I have found that one of the keys to quickly adjusting to new time zones – whether I am arriving in Europe, South Asia or Australia – is to keep moving the first day until night has fallen. Most importantly, I have found that I need to stay outside, stay vertical and if at all possible do something that involves physical and mental activity. I avoid like the plague opportunities to retire to a hotel room, a conference room, a movie theatre, etc. A perfect opportunity to apply my rule came recently when my friend, Ole Seehausen, told me that he would like to take me to see the highest train station in all of Europe, located in the small village at Jungfraujoch (billed as the ‘Top of Europe’). But to catch the last train to Jungfraujoch, we would have to leave almost as soon as I arrived in the village of Brienz where my chalet was located. He asked whether I would instead rather prefer to take a shower and have a nap. I told him that I really needed to stay active this first day, and besides I did not want to miss seeing the highest train station (and according to the Jungfraujoch PR department, the highest post office) in Europe. By making this choice, I unwittingly put myself in the position of experiencing a dream trip – one involving seeing, walking on, and photographing some of the most famous mountaineering peaks in the Alps, including the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau.
Ole, his 4-year-old daughter Maisha, and I slowly traveled by multiple trains from an elevation of 1000 feet to a final altitude of around 11,000 feet at Jungfraujoch. As we climbed, I watched more and more alpine skiers board the trains. I took nearly 200 photos of the rugged grey/black and white peaks that penetrated the crystal clear, azure-colored sky. The various trains took us through tunnels cut through the bowels of the Eiger and Mönch mountains. We stopped to look out of enormous glass viewing ports cut into the sides of both peaks, ports located near doors used as escape routes for climbers who find themselves in emergency situations and also as the starting point for missions by alpine rescue teams.
We finally arrived in the underground station at Jungfraujoch below the saddle between the Mönch and Jungfrau. I refused the option of taking the elevator and so, as we climbed the several flights of stairs, I came to realize that the signs scattered around the walls warning of the possibility of effects from the extreme altitude should be taken seriously. Though I never felt really ill, I was definitely experiencing something like the effect of three glasses (or so) of wine. However, the biggest shock to my physical being occurred when we emerged from the underground cavern into the subzero air temperature and strong wind on the “plateau”. The air temperature, with the accompanying windchill, left my hands and face numb in seconds. Ole and Maisha were definitely constructed of sturdier stuff than I as evidenced by their trudging up to the topmost lookout where they proceeded to romp and take photos. I, on the other hand, raised my camera only a few times, instead choosing to spend most of my time cowering near the entrance to the cavern.
Hardy souls that they were, when Ole and Maisha finally made their way back inside the tunnel, they suggested that we explore the “Ice Palace”. The name indicated exactly what this was, and thus the Ice Palace was not an extension of the blissfully warm tunnel in which I had been taking refuge from the wind. Instead, said Palace, was a series of rooms and corridors cut directly through the glacier that had its origin at Jungfraujoch. Surprisingly, though my feet were cold from standing on the glass-like ice floor, and even though I was always in danger of having both feet fly out from under me, this ice cavern was a place that I would have hated to miss. Filled full of ice sculptures of bears and igloos and mother seals floating on their backs with their babies reclining on their stomachs, it was a winter wonderland that beat any of the cheesy, “Santa’s workshop” displays that I had ever encountered in the States. But then, as far as I know, Santa doesn’t work inside a glacier.
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