It's 12 o'clock somewhere...

What time is it? Oh, it must be noon in Gryyyyon!!! How I miss the sweet sound of these church bells out my window....

The Waste Land

If there is one piece of literature that describes the polar opposite of how I feel about the mountains, it would be T.S. Eliot's poem The Waste Land. To me, the mountains are a sublime expanse of beauty and wonder. Eliot had quite a different perspective of the Alps.
After a mental breakdown in England, Eliot decided to take a 3 month vacation from work to get his life back on track. His marriage was falling apart and he was not stable. During this time, he wrote his most famous piece The Waste Land. Specifically, he wrote part V, What the Thunder Said, in Lausanne, Switzerland. This poem described the mountains as a desolate place. He writes "Here is no water but only rock / Rock and no water and sandy road...Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit." Eliot makes the mountains seem lifeless and barren. This, however, is not the case as I have experienced. The mountains are lush with green grass, wildflowers, and crystal clear springs.
It is hard to imagine coming to the Alps and only viewing the mountains in a negative way, as Eliot did in his poem. My experience here has been one full of beauty and splendor. The mountains are create such a sublime landscape that can leave me in an endless state of awe and to describe them as otherwise seems blasphemous.

And the Mountain Sings

The Alpine Symphony is not like a normal symphony because it is 22 continuous sections of music. Strauss composed the symphony to match up with an experience of 11 hours spent climbing the mountain. It starts at twilight just before dawn to the following nightfall. It actually was the last symphonic poem written by Strauss based on an experience he had as a boy when he and some climbers lost their way heading up a mountain and were caught in a storm and soaked on the way down. It premiered on October 28th, 1915 in Berlin and first performed in the United States on April 27th 1916.

The first movement is Night. It opens with strings, horns, and lower woodwinds. Eventually every degree of the scale is heard at the same time representing the deep mysterious night of the mountain. Strauss amazes me as he communicates his surroundings through his poetic symphony. In the third movement, The Ascent, he starts the transition for the introduction into the main part of the piece. He presents two main themes that are reoccurring throughout the piece. The first is a marching theme full of dotted rhythms to suggest the physical act of climbing through the use of large upwards leap. The second was a pointed triumphant fanfare played by the brass which comes to represent the more rugged dangerous aspects of the climb.

Strauss even paints a picture in the movement called On Flowering Meadows through the use of pictorial-ism. He uses isolated points of color by the short notes in the winds, harps, and pizzicato in the violas to dot the landscape. I cannot think of a more talented composer who could write a symphony with such musical description.

My home away from home

After internet confusion and this being stuck on someone else’s computer, I finally get to post this a week late!

This past weekend, seven of us went to Venice. It was a few long train rides down as we watched as mountains turned into fields. I started to sweat as the temperature and humidity began to rise. Who knew that my body would forget about the hot Kentucky summers and grow accustom to the cool alpine breeze.

We wandered through the maze-like streets to get to our hotel in the San Marco area. After a few wrong turns we made it to Hotel Rio. The architecture in Venice is so intricate. We would turn down a random alley and find a beautiful church out of nowhere. Saturday we went shopping at the Rialto but my favorite part is when we found a small shop down a back alley that had antique jewelry. The shopkeeper was an elderly lady who smiled at me as I played dress up in her jewelry. As I waited for Tomitha to dig through a gigantic basket of beads, I looked on the other side of the store where there were old knickknacks lining the shelves and floor. It felt like I had stepped back in time and was looking at her attic. I started to read the titles of some of the books she had that were old and tattered. I suddenly realize she had four books by Lord Byron sitting there in their red worn book covers. They were in Italian but I could tell she had read them many times. It was funny to think that Bryon followed us even Venice.

Saturday late afternoon we went on a hunt for Harry’s Bar which was a common watering hole for Ernest Hemingway. It also was the place where the peach flavored drink the Belini was invented. The bar was right on the water and if you weren’t looking, you would walk right by it, as we did earlier that day. Everyone was dressed to the nines as we walked in, in our t-shirts and shorts.

