Hike to the Blitzer Rothorn peak
With some difficulty, I googled a route suitable for our purposes. We had to arrive from Sörenberg from the Lucerne side, that is, from the northeast, with a couple of transfers. The cable car cashier consulted with a colleague and the computer for a long time about our Tageskarte, to understand whether we'd get a half-price ticket. It turned out we would, and we paid just 6 francs. The cheapest cable car of my life.
I showed her our trail leading to the Blitzer Rothorn peak. The girl warned us that the rocks were dirty and slippery, and that we needed good shoes. Garik just waved his hand: on his previous trip to Switzerland he hiked all the mountains in his regular sneakers, he's fine. I envy his endurance and agility. Another worker was walking by and smiled: either at Garik's sneakers, or at my colorful little pants. I don't mind. In my condition, the fact that I even got my act together and went on a hike is close to a miracle. And to also manage to buy the proper clothes is a task close to impossible nowadays. It's a good thing at least that over the years I've gotten even better at saying screw it to non-critical things: my approach now is generally MVP in everything. Good boots are important, but shorts can be beach ones, not much depends on them. Of course, it's hard for me and it sucks that for many people getting ready is a hundred times easier, and their health allows them to party all night long and then go to the mountains. On the other hand, I appreciate that I can see such wonders, and generally can go on a hike on my own two feet.
As for the latter, it started with passing through a dense herd of cows standing right on the road. These beasts are usually non-aggressive, but sometimes incidents do happen. For instance, a bull recently broke a hiker's leg. Some cows are so huge that even I get a little uneasy, although I'm generally not afraid of animals at all.
Soon the road turned into an incredibly steep rocky-grassy trail with a grandiose view of the village. Gradually the fog intensified until it almost completely obscured all the magical panoramas. But the flock of sheep, ringing their bells in its dense gray billows, was psychedelically mesmerizing. Walking became really hard, and V. and I were constantly resting. Garik, meanwhile, was running in circles, looking for pretty rocks as souvenirs.
Ahead of us lay a narrow and frightening little trail along the top of the ridge with abysses on both sides.
Ascent up a steep mountain trail to the ridge
The trail was becoming even steeper, which is rather hard to imagine. It zigzagged in a serpentine to at least somehow create the appearance of a pedestrian route, rather than alpine hiking. Here I need to explain that walking in the mountains can be called different words depending on the difficulty. In general, any hikes are hiking, but if it's long and for many days - it's trekking or backpacking. Switzerland uses the SAC difficulty scale, where T1 is a walk, and T6 is practically mountaineering. We usually hiked 1-2, but according to my feelings and the markings (white-red-white), this specific trail totally pulls a 3. You can imagine what a 4 and higher is like, if even on this trail closer to the peak the slope was so steep that I sometimes grabbed on with my hands to be safer.
Eventually, we reached a spot where the rock face went practically vertically up. I was quite puzzled as to how on earth we would climb further, seeing as we don't have ropes and pitons. We walked a bit further, and huge concrete steps suddenly appeared out of the thick fog. A staircase! At such an angle that they even cemented them slightly slanted, not horizontally. Fortunately, next to the steps there were via ferrata cables and chains. These words mean "iron path". Essentially the same as hiking, just of a high difficulty category. And the main thing is - right there to help you is a chain or a cable that you can hold onto. And if it's really hard, or you love safety - you can clip the carabiner of your climbing harness for belay. The cables next to the staircase were very handy. Even in the fog, I felt that I was a bit scared because of the height.
Before long we climbed the staircase and made it onto the ridge itself. Here the clouds parted for a minute, and an absolutely incredible view of the valley opened up before us . We were downright astounded, just sat there spacing out, making monosyllabic exclamations. Apparently, the contrast played its part. Because before that we had been climbing through the fog for a long time, and saw nothing further than five meters. And then suddenly such terrifying beauty!
Unfortunately, it was exactly there, on the ridge, that that damn half-meter-wide trail began, where there are sharp slopes to the right and left. It seems like there's not even anything to catch onto if you roll down something like that.
How I survived this, you will find out right now.
