Stille Nacht

Monday, 24 December 2007

Christmas Eve saw us sleeping in a bit as our only real priority today was the relatively short journey from Geneva to Interlaken and the heart of the Bernese Oberland, and our train did not leave until 11:30. The only thing on our agenda for the morning was making the continental breakfast before it closed and validating our Eurail passes since we had failed to do so the previous day. My Dad and I did so first to make sure the process would be a pretty straightforward one, and it proved to be so. I went back to the hotel while my Dad searched the underground mall connected to the train station for some power converters for American goods since the McCoy women had already blown the fuses on the two that had previously gotten me through 3 months in Europe while living in England, but such is the power of hair dryers compared to battery chargers and clock radios.

After resolving our logistical issues, we were soon standing on the platform awaiting the 11:30 train to Brig, a small resort town tucked away in the Swiss Alps where we would connect to a train heading for Spiez and then to Interlaken. When the Crabtree's and the Grant's got their Eurail passes validated, they found that it would actually be faster to catch a train straight to Bern and then straight to Interlaken rather than having multiple changeovers going via Brig, but I assured them that Will had planned this route because the trains would be far less crowded, which they were, and the Alpine scenery on display would make the route worthwhile, and it was.

Somewhat relative to this travel debate, one of my fondest personal memories of the trip

occurred on the platform as we awaited the train to Brig. After a few days in Europe with me being the sort of de facto leader due to Will's absence, my Dad admitted to being impressed with my travel acumen. I say this with the deepest respect for my mother, but both of us have long been considered the sort of black sheep of the McCoy family with regard to our traveling and logistical prowess. Even though I had previously spent three months living in London followed by another two weeks of traveling across Western Europe, not to mention intermittent trips throughout various locations in Great Britain, my Dad probably had some doubts as to my capability when it came to traversing a continent, having no firsthand knowledge of my experience himself, but on the platform in Geneva he readily admitted to being impressed with the way I had seemingly mastered the fine art of getting around Europe, and for the duration of the trip he would no longer question me, Ryan, or Will. It felt good.

Ego boost put aside for now, we were soon on a train to Brig, and it would be about a two and a half hour trip through the pristine Swiss countryside. The trains for today required no reservation, so Alex had to be in the second class car at least until having her ticket checked, but once this was done, she headed back to first class with the rest of the group. I would have been absolutely fine with the company of my fellow travelers, but it was nice on a relatively uncrowded train to just sort of sit back, switch on my iPod, and enjoy the ride around Lake Geneva and through the heart of French speaking Alpine Switzerland.

On my previous journey through Switzerland with Ryan and Will, we had been a bit unlucky in that our journey through the country was hampered by a low-lying fog. We could still get a sense of the enormity of the mountains and the beauty of the landscape as we took the train from

Geneva to Brig to Bern and finally to Zurich, but we were far luckier this time to see the sun shine. There was still a bit of fog surrounding Lake Geneva, but the sun was poking through here and there, and by the time we reached the eastern end of Lake Geneva near Montreux the fog had all but lifted, just in time for our first real look at the Swiss Alps in the valley of the Rhone that separates the Pennine Alps from the Bernese Alps.

While the fog had slightly dampened our previous trip through the Alps, me, Will, and Ryan had lucked out in the sense that there was a solid blanket of snow on the ground to enjoy through just about the entirety of the trip from Geneva to

Brig. That was not the case this time though there were pockets of snow on the ground here in there. This did little to take away from the majesty of the Alpine scenery, however, especially with clear blue skies now providing the perfect backdrop.

We arrived at Brig around 14:00 and had about a 50 minute layover before we caught a short train ride to Spiez. On my last trip through Brig with Ryan and Will, I was lucky enough to have Ryan and Will stick behind at the station and watch my luggage while I treated myself to a quick 30 minute walk around the town and found the small sort of resort town to be absolutely charming, but as mentioned earlier, the weather was not so accommodating 2 years previous, and with blue skies above I was determined to see what Brig looked like basked in glorious sunshine.

I was a bit aggrieved, however, that no one would be joining me, though I admit that this might owe to my own selfishness in wanting so badly to see the town again, meaning others had to stay behind to watch the luggage, which, in the end, everyone but me did. It was in Brig 2 years before that I had really fallen in love with Switzerland, and I was hoping to share this experience with the others, but undeterred, I set about to retrace my steps from 2 years before.