As unique as Venice is, I was extremely happy for Sunday to come for us to return “home”. When we stepped off the train in Sion, I let out a sigh of relief to see the mountains. They were extremely comforting for some odd reason. It was crazy to think that I could visit a place as gorgeous as Venice and still prefer the mountains and countryside of Switzerland. Gryon had become our home and had given us the freedom we had been reading of in Wilhelm Tell. In Venice I felt very trapped and tightly confined to one area but up in the Swiss Alps I felt free to open breeze and safe to explore. (On the right is the picture I took in Sion as we got off for the first time in Switzerland after Italy. Even cloudy it looks beautiful!!)

Caitlin

Fidelio is a story of oppression and liberation. The theme of the story is its only relevance to Switzerland; it is relevant because of the story The Prisoner of Chillon by Byron which is about a man suffering in the dungeon of Chillon who is eventually set free. Fidelio is an opera written by Ludwig Van Beethoven about a woman, Leonore, disguised as a man, Fidelio, in order to free her husband, Florestan, from his unjust imprisonment. Looking back on the dungeon in the castle Chillon while thinking about the story of Fidelio, I realize how dreadful the thought of a loved one trapped down there must have been for Leonore. It is clear through Leonore's actions and dangerous situations she put herself in that she is desperate and determined to save her husband. She finds that Florestan is the one prisoner not allowed to be seen and that he is being purposefully neglected by the orders of the Governor of the Prison, Pizarro. Leonore makes several subtle attempts to see her husband but fails to find him. Finally, just before Florestan is to be murdered by Pizarro, she finds him in the lowest, darkest dungeon cell and fights off Pizarro to save him from his bloody fate. When they are reunited the music is absolutely great, sublime. The music which has been dark, ominous and full of sorrow has now been completely shifted to bursting with joy and refreshing wonder and awe. I do not know exactly what they are saying to eachother because I do not speak German, but Beethoven makes it well known that the two lovers are blissfully reunited. This theme is very common to Swiss literature (although this piece is not Swiss; it is German) because many found peace, freedom, and/or liberation on the mountains; I know I found peace and a sense of liberation of the heart while in the Alps. And so, the theme of oppression followed by liberation is shown to be true and quite prevalent in the Swiss Alps.

Everybody Needs Somebody

Switzerland was Paradise, perfect; even in its imperfections, dangers, I found perfection. The air was pure; the water was unbelievably refreshing; the scenery was sublime. I was spoiled in Switzerland in many ways. I knew that I had a family that loved me when I returned home (even though I avoided thinking of home as much as possible); the mountains, although beautiful to the point of breathlessness, could not love me back. This is something that crossed my mind upon looking over Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.

Frankenstein created a being in order to fill a void his mother's passing created within him; he wanted a creature, a relationship of reciprocated love. Instead of loving his creature, upon its first breath he loathed his creation. The creature eventually confronts his creator at Mont Blanc, the tallest and arguably the most beautiful mountain in Switzerland. This is where the monster shares his somber story of being completely rejected and further hated by all of humanity including the one person that could and should always love the creature, Frankenstein. Society's rejection of the creature is due to his hideous physical appearance. However, if one were to take the time to speak to the creature, one would realize how gentle, loving, and beautiful the creature truly is. Unfortunately the creature reveals that his only companion is isolation, the mountains. As the creature concludes the story of his oppression, he demands that Frankenstein create a companion for him, a being just as hideous and rejected by society so that he may have a mutually loving relationship with this being. Frankenstein agrees at first but when the project is almost completed he destroys the creature before it is given life. This demolition also destroys Frankenstein's creature's last chance at having the one this he has always wanted, reciprocated love. The creature then turns into a monster of destruction and death. Now death is his only companion, and together they wreak havoc on mankind, especially Frankenstein.

When we visited Mont Blanc I thought only of how beautiful it was and how wonderful it must be to experience the mountain; I thought "I could stay here forever." As a wise friend once told me, hindsight is 20/20. Now, looking back on the experience and the relevant literature, I realize that the mountains were different for me than they were for Frankenstein's creature because I have seen and felt reciprocated love and don't have that expectation for the mountain. One can always love the mountain, but the mountain will never love one back.

