After Christmas I visited one of Switzerland’s winter sport capitals: Grindelwald. (Doesn’t it sound like a name straight out of Harry Potter?) It’s a winter sport-lover’s paradise. Nestled among the majestic mountaintops, the center of town almost exclusively consists of assorted ski shops. But its real claim to fame? Sledding trails.
Ah, sledding, the idyllic childhood winter pastime. Growing up, any decent-sized slope could provide hours of amusement, well-nourished by bites of crispy crunchy snow, without a single thought of the chemicals or pollution it could have contained.
Little did I know that sledding in Grindelwald is an entirely different breed of the sport. There with my aunt, uncle, and cousins, we bundled up one morning in our jackets and scarves, and loaned our sleds from the hotel. They were sturdy, wood-hewn contraptions, but also really heavy, especially when I had to trudge uphill with one hitched on my shoulder. We hopped on a little train, sardine-packed with skiers, snowboarders, and fellow sledders, which slowly made the treacherously steep climb to the top of the mountain. Along the way there were snow-sprinkled evergreen forests and storybook Swiss chalets that I couldn't help but to sigh over.
Finally we made it to the summit and started the descent. I was sledding like never before, making my way through the miles-long route that winded down the mountain. I was seriously zipping around the slides and bends, feeling as though I was getting the sort of exhilaration Olympic bobsledders must experience. The only difference is that they have some expertise on what they’re doing, while as I had none. My control over the direction of the sled was not exactly well-tuned. The sled was outfitted with a strap, that when pulled may or may not turn in the direction that I was aiming for. The guy at the hotel made it seem so simple, pointing to explanatory stick-figure diagrams on the wall. To turn left, pull the strap to the right. But I was not having much luck. Half of the time I got the desired effect and the other half I was crashing into a snow bank.
At one point, I hit a bump. My bum landed in the snow, but the sled kept going, where it slid and crashed down a cliff. I had to go through knee-high snow to go get it again. And yes, there were onlookers laughing at me. I was laughing at myself.
Then at one curve I got a little too much acceleration and lost total control. Cruising down at a dangerous speed, I wanted to warn the fellow sledders around me of my impending arrival, but with people from so many different nationalities around I didn’t know which language—English? French? German?--to say “watch out!” I finally skidded to a stop, but not before nearly having a rear-ending accident into the sled of a German lady. Needless to say, she wasn’t very happy and presumably reprimanded me for not being more careful, but not knowing German I didn't understand what she said.
As I progressed downward, my comfort was likewise in decline. Head, hand, and feet warmth are the most important for well-being in cold outdoor winter conditions, and here I was, striking out on all three accounts. The problem was that I just wasn’t adequately equipped for this caliber of sledding. My boots weren’t water-tight, so ice cold moistness gradually seeped into my socks and made my toes painfully numb. I was feeling prickles, as though little knives were stabbing into them. I immediately started envisioning pictures of the pioneers who first explored Antarctica and had limbs become black with frostbite.
Perhaps even worse, I didn’t have proper ski pants, so as I sat down on my sled, sheaths of snow wedged themselves to my lower back and then slid, half-melting from my body heat to a sort of slush that made its way to my underpants. Basically, my butt felt like it was going to freeze off.
Finally, feeling good about the distance I had covered, I decided that I had had enough. Luckily there was a train going in the other direction back down the mountain. With a change of socks and a hot steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, I felt like a new person. It was only until I referenced a map that I realized I had only covered a tiny section of the overall trail. Oh well. The little section I traversed made for quite the adventure.
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