From the Mountain Top

          This weekend was spent walking our feet off, laughing our hearts out, and breathing in some much needed mountain air. Ever since we arrived in Geneva, we’ve felt as if the mountains were just out of reach. Everywhere we look, we can see the mountains peeking out beyond the buildings and busy streets, just far enough to keep us broke college students at bay for the time being. But living in Switzerland, we HAD to go the mountains and resolved to go this past weekend.

           

            We left for Mt. Salève, on the border of France and Switzerland, on Saturday morning with our friends Damaris and Brad. None of us really knew how to get there, so we just took the 14 to the train station and from there, a bus that would take us near the trail. To get to the actual trailhead, we walked through a cute little French town at the foot of the mountain, its quaint streets dressed with colorful window shutters and planters, vines draped over stone walls and arched doorways.

             The hike was wonderfully and painfully steep, the unreal views a distraction from my burning calves and blistering feet. 

          

The path was enchanting, lined with golden fall leaves and rocks covered in vibrant green moss, leading us through tiny storybook towns and overlooking distant mountain ranges the entire way.

           When we reached the top, we found a restaurant called L’Observatoire, if I remember correctly. As we walked through the door we greeted by a warm, inviting room full of tired, muddied hikers sitting back on cozy arm chairs, drinks in hand, dogs resting at their feet, view of the mountains from every angle of the restaurant. Despite the cold, we celebrated our summiting of Mt. Salève with a bowl of delicious French ice cream. T’was a great day.

            Sunday was another wonderful day, beginning with our first visit to an English speaking church in Old Town with Damaris. The service was in an old building packed with people from different ends of the globe, different ages, and different walks of life. After the service, we met a ton of people from the young adults group who kindly welcomed us and invited us to lunch with them.

            The afternoon was spent with plenty of introductions, fun facts about hometowns, funny travel stories, and lots of questions about life in different parts of the world. Afterwards, we headed to an Irish pub where we spent the rest of the afternoon watching a rugby game and continuing some great conversations. We got back to Les Berges so full of the joy these people brought us by welcoming us with open arms.

            Monday began at 5 AM with a journey to Zermatt, home to the Matterhorn. The four-hour train ride was nothing less than amazing as we watched the pink tint of the rising sun reflected on the snowy peaks of the mountains. We passed leafless wintery vineyards, icy rivers, mountainside waterfalls, steep mountains pointing towards heaven.

            As we ascended further into the mountains, the scenery changed from the greens and reds and browns to pure white. Thick snow coated every tree, every rock, every mountain for miles and miles. Our eyes didn’t shift from the window as the train creaked up the mountain through a real-life Narnia.

            Zermatt is a fairytale village, a perpetually sleepy and Christmas-y town characterized by rustic wood cabins, the ringing of bells on horse drawn carriages, snow-clad rooftops lined with icicles and strings of white lights. Looking straight down the main road, there’s a view of the mountains magnificently encompassing the tiny village.

            We spent the day hiking the snowy trail towards the Matterhorn. The way in which the wind blew the snow up off the ground into swirls of white powder reminded me of something that you’d see in a Nat Geo documentary of Antarctica. I felt like a kid waking to snow on Christmas morning. I ran through the snow, face-planted in it, rolled in it, ate it, and bear crawled through it until I thought me fingers might fall off. How I wanted to spend days scaling the snowy mountains before me, reach the top of the Matterhorn and see Zermatt as a little ant town in the distance.

           This trip did little to satisfy my hunger for mountains and fresh air. If anything, it increased it. I can't imagine ever standing so small at the foot of the mountain, realizing the enormity of the world and the One who created it and not being amazed. God sure knew what He was doing when He made the mountains.

            Our day ended with wet, numb fingers and toes, some grocery store pastries, and one last glimpse of the Matterhorn before it disappeared behind a cloud of fog as the sun set. I couldn’t be happier.

Until next time,

Lisa & Megan