Childlike Wonder

Children see beauty and wonder in everything.  Everyday they make a new discovery, finding happiness in the smallest details. They live constantly in a state of wonder and awe at their surroundings.  However, this state of pure innocence and beauty does not last forever. As children grow, becoming adults, they lose the newness of the everyday. It becomes monotony, and instead of seeing how beautiful their world is, they are drawn to what they don’t have. 

We can only hope to catch a glimpse of the awe we once had everyday, as children, when placed in new situations where nature’s beauty overwhelms the senses, leaving only utter amazement.

This overwhelming feeling is what struck me when I first saw the Swiss Alps. For three weeks I wondered if the people who lived there ever stopped seeing the beauty surrounding them everyday. How could they? The mountains were so overwhelming and so amazing, and yet on the trains many opted to read the newspaper, instead of looking out the window.  They went on with their lives instead of stopping and staring in awe at the landscape. Every second of everyday they see beauty that millions never even get the opportunity to view in their lifetime, yet it is taken for granted. 


 Heidi by Johanna Spyri is a timeless children's novel.  It displays all the wonder and awe and simplicity of childhood, while simultaneously depicting Spyri's ideas of childlike perspective, as well as health in nature, specifically the Swiss Alps.

Spyri breaks it down for the reader.  Life does not have to be this large complex system that we so often become tangled in.  We create that, and sometimes it takes a child's perspective to see clearly how mistaken we are.  Heidi reveals this to her Grandfather.  He is so set against humanity.  For years he refused to come into town, or even so much as talk to anyone besides the priest.  It took Heidi, a small child, to show him the errors of his ways, and to teach him how to be apart of the community again. As adults we sometimes blind ourselves, we hold on to grudges, focusing on the negatives without seeing the light in the situation.  Children on the other hand forget, and forgive easily.

Spyri's next focus is, health in nature.  This is evident in Heidi's move to the city (makes her sick) and Clara's move to the mountain (makes her well). This message is a bit more basic. Spyri sees nature's purity as health and wellness for the body, and the mind. The Swiss Alps in particular are so untouched, they are pure nature, in all its innocence and beauty.

What's interesting is Spyri's connection between childhood and nature, they are both innocent, simple, pure, and most importantly, they are both ideal.  The health of character's not only increased as they moved into nature, but also as they enjoyed life more, letting go of their petty resentment, and became more childlike.  Grandfather is a great example.  Although he lived secluded on the mountain throughout the story, he was not fully well until he was able to let go of his anger and rejoin his community.  Therefore, Spyri reveals to us that being in nature is not enough, you also must have that childlike simplicity.

Looking at the Swiss Alps is utterly amazing.  You literally  cannot look at anything else, they are too beautiful to take your eyes off them.  However, this experience got me thinking. Why do we need to be ripped out of our comfort zone to "see" the beauty of nature?  The beauty of nature is in our own backyards and just like the Swiss travelers reading the paper, we take it for granted every day.  We look at the Alps and say, "This is more beautiful than anything in Kentucky."  We want it cause we don't have it every day, but how many of us would be almost indifferent to the landscape if we lived in Switzerland our entire lives?

Beauty comes in many forms.  If you take it for granted, one day it will be gone.  Kentucky is a beautiful state we need to realize the beauty that we get to see everyday.  It may not be as, "In your face," as the Swiss Alps, but it is still amazing and awe-inspiring.  Most importantly though, just like the Swiss Alps, it is worth protecting. If we fail to see the value of the beauty of our land, someone else will find the material value, and we will be forced to live with the consequences.

This is my last blog.  I loved my Swiss experience. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and I already miss Gryon. Thank you Professor Davies for setting up such a fantastic class experience.  I enjoyed every second of my time spent in Switzerland.  It was definitely a trip worth going on and one I would recommend to anyone. Thank you again for allowing me to have this opportunity.

Mary

Tristan; A Legend Transformed

Tristan and Isolde is a tragic Arthurian legend about magic, adultery and love...