With a layover of about 50 minutes I set out on whirlwind tour of Brig once again. Brig is part of the canton of Valais, which is a predominantly French speaking region, but Brig is just about where German speaking Switzerland begins in this part of the country, although its particular German dialect is specific to this canton only. It is doubtful that it would be listed as one of the top ski destinations in Switzerland, but based on my previous trips here I gather that it is a popular resort town for the locals with its Alpine surroundings.

I exited the train station right into the heart of Brig as I crossed the road and walked up a cobblestone street dotted with specialty shops. As I walked up the road my view was dominated by a mountain peak that loomed large over this part of town. It did not take me long to discover that Brig was every bit as charming as I remembered it. It will not be marked out by any tourist as a place to go out of your way to get to, but if it is on your path as you travel around this part of Europe and you have a layover as we did, find somewhere to store the bags while you enjoy the town's ambiance. Then again, if you are traveling around Europe, I am sure that you could find countless other towns with equal amounts of charm.

Some of the architecture conjured thoughts of the Brothers Grimm, or at the very least the fantastical German-speaking world. An ice skating rink appeared as I walked up the street towards a little town platz with a mountain peak once again rounding off the wonderful scene, with signs of Christmas here in there in the form of a large Christmas tree in the town centre as well as hanging stars, though still not not enough to quench my seasonal palate. My history did become a little hazy as I headed left from this square towards a hill dotted with medieval streets that sort of looms over the eastern part of town, but I soon found a familiar marker that let me know I was on the right path.

Helped by my past photographs, there was always this sort of baroque building, either a church or a sort of dormitory, that dominated my thoughts of Brig because of its serene setting, peaceful looking as it was. Plus, as I climbed the hill just behind it I was rewarded with a beautiful vantage point looking west towards the town and beyond through the Alpine valley from whence we had just come. It was this baroque building with its onion domed towers that left me in no doubt that I was retracing the same exact steps as before. It was sort of surreal to be in this same, small corner of the world just 2 years on, though it did look a bit different this time without the light dusting of snow and the blue skies revealing mountains in the background.

Not long did I linger at this baroque setting for I knew greater prizes awaited if I climbed the hill beyond. I walked through the courtyard and scaled a brick wall and found myself walking around a sort of medieval path that led up the hill towards what was either a mansion or a museum, though I cared little as to what it definitively represented. I knew I was close to my vantage point and, looking at my watch and noting my dwindling time, I hurried towards my destination to enjoy what I could of the view and take some rushed pictures of the town and its environs. I took one more look and one more photo before I headed back down the hill towards the same medieval backstreet that I had gone down 2 years before as I swiftly headed back through town towards the train station to rendezvous with the rest of my group before we boarded a train heading to Spiez, our final layover of the day.

For this short train ride of 30 minutes or so, Alex decided to slum it up back in second class with me since there was no need to really move from second class to first class for such a brief ride. She said she had enjoyed the trip through Switzerland so far. She was eager to see some snow, however, and as mentioned earlier, that was not quite yet the case. I assured her though that our trip to Spiez was bound to offer some fantastic snow scenery as we would be heading up into the mountains.

Or so I thought. We would be traveling along the same route that me, Ryan, and Will did 2 years ago, as we headed to Bern from Brig, but this time, we ended up going underneath the mountains whereas last time we rose high into the mountains which were packed with snow, even coming across a soccer field perched on a cliff side along the way. We even rose high enough to rise above the foggy weather last time, and it was such a fantastic trip that it was a real shame to miss out on it this time by traveling under the mountains, plus I felt a bit foolish since our journey to Spiez was spent mainly in the darkness of tunnels instead of snow-covered valleys.

Our brief layover at Spiez, however, did make up for it quite a bit. Our train platform was right across the street from a great overlook of Lake Thun, one of the two big lakes that surround Interlaken, which after all means "between the lakes." It was really one of the sights of the trip thus far as we looked over the town of Spiez to the lakes and mountains below with towns nestled here and there along the mountainside. We would be traveling along the south bank of Lake Thun as we made the brief trip of 20 minutes to Interlaken from Spiez, and the scenery was gorgeous as we were introduced to the charms of the Bernese Oberland in full.

