Transalp Diaries: Day 3 — The Alpine Vistas of Switzerland
Transalp Diaries: Day 3 — The Alpine Vistas of Switzerland
Nature gives and takes, and I receive.
This post is a continuation of my Transalp journey. If you haven't yet, you can read how the journey began here 👇🏻
The rhythmic splash of waterdrops on concrete woke me. It was dark outside, the storm had passed, and I had enjoyed the best sleep so far, although only six hours. Throughout the night, the cold pressed in and despite layering all my clothes, some warmth escaped. The chill air rolling downhill woke me fully. The serene morning, with the mist blanketing the valley made me reflect on the rarity of such moments and how many more await me.
Such mornings, whether damp, dark, or cold inspire me with optimism for the day ahead. Each night, as I fall asleep, its as if I press the ‘Save’ button, awakening refreshed to continue — its important to sleep for more than seven hours.
I cycled towards St.Anton, on dedicated cycling lanes alongside a small river, resting my forearms on the handlebars — always mindful about my position. Despite years in Germany, the cycling infrastructure still amazed me. I come from a place where cyclists ride alongside drivers unfamiliar with sharing the road. My training on the road was fraught with close calls, as cars and lorries passed dangerously near and their turbulence shifted my balance. I’ve been in accident scenes minutes after they happened, and from sheer luck, I was not part of them. Constant watchfulness for potholes and opening car doors was a necessity; this driver-predictive intuition, anticipating their actions, remains with me. After I stopped cycling in Greece, where fatal accidents involving cyclists were not unheard of, the contrast became stark. Greece, with its scenic beauty and climate, is ideal to explore on a bike, yet lacks the needed infrastructure. Thus, riding on dedicated lanes by the river, free from such dangers, remains a privilege I deeply appreciate.
The sun, still hidden behind the mountains, began to show its glow. When I arrived at St.Anton its beauty unfolded. Known among skiers for its powder and its luxurious amenities, St.Anton has its appeal. While I would be drawn to the exceptional snow quality, the luxury seems distant from my values. I seek experiences earned through training and commitment and not through my 9-5. While I recognize its allure to others, it simply has never resonated with me. Still, a specialty coffee would have been enjoyable, had I not arrived too early.
“Ride to my heart’s content” was my desire and long days were my aim. Looking at the last two days, there was no time to spare and I still hadn’t eaten breakfast. Just before the dirt road, there was a sunny picnic spot that made my breakfast ideal. I savored bread, peanut butter and dried fruits, all while bathed in sunlight, accompanied by birdsongs and the murmur of a fountain. It was more than I hoped for.
Nature takes and gives, you never know what’s going to happen.
And that moment, it open-handedly gave and I received.
I was finally back on riding in the mountains. The roads were busy with families and seniors in guided MTB tours, the majority on e-bikes. I think of e-bikes as a collective upgrade to everyone’s well being — lowering the barrier for people to workout, spend time in nature and also commute. Perhaps I’m romanticizing, I’m aware that opinions vary but I prefer to see the bright side.
Soon, I witnessed one of the most prominent mountains I have ever seen. My first thought was to come back here and spend more time climbing. This season, I often felt grateful and content and that was just one more time doing so. I had to take a break and shoot a couple of photos — capturing, for me , is a way to inhale my surroundings. A road by the river, and a majestic mountain in the background — this looked familiar.
The only influence I had of the Alps growing up, was seeing a painting hanging in our living room — a hut next to a forest road with a mountain in the background. Now, I live in such paintings, weekend over weekend. Who would have thought?
Upon arriving at Konstanzer Hütte it was time for a coffee. While I appreciate specialty coffees, hut-coffees are special in their own right. Immersed in beauty, gazing at the mountains, warmed by the sun, I deeply enjoyed the beverage. It was one of those moments when I felt free, independent, and deeply grateful for being there.
After taking in the landscape, and feeling the high from the coffee, I continued my journey. The roads where at their busiest; e-bikers were overtaking me at the uphills without a sweat and I was overtaking them going downhill. The first uphill trails were a joy; I was cautious about when to ride and when to walk. My gears were not tuned well enough and I couldn’t use the lowest ones. Thus, I was cautious to not break the chain — walking it was.
Excited by the descent, I wasn’t paying attention to the GPS and lost the track for almost two kilometers. It was the peak of the heat, and climbing again was not my favorite part. Nonetheless, I was drawing closer to the next mountain, with plenty of daylight left and yet no place to sleep.