Legend goes that centuries ago, there was an alliance to be formed between Cornwall and Ireland, through the marriage of Isolde, an Irish princess, and King Mark, the King of Cornwall. King Mark had a nephew whom he loved like a son, named Tristan. He was the knight sent to bring the princess back to Cornwall in order for the marriage to take place. However, while he was journeying back with Isolde, they drink a love potion, forcing them to fall in love eternally. Therefore, even after King Mark and Isolde are married they constantly commit adultery, even though they both respect and love the King. After a long period of feigning innocence, King Mark discovers their deceit, and orders Tristan to be hanged and Isolde to be burned at the stake. Miraculously, Tristan saves them both and they go hide out in the woods together. However, once again King Mark discovers them, and agrees to keep Isolde as his wife only if Tristan leaves the country. So Tristan travels to King Arthur's court in England where he marries Isuelt of Brittany because her beauty and the close resemblance of her name to his true love. One day, Tristan falls ill and sends for Isolde, but she refuses to come. Tristan dies of illness, and shortly after Isolde, who is torn up with grief, dies of a broken heart.

This familiar tale has been countlessly retold through stories as well as, music. Most famously, Wagner's Opera, Tristan und Isolde, which premiered in Munich, Germany in 1865.  He was inspired to write this Opera based on his own love affair with Mathilde Wesendonck, which caused him and his wife to separate after twenty-two years of marriage.

The legend as well as Richard Wagner's Opera played a large role in Thomas Mann's rendition of the tale.

Thomas Mann is a German author who wrote during the Nazi-era.  Due to his anti-Nazi political opinion, his German citizenship was revoked and he was forced to move to California.  However because he was a Noble Prize Laureate,  his books were not burned as publicly as his brother's and father's works were.

In Thomas Mann's retelling, a wealthy young couple come to a sanatorium in the Swiss Mountains, so the wife, Gabriela, can be cured from TB in the trachea. Her husband is a well known business man, who must leave for work, as well as to care for their young child. Once he has left, she meets an author who gradually falls in love with her, but more importantly, he realizes that she was not made for this world. He sees that she has a deathly quality to her beauty, which starkly contrasts the liveliness of her husband and young child. One night, he persuades Gabriela to play Chopin's Nocturnal and Wagner's Opera. This music creates the mystical, supernatural enchantment, which substitutes for the love potion in the original tale that draws the two characters together.  Once Gabriela dies the author sees her child in the garden and runs from him because he is so hearty, like his father.


It was a very prevalent idea throughout the mid-1900's that the Swiss Alps could provide healing.  For this reason many sanatoriums were set-up around Switzerland and were promoted as healing centers for not only TB but also for WWII victims. However, as the story Tristan reveals, getting away from the city and into the "pure" mountains does not cure physical illness. This was a deception spread by the sanatoriums. Looking closely at Thomas Mann's Tristan, the reader can see that sanatoriums around Switzerland were running a scam. Those who were cured left publicly in celebration, while those who died silently disappeared out the back.  In revealing the deceptive nature of these "healing" centers, Thomas Mann really demonstrated how human nature can corrupt even the most pure places in the environment. 

It is easy to see why people from around the world traveled to the Alps to attain physical, mental, and spiritual healing. Even today, the purity and incorruptibility of the mountains remains evident.  Looking around, there are no signs of power lines, no loud traffic, and no smog.  The mountains are an escape from the city into purity that is no longer easy to find.  The Swiss know this, and they work hard to preserve the beauty around them.  Their diligence has paid off, as hundreds of people around the world now flock to Switzerland to experience this untainted landscape.  With one look, it is easy to see why, waking up to the Swiss Alps for three weeks  has been the most amazing experience of my life. It has been truly amazing.

Mary

Three Weeks and Then We're Gone

It’s been three weeks since we first arrived in Gryon. Three weeks of breathing pure air. Three weeks of endless beauty; impossibly perfect scenery. Three weeks of sublimity. Three weeks. And soon we’ll be gone.