After a decent amount of leisure traveling for the day, we arrived at the Interlaken West Station just before 16:00. Interlaken was indeed the land between the lakes, but it was also the land surrounded by mountains. Everywhere you turned there were mountains, befitting the resort town status of Interlaken I suppose. For now, though, we headed to our hotel, which was just a short enough distance away for all of us to walk and so we headed south on Rugenparkstrasse towards our hotel, a B&B called the Hotel Rugenpark. It was just a short walk down the street before we saw it on the left. We all crammed into the lobby and found a woman named Ursula waiting for us. She checked for the reservations and soon had us all lined up with room keys before offering us welcome drinks, giving us a choice of I believe cider and a sort of warm wine with fruit dipped in it. I opted for the latter and found it to be very similar to a drink that a Viennese friend had shown me, Ryan, and Will outside the Hofburg Palace in Vienna 2 years before. Ursula's husband, Chris, then made his way into the lobby to help some of us with hauling our luggage up to our rooms. When listening to Chris talk, his accent seemed to indicate that he was American, though you could tell he probably had lived in Europe for a number of years as there was a hint of Swiss-German dialect when he talked.

As we soon found out, he was born and raised in Roanoke, Virginia, not too far from our neck of the woods, but he had lived over here for 16 years now, living the dream as it were, at least as my parents thought I must have viewed it, for they soon pointed out to Chris that this was a sort of dream for me; to move over to Europe and live in great comfort and relative obscurity in a small place like Interlaken. After just a few minutes in the town I have to admit that this probably was not too far off of the truth, especially after seeing how content both Ursula (who was Swiss) and Chris seemed. They are positively some of the nicest people I have ever met and the most gracious hosts you could ever wish for. I, as well as everyone else in the group, cannot say enough about how kind and accommodating they were. Interlaken was a great place to visit by itself, but our stay with Ursula and Chris at the Hotel Rugenpark for a few days helped to make our stay in Interlaken one of the best memories of our time in Europe.

The lodging was not actually the most luxurious or anything (the frequency of cold showers was a bit frustrating), but it was certainly comfortable enough, and again, the warmth exuded by Ursula and Chris left me in no doubt as to where my first lodging choice will be if I come back to Interlaken again. We had a few hours to kill before heading to our 19:30 reservation at a place called the Grand Restaurant Schuh, so of course Ursula offered us a map of Interlaken, first of all showing us where our restaurant was as well as marking out a nice route on the map which would make for a scenic walk around town, pointing out that the old town of Unterseen just across the river would be worth a visit. Dusk sort of prevented us from really committing to this walk, but armed with a free bus pass from Ursula and Chris which we did not actually use this night, we were soon on our way out the door to walk around Interlaken and see what kind of amusement we could scrounge up for ourselves on Christmas Eve in Switzerland.

As the sun faded in the distance, we walked back up the Rugenparkstrasse, stopping off at a sort of mall briefly before turning onto the Höheweg, the main drag of Interlaken as it runs through the part of town marked by ssouvenir shops, restaurants, and hotels, including the famed Grand Hotel Beau Rivage. Before heading very far down the Höheweg, however, we turned off the road towards Unterseen and crossed over the Aare River, drawn there by Christmas lights that seemed worth a detour on this holy night. The sights on view turned out to be nothing more really than a little square marked by a Christmas tree, a pet store that caught our interest, and an overall residential ambiance encompassed by this part of town.

It was lovely, but the time of day meant we did not venture far into this dimly lit area, though we did pause for pictures on the bridge that separates Interlaken from Unterseen, with a sign pointing this out for us, though our eyes were also drawn to the silhouetted figures of looming mountains in the distance still visible in the gathering dusk. It is interesting to note that these two towns, which are literally a stone's throw away from each other, share a checkered past with one another. Interlaken, known as Aarmühle until 1891, was founded in the 12th century while Unterseen, which in Middle High German meant "between lake", was founded in 1279. They were in conflict with one another and Unterseen even enlisted the protection of Bern. The Reformation only heightened the rivalry between these two towns which today essentially form one resort town that acts as a springboard to the outdoorsman's paradise that is the Bernese Oberland. Done commisserating over the great Interlaken-Unterseen divide, we headed back towards the Höheweg to check out the few shops which were still open on Christmas Eve. This yielded some souvenirs for all of us, though the top accolade for best prize-hunting goes to Ryan who disregarded a Swiss woman's pleas that her shop was closed and walked on in with his typically cocky American attitude and looked around, buying himself a Switzerland t-shirt as well as a tobaggan I believe, having lost the one he brought from home already. In doing this, Ryan became what he despised while working at EB Games: a belligirent shopper who keeps shop employees at work longer than they wish, and on Christmas Eve no less. Or maybe I have just spent this passage making mountains out of mole hills. You be the judge.

