We started seeing red awnings and white and brown chalets with green shutters and long roofs that extend almost to the ground sooner than I would’ve thought after leaving Geneva. My jubilance increased with each one. There is something magical about childhood imaginings coming true. Walking sticks, dormers with mini-shutters, and vests became more prominent, as did my slight fear that we would end up actually in the middle of nowhere. We did, and it is glorious.
We passed teal, clear lakes dotted with sails and ducks, and chugged out of mountain tunnels on a cog-train into Wengen. This mountain town (whose residents must number less than 1000) is pristine (they have street-sweepers on streets too small to be named), and fresh.
Walk, I said on a quick walk around Wengen last night, don’t you feel like you’re in a dream? (that light on the mountain is the waterfall being lit.) He didn’t feel as ethereal as I, but he does find it almost as awesome as I do.
I just wanted to throw in a dash of what is to come (we hiked the Alps today); did I have premonitions of Sound of Music?