Ascent to the Brienzer Rothorn ridge and the steam train
As I've written more than once, I'm afraid of heights, especially when there are abysses all around, wherever you look, and no railings. The worst is when in any direction it goes sharply down right away, and the nearest point is kilometers away, both vertically and horizontally. Up to a certain extent I can handle it, but sooner or later my legs start to shake and my head spins.
As we climbed onto the ridge, that's right when my nerves gave out. I crawled on all fours a bit, which clearly looked comical from the side. Fortunately, there weren't many hikers, and there was no one to observe my shameful degradation to our arboreal ancestors. I was really hoping that such a scary trail wouldn't last long. Fortunately, just after a hundred or two meters it already got a bit better. I slowly hobbled forward, holding onto the wall of rocks on the left.
The fog would roll in, then dissipate, opening up a view of the fjord. Excuse me, not a fjord, but a lake. Visually very similar. I was in Norway with its famous fjords when I was about 16+-2 years old. The beauty there just knocks you off your feet. It didn't help matters that next to me on the bus sat a cute young milf, who I chatted with the whole way. My poor brain was pumped full of hormones from all sides, and I constantly walked around like I was stoned.
This time it was a bit easier. I have become old, cynical, and misanthropic. Nevertheless, I can boldly and confidently report to you: the view around the Brienzer Rothorn peak (2350m) is one of the most beautiful I have observed in my life.
We occasionally encountered hikers coming our way. They preferred to arrive by cable car, but then descend on foot. Now, I go downwards very slowly, because I'm afraid to stumble, and my knees hurt afterwards too. But Jedem das Seine, as they say.
Soon we reached the steam train station. This time I'm not saying it just for a turn of phrase. From the peak ran a very real steam train. Okay, stereotypically not entirely real in the sense that it runs on fuel oil, not coal. Puffs, smokes, and hauls without electricity. The main difference between a steam locomotive and a diesel locomotive is the presence of a steam boiler. A diesel locomotive uses an internal combustion engine, very often also with an electric generator.
My plan exactly consisted of taking the steam train down to the lake and spending the night there. My comrades did not support the plan.
How did it all end?
Descent by steam train from the Brienzer Rothorn
At the steam train station another one of our comrades was waiting for us, who had only just reached the Brienzer Rothorn (by cable car). No one wanted to set off with me to spend the night in the town of Brienz, unfortunately, citing mostly budget reasons. But I didn't back down from the plan. As I already wrote, I don't like getting up at seven. My sleep is already good for nothing anyway. When I don't get enough sleep, I am monstrously angry and miserable, even more than usual. But on the other hand, I love trains. Hence my decision.
We wanted to grab a bite, but at four o'clock the kitchen in the local cafeteria was already closed, only booze was left. In the end, tired, hungry, and sleep-deprived, we hastily drank some tea and parted ways. My mood was so-so, in particular, from the lack of glucose.
I waited for the steam train, the ticket for which cost a fairly decent amount - 61 francs one way. Fortunately, I again got it for half price, that is 30, which is more tolerable. I got an unlucky seat, in the second car, too close to the smoke coming from the steam train's funnel. And on top of that, on the side where there are usually more rocks, and less open space. Moreover, before the start, the machinist lowered the train car shutters, which were quite dirty from the locomotive's exhaust. I was already thinking that I wouldn't really see anything. Fortunately, the shutters could be raised on the way, even though they jammed like hell. You see, even in Switzerland not everything is always perfect. I did manage to snap some photos anyway, pressing up against some girls of Asian appearance. They understood my Instagram urge well, taking photos the whole way themselves. They leaned out so far that it's a miracle they didn't fall out of the car.
They started building mountain trains in Switzerland a good century and a half ago. To stay on the steep slopes, they all have a third rail with a rack-and-pinion transmission. In the middle of the car there is a cogwheel that catches onto the rail, and that's why the whole thing doesn't roll downwards with terrifying force. The Swiss have perfected this system so much that there's a train at a 48-degree angle, the steepest in the world. It's called The Pilatus Railway, looks absolutely surreal in places. The engineer Eduard Locher invented and created this railway. In the process, the cogwheel system was improved by him for reliability and noise reduction. Two cogwheels began to be positioned horizontally, and clamped the rail between them.
