inviting.
No Sound of Music meadows here! Lötschental is a narrow geological trough that attracts skiers (both kinds), rock climbers (in summer), and hikers, as well as deprived snow-lovers like me. Finding snow didn’t use to require such an effort. Nowadays, even Stockholm, a thick blanket of snow and lakes frozen solid enough for skating are largely a dim memory. They used to be a saving grace, bringing light and pleasure in a place where the sun barely rises 20 degrees over the horizon for months, or at least weeks. Here—even on cloudy days—the snow blanket reflects the light, which energizes me. In its absence, I feel like a bear torn prematurely from its cozy hibernation. Listless and rudderless. I must travel to find snow—either to high altitudes or to latitudes further from the Equator than was necessary before. I know eagerly traveling to cold and snow is a minority desire, but I always will, and I feel privileged to have friends willing to share their little pieces of paradise with me!