Having sufficiently burned a decent amout of time shopping and walking around, we decided to head towards the Grand Restaurant Schuh and see if we could begin our dinner a bit earlier than our reservations had us listed for. This ended up working out fine and we were soon sitting down to what would be a famous, or rather infamous, dinner. This was our second night in Switzerland, and a number of us decided to try the fondue, because, you know, when in Rome. But over the course of the dinner, we found that there were those amongst us whom, when it comes to fondue, fondon't, a phrase made famous that night by one Matthew Ryan Grant. The overall reactions to fondue ranged from discontent, of which Ryan of course was the most vociferous proponent (though he had solid backing I believe from Beth and the Crabtree's), to outright apathy, the star to which me and my Mom hitched our wagons.

Neither me nor my Mom thought it was all that great, but we had least come to Switzerland and tried the fondue. My only real problem with it is that it is more of an appetizer than a full meal, but poor Ryan was having none of it. He resorted to eating most of Lisa's dinner to both sate his delicate pallat and remove the bitter taste to which he had subjected his mouth. For my part, I filled msyelf up with plenty of bread as well as ice cream, and was otherwise willing to call the dinner a success. But our eventful dinner experience was not down to the reactions to the fondue alone. The service was not exactly top shelf, and our waiter seemed to be openly annoyed and short with us at times, which created quite a stir with all the parental units, no doubt in some cases realizing Europe's worst fear of the arrogant American tourist at dinner. Actually, that was not the case at all. Being Southerners, after all, we remained quite civil througout the dinner despite the notable loss of patience of our waiter.

In reality, even though for European standards our waiter was quite bad, me and Ryan kind of agreed that the biggest problem lay in our families' uncompromising lack of willingness to adapt to the fact that Europe is not a service-oriented society. They bring you food, drinks, and the bills; they are not always there to be your friend. This is not to say that we had numerous experiences with rude hosts, but it became common for our families to belittle the European restaurant system for any number of things, whether it be the leisurely pace or the difficulty at splitting the bill. They could never seem to just get on with it much to the chagrin of me and Ryan this night. Our culinary adventure over and the night growing ever colder, we headed back to the hotel, where good news awaited in the form of the Robertson's, who had left Paris that morning and traveled all the way to Interlaken to reunite with the group. They had gone to the hospital in Paris the previous day where Christine underwent numerous tests before they confirmed that she had nothing more than a violent bug, probably induced from the overseas travel, and while she was still not 100 percent, she was well enough to travel to join back up with us, which was a great relief to everyone because Will feared at one point that they might even have to head back to Tennessee rather than embarking on our great European adventure. Needless to say, there were relieved hugs and greetings all around as 9 became 12 once again.

After the reunion, the rest of the group decided to call it a night given that an early morning ride to the Top of Europe beckoned the next day, but all of the McCoy's prepared to head to a Christmas Eve service at a local Protestant church. My Mom had wanted to attend a Christmas service while we were in Europe, and I saw that both a Protestant church and Catholic church in Interlaken, both of which stand side by side of each other, would be conducting Christmas Eve services around 22:30. With Ursula's help, we called a local cab service and around 22:00 or so, we headed to the church, which was on the other side of town, though with Interlaken being not huge, it only took us about 5 minutes to arrive at our destination.

After receiving instructions from our driver on how to commandeer a taxi after the service was over, we followed the local patrons towards two modest, but no less impressive, churches just ahead. It was a perfect night really. It was quite cold, but also quite clear as a result, and the full moon wondrously illuminated the snow-capped peaks surrounding the town, no doubt appeasing everyone on this most holy of nights with the scenery. This was the setting as we walked towards the two churches, quickly discerning which church was the Protestant one where we would attend the service.