Arrival in Brienz and the evening by the lake
After an hour of puffing, the steam train reached its goal - the town of Brienz. This word means "flash". At least, that's what a buddy told me. I wasn't able to confirm this on the internet. The town turned out to be very pleasant, although heavily touristy.
For a start, I hobbled to the hotel, to check in and leave my heavy mountain boots. The hotel was called "Bāren", with a garumzīme, that is, the length mark of the Latvian language. This didn't surprise me all that much. Nowadays designers love eclecticism, they drag in details from wherever. At the reception desk I was met by a granny who joyfully informed me that her ancestors were from Latvia. They were the ones who founded the hotel. This was, granted, a few generations ago. I was in a hurry to drop off my gear, and therefore didn't ask further questions.
The room was alright, retro, but quite cute, and with a balcony too. Unfortunately, in Switzerland they smoke everywhere, and the balcony is the most obvious place for this. I had to close the door to it. In addition, right under my balcony was the terrace of the hotel's restaurant, where they also smoked at the top of their lungs. The room was advertised "with a lake view", but this, as is often the case, was an exaggeration. In reality, almost the entire view was blocked by the crowns of huge trees growing right up against the hotel.
Having left my things, I went to the already familiar "Coop" shop, deciding to have sandwiches for dinner. I bought bread, cheese, lettuce and tomato, and so on, and so forth. I sat down on a bench, now with an honest lake view, and enjoyed the sunset, partaking of the coop's bounty. The receipt, granted, was for about forty euros, but then again I bought a mountain of stuff, even too much. In Switzerland, understandably, there is a lot of cheese, and one of the types is the thinnest strips rolled up into little roses. I love cheese, and it's hard to resist.
The granny from the reception invited me to a concert at nine, said "very good performers". Well, why not. I took a little walk along the promenade, returned to the hotel, and went to the cafeteria where the "concert" was supposed to be. The latter turned out to be a performance by a middle-aged man and woman for a tiny handful of seniors. I was the youngest among these ten people. The songs being performed were old pop hits known to everyone.
I quietly slipped off my chair, and was gone. I'm not yet that old to listen to restaurant hack musicians, even if they are of high quality.
A tourist's worst nightmare: farting seniors
I returned to my room, and then my friend's worst nightmare came true - farting seniors. The thing is that my room didn't have a toilet, but there was a mysterious closed closet with a door. When an unpleasant smell arose, I realized that it was the toilet for the neighboring room, but it was located sort of inside mine! Fortunately, the neighbors didn't do number two after that, but a bitter aftertaste remained.
It's my own fault, bought a hotel with a rating of around 7, so as not to pay an extra hundred francs (it cost a hundred as it is). In my abundant experience, you absolutely shouldn't take hotels with a rating of less than 7.8 on Booking. The chance of running into gags like "farting seniors" is high. Usually, of course, it's something simpler - no shutters or curtains, for example. In this hotel the curtains were up to par, by the way - not a ray of light penetrated. There was also the omnipresent sink right in the room, which comes in very handy when the bathroom is in the hallway, and you want to drink at night. The Swiss usually drink tap water, by the way, they trust it. Buying it isn't customary, although my friends do it.
I don't remember if I've said it already, but I got hooked on a local sugar-free tangerine cola from the brand Happy Cola. As Garik says, "a can of cola on an empty stomach kick-starts the stomach". I guided myself by this principle to the point that even when there were five minutes left until the train, I managed to buy it. What can you do, addictive personality.
In the previous issue I forgot to say about the hotel that its owners were clearly mystical people. Not only did the hotel have a "Ganesha" shop with incense, bracelets, and other Indian knick-knacks. But in the lobby there were also little booklets with info about all sorts of wonderful events. Among them were master classes on energetic recharge from trees, spilling out feelings into painting pictures, and other such things. I marveled at how diverse the world is. True, I wasn't able to participate in the recharge from wood, 'cause the next morning I was hurrying onwards.
By this point I had run out of Tageskartes, and to my annoyance, they didn't have them in the local coops. I had to go to Interlaken the next morning on my own dime. Interlaken. There we were supposed to meet with friends who had brought me a tageskarte. From there we were planning to head to the famous Lauterbrunnen, to go up to the Jungfraujoch saddle, located at an altitude of 3.5km. A saddle is, roughly speaking, the lowest point of a ridge between two peaks.