My previous blogs have been on specific experiences we’ve encountered thus far and the connections I’ve made to the literature. Though I’d love to enthrall you all with more writings on the simple things that happen everyday that make me love Gryon more, I shall restrain myself. Rather, my next two posts shall be dedicated to two pieces of literature: Coleridge’s poem “The Hour Before Sunrise. A Hymn” and Henry James’ story Daisy Miller. This post is about Coleridge. Ready. Set. Go.

An important thing to know about this poem is that it was not originally written about Chamouny (“one of the highest mountain valleys of The Barony of Faucigny in the Savoy Alps”). Instead, the poem/hymn spawned from Coleridges mind while on the lesser Scafell, a mountain in a separate range. Feeling the Scafell inadequate of such praise and adoration, Coleridge switched the hymn’s subject to Chamouny. Thus came about “The Hour Before Sunrise. A Hymn”.

As the title denotes, the poem does deal with the sunrise. The first half of the hymn emphasizes the dark night, or specifically, Chamouny at night. A sense of confusion is felt; chaos not yet controlled. Coleridge’s diction creates a sense of emptiness. “Bald awful head”, “dread mountain form”, “silent sea”, “silently”, “pierces it”…all descriptions which create an atmosphere of isolation. Coleridge emphasizes the dark and sinister. The mountain is silent and he “[worships] the Invisible alone.” Chamouny at night is a dark, beautiful, silent form, but dangerously enchanting.

Then a change comes, the sun begins to rise. “Awake, Awake!” the hymn demands of the “forest pines” and “green fields.” Coleridge tells the “silent mountain, sole and bare, oh blacker than darkness” to awaken. The chaos becomes focused and life appears with the sunrise. The hymn takes on a purpose rather than the “passive adoration” previously experienced. The repetition of “awake, awake” effectively brings the poem to life. Sensory imagery makes every sense, every movement of life, tangible; as does the increasing contrast. Though sunrise occurs darkness still lingers. Light cannot exist without the dark. Within one stanza Coleridge includes a massive amount of contrast. “Blacker than the darkness”, “all the night”, “night”, “stars”, “sink”, “morning star”, “dawn”, “rosy star”, “sunless”, “night”, “death”, “ragged”, “life”…I could quote for days the endless amount of conflicting diction. But I won’t. What Coleridge does, though, is create tension. It’s brilliant really because in creating this tension he personifies the Swiss Alps very effectively. Like I’ve said in past posts: the mountains are deceptive. While the epitome of perfection, the Swiss Alps are dangerous; they are beauty in chaos. There is evil, but there is also good. Light exists with dark. They are utterly dependent on each other; shadows in the night and shadows in the day. Such are the Alps, shadows of good and evil. Therefore, Coleridge’s use of contrast between light and dark, life and death, sleeping and waking illustrates the true nature of the mountains.

However, the hymn can take on a more spiritual meaning as well. When the poem was published in the Morning Post in 1802, the introduction said, “Who would be, who could be an atheist in this valley of wonders?” and it’s true. Looking at the Alps from the deck of the Chalet Martin proves everyday that something greater than me must exist. Beauty such as this does not simply appear from nowhere. The sun hitting the curves of the mountainside, the glow as the daylight retreats, the very air we breathe…it’s all too much. Though Coleridge insists quite vehemently in “The Hour Before Sunrise. A Hymn” that “God, God!” is the creator of all the perfection I believe that extends to all spirituality. You don’t have to believe in God but seeing the mountains makes you believe in something.

So, the hymn can also represent a conversion, the darkness in the first half symbolizing being lost spiritually; blind in the night. Then sunrise occurs, the mountain awakens, and with it one’s soul; belief and faith form. I think that is really what Coleridge is saying in the hymn. Praise, God. He created this beauty and life from darkness. He controlled the chaos. Awake and praise! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

I do find Coleridge’s diction to be a bit too flamboyant for my taste, but I respect and agree with his adoration. The piece personifies the mountain appropriately and isn’t that what truly matters? After being in the Alps for three weeks and seeing Chamouny, I think I can safely say that “The Hour Before Sunrise. A Hymn,” though perhaps a little flowery in style, honestly reflects the mountain’s character. And for that, Coleridge, I raise my cup of Swiss tea to you. Cheers.