We headed towards the entrance where some teenaged kids greeted us with a courteous smile and a "Hallo!" along with a service sheet documenting how the service would go as well as a candle which was to be lit at some point in the service. We said "danke" and instantly got the sense that even if these people realized we were foreigners, and I have an inkling that they did, they did not mind at all and were more than happy to share their experience with us as they pointed us towards the stairs to head to the pews upstairs in the balcony since the floor seating was already full.

We walked upstairs where there was already quite a crowd gathered as well, but there was enough seating here and there for all 4 of us. Some of the people, realizing we were a family of 4, graciously made room so that we could all sit together. From the smiling gestures and lack of verbal communication, I was in no doubt that these people knew we did not speak German, but again, they seemed more than happy to have us. Looking below, the church seemed not quite as modest on the inside as on the outside. While not on par of course with other grand cathedrals that we would see during our time in Europe, the church actually expanded quite nicely and made room for lots of people inside, making for a packed and frenzied atmosphere for tonight's service.

Looking over the service sheet, it confirmed that the service would be in German as we expected, but that actually made the experience all the more memorable. There would be a number of songs to sing, but the only one we recognized while looking over the sheet was "Stille Nacht", or "Silent Night."

The service soon began and some of the teenaged kids whom had greeted us at the door soon moved to the front of the congregation to give greetings in different languages, one of which was Enlish. Pretty soon, the service moved into a steady, repeating pattern of sermonizing and scripture reading from the Pastor followed by music. We could not of course understand what was being said except for a few words here in there given our limited German, but as one would expect, the service was not all that different from one back home, and religion has the power for any semi-regular churchgoer to undersand the gist of what is being said, regardless of language.

And so we sat back and enjoyed the moment, listening to the pastor and trying to guess exactly what he was talking about. When the congregation stood to sing, we stood with them and sang in the best Swiss German that we could muster as we read the lyrics off the sheet for each song. Soon after the service began, the candles that we and all the patrons were holding were lit, and many remained so for most, if not all of the rest of the service. The dripping red wax burned my hands and fell onto my service sheet (which can be seen in my photo), but I held out until long into the service before eventually having to blow it out before it melted in my hand.

I feared that my family would be a bit put off by the experience of attending a Christmas Eve church service in held in German, but the many glances I cast in their direction showed me that they too (aside from Beth fighting a little bout of drowsiness here and there) were enjoying this unique Christmas experience. When there were songs to be sung, my Dad sang with as much gusto as he does back home at St. Francis Episcopal Church. The whole wonderful experience made for a special Christmas memory for 2007, which was most especially welcome given the way that our time thus far in Europe had really not exuded the sort of Christmas spirit we are accustomed to back home.

Afterwards, we walked back into the cold air and once more enjoyed the starry night and full moon and illuminated mountain ranges as we walked towards a payphone to hail a taxi. We waited a few shivering minutes for the taxi to arrive, taking in one last time the glorious setting around the two churches before soon climbing into a warm taxi. On the ride back to our hotel, our taxi driver assured us that for Interlaken and this time of year, it was actually quite cold compared to the last few Christmas's. Global warming, it seemed, had taken a toll the last few years, but it was nowhere to be seen this night, and that was fine, because that is the way it should be on Christmas after all.

We soon arrived back at our hotel and wished our driver a "guten nacht" and a "Merry Christmas" as we headed inside and up to our room. It was around midnight at this point, so we thought we would be clever and wish Eddie a "Merry Christmas" from the future, but as fate would have it, he was actually at a Christmas Eve service himself a quarter of the way around the world and so did not answer our call. It was now time to call it a night and get a little sleep since we were rising early the next morning to catch a ride up to the Jungfrau and the Top of Europe. It had been a memorable night.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Hirten dort halten Wacht.

Singt vom Himmel ein herrliches Lied

Engel künden: O fürchtet euch nicht.

Christ der Retter ist da. Christ der Retter ist da.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Gott hat sich klein gemacht.

Liegt ais Kindlein im nächtlichen Stall,

hat erschaffen die Welt und das All.

Kommt, wir beten ihn an, kommt, wir beten ihn an.

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Liebe hat Heil gebracht.

Kommt von Himmel im göttlichen Wort,

nun wird Erde zum himmlischen Ort.

Christ, in deiner geburt, Christ, in deiner Geburt.