Morning view, looking out over the Rhone valley from Haute Nendaz.
When things go wrong, I just think: It’s part of the journey.
-Kenny Wallace
Continued from before…
I’m on my way to Geneva via Copenhagen, Denmark, and Phyllis is soon to be on a plane to Geneva via Reykjavik, Iceland. We got our tickets at different times and are taking different airlines and routes. I have a longer layover in Copenhagen, some 5 hours, so Phyllis will have to wait for me in Geneva for around an hour and a half before I can get there. At least, that’s the plan…
Sometime after getting to Copenhagen (at around 7:30 AM local, 1:30 AM Boston time) I get a text from Phyllis. Her flight was delayed leaving Boston and she got into Reykjavik too late to make her connecting flight to Geneva. The next flight for Geneva doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so she has to change airlines, go to Copenhagen and then on to Geneva. Unfortunately, she will not be getting into Copenhagen until after I leave. More delays.
I get into Geneva at around 2:00 PM and have to wait for Phyllis for seven hours. When she finally arrives, it’s just before nine PM. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to go through customs, as she’s coming from Denmark (both Switzerland and Denmark are Schengen countries, so customs is simplified). I say fortunately because the last train from the airport is leaving in minutes. We rush to the train station, a few hundred yards from the airport, and do our best to buy the necessary tickets.
The ticket office is closed, but there are ticket machines. The machines will not take paper money (of which we have ample), but only take coins and credit cards. US credit cards are supposed to work just fine, but we can’t figure out how to make ours work and we can’t get the tickets. We rush to the train and find some conductors. Using what French I can muster, I speak with them and discover that they don’t know anything about the vagaries of the machines. They go on about their business and, since the train is leaving imminently, we board without tickets. All we can do is hope we can get it all figured out at the next station, where we have to change trains anyway. Worst case scenario, if we are asked to, we can buy tickets after we board the train, but we would have to pay quite a bit more.
We get off the train at the main station in Geneva, a few minutes from the airport, and go to the machines. We still can’t make them work. A nice lady sees our angst, helps us out and, finally, we are ready to go. We board the train for Sion, about 2 hours down the tracks, and we’re off. Now we just have to figure out how to get from Sion to where we’re going, my brother’s Chalet in Haute Nendaz. That’s about a 45-minute bus ride up some very steep mountains, but the last bus leaves at 9:05 and we aren’t going to get to Sion until almost midnight. I’m on the phone with my brother and my nephew and they arrange for an Uber to meet us at the train station. It’s going to cost us 80 Swiss Francs (about 90 USD) but that’s cheaper than a hotel for the night.
Finally, at around 11:30 PM, we arrive in Sion and the Uber guy is waiting for us. We’re off, over the Rhone River and up the steep, two-lane, serpentine road that takes us up into the ethereal heights of the Alps. The driver doesn’t speak English, so I get to exercise my French as we talk about where he lives (near Sion), if he skis (for the past 4 or so years) and how things are kind of slow this time of year. He makes sure I have texted my brother and family because they have phoned him three times and seem nervous. It’s not long and we’re in the little village of Haute Nendaz.
Man, things are dark this time of night up here. I can only make out what I can see within the headlight beams and, although I’ve been here a couple of times before, it’s hard to get oriented. I did give the Uber guy my brother’s address for his GPS, so we won’t get completely lost, but it’s often the case that a GPS will only locate where you are approximately when you’re surrounded by rocky crags out in the boonies.
Finally, sometime after midnight, we meet my brother and nephew, get the key for the place where Phyllis and I are staying (about ¼ mile down the mountain from my brother’s chalet) and Phyllis and I open the door to a most welcome sight – two beds made up for immediate slumber. We’ve been travelling for a bit more than 36 hours and laying my tired body down and totally relaxing my muscles never felt better.
Getting here was not at all straightforward, but looking back on the trip, now that the angst of uncertainty is done, what happened just added to the adventure of it all. And that’s the raison d’etre of the whole trip, after all.
As I close my eyes and relax into the sweet oblivion of sleep, my last thoughts are of Waldo. The twentieth century is a true marvel in many ways. I remember many trips in the past where it wasn’t possible, but now I can call the place where he’s staying on my cell phone. I commit to calling as soon as I can. It will have to be tomorrow afternoon (I have to wait until then because of the 6-hour time difference), but call them I will.
I sure hope he’s okay.
We’re in the mountains now (finally)!