From that point on, I was riding on tarmac, covering distance significantly quicker, and soon I arrived at Ischgl — a popular mountain town known for its après-ski and the COVID-19 outbreak in Europe.
While having lunch and checking the maps, I noticed that Heidelberger Hütte was on my way. "Great!". This meant I could spend the night at a proper DAV hut with affordable bedding (around €15/night), including options for dinner and breakfast. "It will be good to replenish my batteries there," I thought. Such surprises are the outcome of only having checked the specs of the route but not the route itself. A climb of 1,000 meters awaited me, during which I would cross into Switzerland and eventually reach the hut.
In a couple of hours, I had left the ski resort behind and was back on dirt roads. There, I was immersed in the alpine vistas and roads of which I have only dreamt of. I was on a plateau at 2000 meters, with peaks rising above 3000 meters. This was what “riding in the mountains” meant to me. Despite my tiredness, I was engaged and energetic.
My usual habit was to be quick and keep moving, which is the right mindset for committing routes, but I wasn’t in such a situation. I could afford to take a break and embrace the scenery. So, I took the time to take a self-portrait — a form of photography of capturing oneself that I rarely practiced.
My brother introduced me to cameras and instilled in me his passion for capturing moments. He encouraged me to start shooting when I was around ten — around the time Nokia 7650 was released. During the years he lived abroad, he would occasionally send me videos from London, as a way to keep in touch. I consider a dedicated video to someone as the modern letter. It’s effortful, intentional, and rich in information. Admittedly, I haven’t been doing it as much as I would have liked. Taking out my phone, I made a few videos for my family and friends. I had to share what I was experiencing. Even though I was tired and sleep deprived I felt rejuvenated — this is life, this is worth it.
Sometimes I engage in the following thought experiment: Would life hold meaning if one were in their defined paradise but devoid human contact in their lifespan? Regardless of what you experience, learn, or whatever joy or pain, it would be solely for yourself. Is this meaningful? Is this truly life? This contemplation reminds me of something I read in one of Irvin Yalom’s books, “Momma and the Meaning of Life”, suggesting that the perception of being observed, or the lack thereof, significantly influences the construction of meaning in our lives.
When sharing such videos, my loved ones are happy to see my delight. Children are special because they easily get excited, their capacity for joy is contagious. Growing older, this ability fades, making it all more significant when we can reach this state. Paying attention to what brings us to such moments is ought to be explored.
“There, I can see the hut!” I told my brother in my recording. The place was full with cyclists and hikers. I registered myself, and got a bed for the night and breakfast for the next morning. What stood out to me was the hut manager’s request for my sleeping liner, he microwaved them to prevent any bed bugs infestations. Hearing stories of visitors leaving with bed bugs and infesting their homes, I appreciated those precautions.
The hut provided a bike service station equipped with tools and water supply. At last, after years of living in Munich, I found a place to wash my bike. My small city apartment doesn’t offer the space for bike cleaning, so my bikes remain dirty. During my cycling years, I diligently washed my bike every other weekend and joked that doing so would inevitably bring rain.
Upon inspecting the bike, I noticed something amiss with my rear derailleur, which, surprisingly, pleased me. This explained the weird sound and vibration I experienced when using the lower gears. I had incorrectly routed the chain behind a separator, causing it to rub. I shorted it out in two minutes, providing immediate mental relief — I could enjoy riding in quietness and make full use of my lowest gears from then on.
These moments are rewarding. Identifying a problem and solving it boosts confidence. You attempt a fix, it succeeds, and you’re encouraged to try more. The independence gained from this knowledge is invaluable, allowing me to repair what I use, especially in situations where I’m the only option. Of course, there are still tasks I’ve yet to attempt, like truing my wheels. But that’s a “yet”.
The evening at the hut was exceptional. Typically, I arrive late, have dinner, and retire early. That night, however, free from pressure, I enjoyed a delightful conversation with a roommate. He and his friend were on a long-distance hike and were also spending the night at the hut. There are so many stories to be shared when you have the time to listen. And there I was, lying comfortably in a bed with a warm blanket, with a clean bike awaiting me and an unfolding adventure.
I was learning to slow down.
It's so inspiring to witness your journey, inward and outward, on this unfolding adventure. I am so glad you have decided that writing this memoirs from the mountains was worth the time and effort that you have invested so far. It is wonderful, reassuring, eye opening, to be on the journey with you, albeit in thought, and to be able to get a rare glimpse into your journeys and how you perceive life and your path. Please keep being you, keep sharing, keep writing, keep exploring, keep documenting, keep adventuring. Love you brother!