As it happened, we ran into the missing part of our crew at the Eggishorn station. The guys took the gondolas up and were enjoying the view. No matter how you slice it, dragging yourself up a mountain under your own power is way more rewarding, even if not everyone shares this approach. But man proposes, and life disposes. It's good that our buddies joined us, however it happened.
When Garik and I got back from our hike to the actual peak, the gang was already sipping coffee from the local cafe. Admiring the glacier outside, wrapped in blankets. I popped into the cafe to ask for some boiling water, and a girl named Anya (her full name) sold it to me for one euro, at my suggestion. Lifehack: most people are kind and don't mind helping you out if you ask politely and with a smile. I chatted with her a bit afterwards, asked if it was a popular name, and it turned out, yeah. Besides Anya, there's also Anna, quite often too.
By the way, it turned out that the girl we'd met is a nutritionist, a trainer, and the champion of Ukraine and Europe in fitness bikini, whatever that means. Her name is Anastasia Poltavskaya.
I'm honestly pretty flattered to have met her now. By the way, if anyone doesn't know, my first "job" was making a website for the local (Latvian) fitness federation. While making it, I saw plenty of our pumped-up girls in bikinis, and occasionally even without. I also set up a PC for a well-known local fitness guru and businessman, and the computer was totally infested with porn trojans. It was pretty funny. Unfortunately
- I completely sucked at design, and hadn't studied it
- I modestly asked for very little money
- I was kind of intimidated by the bodybuilder-businessman, and didn't call him myself to offer more services
But maybe it's for the best. Ultimately, my life didn't turn out so bad after all.
Let's get back to the Aletsch Glacier, though. We drank our tea and coffee, wandered back and forth, and eventually ran for the last gondola down. Riding with us were Anastasia, as well as Anya with garbage bags, since there's no other transport up to the glacier. Right there in the gondola, Garik's anonymous female friend asked me if I regretted coming, and I kept winking at Anastasia and replying that I didn't regret it one bit.
They say that in Europe, the only country comparable to Switzerland in beauty is Norway. I was there when I was 15, and I was just as blown away every single second.
Why on earth do they dye eggs in Switzerland? Write it in the comments.
On the last gondola, we descended to Fiesch, and began the long journey home. The train (more than one) takes less than three hours, but goes the long way round through Bern, around 250 km. But it's comfy, and zoning out looking out the window is pretty interesting. Unless, of course, you're me, and instead of the window, you're frantically poking at your phone with your clumsy paws. After all, I've got to plan ahead, write posts on a portable keyboard, sort out photos. Even though I just want to shoot the breeze about our impressions and stuff, like everyone else. It's not often I spend the entire day hanging out with friends; at least, not when I'm not out riding my bike on the weekends.
We made it back without any adventures, but by the time I got home (I still had to drag myself from Zurich to Baar), it was already past ten in the evening. The friends I was staying with go to bed quite early, so there was a bit of a desync. Still, we managed to find time to talk. About programming, salaries, life in Switzerland and Latvia, and other pressing matters. I'm easily distracted, so I constantly got sucked into conversations, putting off my planning until a "later" that never comes. Thanks to the exhaustion and fresh air, I slept pretty well, although I kept waking up a bit early. The next morning we were again taking our time chatting. Meanwhile, I was trying to come up with some kind of new plan, but an easier one, to alternate the hardcore stuff with chill time, as my life experience dictates.
A plan emerged: since my buddies once again (failed to) come up with something boring and amorphous, I decided to split off. My friend hooked me up with an alcobike: a bicycle for rides home from the bar—the drinking establishment, that is, not the town. Just so you understand, an alcobike here is a Specialized with a carbon fork, a bike that surely costs more than a grand brand new. And a proper sports machine costs 5-10 thousand euros.
We pumped up the bike's tires, I made sure I had a map and enough battery, and I hit the road. My knees, unfortunately, don't really let me haul ass up the mountains anymore. My route was simple: ride around the nearby lake—Zug. Not only is this route almost totally flat, but more than half of it is on bike paths. Before I left, I was shown a local curiosity: colored chicken eggs.
Why on earth do they dye eggs in Switzerland? Write it in the comments.