B

Where Human's Don't Belong

Manfred, a poem by Lord Byron, takes place mainly on the Jungfrau, a tall mountain. Though I was unable to visit the site personally, the three of our group that who did go to the Jungfrau gave descriptions and took pictures that I was shown. The Jungfrau was described as an experience unlike any other and extremely beautiful. The comment that struck me most deeply and tied best into the poem was made by Becky when she said that with the thin air and steep climb it felt as if humans should not be there.
This thought ties in with the general theme throughout Manfred of the separation of humans and nature. There are different types of separation, with nature being personified as pure or evil but humans remaining human. Early in the poem(Act 1, Scene2), Manfred is attempting to kill himself by jumping off the Jungfrau. As he is deciding to jump, he is commenting on the beauty of everything, both of heaven and earth. He addresses the heavens saying, "You were not meant for me" and the earth saying, "Earth! take these atoms! (Act 1 scene 2 line 9)" He believes that he is not meant for the great beauty he sees above him. As he is about to jump, however, a chamois hunter stops him, saying, "Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood (line 11)." These mountains are pure and should not be tainted with suicide. On the other hand, the Jungfrau is the meeting place of the Destinies which are considered evil, evil spirits, Nemesis, and Arimanes(the anti-creator)(Act 2 Scene 3).
Great beauty and great evil are gathered together in a place where few humans can reach. Both aspects are utterly inhuman. Manfred is noted by both sides to be different from other humans, but he refuses to give in to either side, whether it be by giving his soul to the evil spirits or listening to the abbot. Manfred chooses to have his own soul, and as a result, he captures what it means to be truly human.

Ode to the Creature

This is not one of my best works. It is mostly just something that came to me as I was trying to fall asleep one night and happened to be thinking about Frankenstein. I made a couple revisions to the first draft. If I had more time I would do a better job of perfecting this, but unfortunately time is running out as this is our last night at Chalet Martin.

Ode to the Creature

Trying to fit
trying not to fail again
I mold myself to your ways
yet you're repulsed by the sight of my face
I can't change my scars
or make you accept who I am
I'll just get back in my sleigh
and drive far, far away

Time

Time is a unit of measurement used every day by humans. Our salaries are based upon the number of hours we work, the newest television episodes come out every Friday night, and it takes approximately ten minutes for a pot of water to boil while cooking dinner. When we do something we are not fond of, time seems to slow down, but when we are enjoying our lives, time seems to be lost. In The Magic Mountain, Thomas Mann flawlessly describes human's perception of time.

Mann starts the book by introducing a young man, Hans Castrop, traveling for three weeks to a sanitorium in the mountains of Switzerland to cure himself of disease. He is met by his cousin who tells him that his perception of time will changed while he lives in the mountains, and that "three weeks are just like a day to them". Weeks turn into months, and soon Castrop finds his stay at the sanitorium has lasted for almost two years. Still, he has yet to be cured.

Castrop finds the beauty of the landscape around him very appealing, and eventually decides he wants to climb the mountains. After several days of preparation, Castrop begins his journey. He soon finds himself in a storm, and escapes it unsuccessfully after discovering himself walking in circles. He checks his watch guessing the time to be around 6PM, but finds that it's only 4PM; his struggle with the storm has only lasted for approximately fifteen minutes. Though he attempts to keep himself awake, Castrop eventually falls into a deep slumber.

In Castrop's dream, he finds a beautiful city surrounding him. Trees and other plants are thriving in sunlight, children are playing with each other, and life seems to bustle around him. Two witchlike figures then appear in the sky, and destruction is cast upon the town. Castrop is jarred awake by the nightmare, and realizes he does not want to die. He checks his watch to find that the dream lasted but ten minutes. Forcing him limbs to move, Castrop eventually finds his way back to the sanitorium.

I found The Magic Mountain to be the most enjoyable story assigned for me to read. Sure, you could argue that it's one of the few stories Dr. Davies assigns where the main character isn't confronted by death at the end, but that's not the case here. Instead, I find Mann's view of time not only to be interesting, but very accurate.

When our plane from Newark to Geneva landed three weeks ago, I thought this study abroad program would never end. I now feel like everything I've done while in Switzerland could be accomplished in a period of 24 hours. When I read Mann's writing about how three weeks feels like a day in the mountains, I laughed out loud. It was as if Mann had written the story for me.

Luke

The Reminiscent Romantic

A stillness of the mountain air and the Dent Du Midi outside of Chalet Martin stand commanding against the veil. Our time in Switzerland draws to a close and though the wayfarers will see America in less than a week, their hearts transcend the Chamonix’s peaks, which they saw yesterday. As we sat beside the Arve, the words of Shelley and Coleridge came to life as they were read aloud by members of our group. The landscape was a perfect frame around unassailable Mont Blanc with the town’s buildings trying—to no avail—to cover the majesty. Into my mind whistles Coleridge’s words, “ ’God! God!’ the torrents, like a shout of nations/Utter. The ice-plain bursts, and answers ‘God!/ ‘God!’ sings the meadow-streams with gladsome voice/ And pine-grooves, with their soft and soul-like sound/ The silent snow-mass, loos’ing thunders ‘God!’ “ (56-60). It is hard to even fathom our own minute stature in the face of the greatness of the mountain.

As we journey ahead to our final weekend, many of my friends head to Veince, but I can’t bare to leave Switzerland. The open-air markets of Vevey, the smooth jazz of Montreax, and tracking Hemingway through the streets of Lausanne—those places will ease my soul surely!

As I end my journey and my blog before heading to Geneva, I can only think about Childe Harold and his pilgrimage. The weary Harold, a burdened traveler, enters Switzerland and finds hope in rejuvenation for the sublimity of everything that surrounds him. Things come full circle.

It seems so long ago that we landed in Geneva. Byron’s work personifies the refreshment and rejuvenation that the mountain air can offer, and have offered, to weary travelers; and my mind can only race ahead to the long train ride that will carry me back to America. I can already see myself sitting on the train getting my last look at Lac Leman, and Byron’s words haunt me again: “ Clear, placid Leman! Thy contrasted lake/ With the wild world I dwelt in is a thing/ which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake/ Earth’s troubled waters for a purer spring.” (CHP, III, LXXXV)

An Aesthetic Smorgasbord

My first two blog posts during this trip were written within the first few days of our stay. Needless to say, we have all encountered many places, people, and situations worthy of note since then. To avoid a mindless catalog of "things Jay has come across," I'll relate some of my findings as directly conflicting with T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land."

As most will assume, "The Waste Land" doesn't capture the beauties and wonders people often associate with Switzerland. Instead, Eliot chooses to focus his thoughts on "Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit" (340) and "red sullen faces [that] sneer and snarl" (345). While traveling through such majestic scenes as Paris and Lausanne, Eliot still keeps his concerns base: "You cannot say, or guess, for you know only / A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, / And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, / And the dry stone no sound of water" (21-4). One should note, though, the reason for Eliot's trip to Lausanne. He travels from England to Paris, and ultimately to Lausanne in search of some cure for his psychological nervous breakdown. This ailment could help explain his somber perspective.

Still, while reading through the poem, I can't fathom Eliot's inability to appreciate the innate beauty of his surroundings. The past three weeks have presented the most picturesque images that will later become fond memories of my short experience with the sublime. A quick glance to the skies where the mountains pierce the clouds inherently takes away any problems you think you may have. A true appreciation of these mountains involves your own realization of your insignificance when compared to such majesty. Your individual, egotistical troubles become nothing when considering the immutability of the Alps.

Therefore, Eliot's failure to disregard himself in favor of his surroundings leads to the dystopic view in "The Waste Land." In my opinion (and I believe all of my fellow classmates' opinions), if nothing else, the views encapsulate the very cure Eliot was searching for. In all fairness, Eliot's "The Waste Land" is considered one of the finest poems ever written, and for good reason. It is just extremely difficult to understand Eliot's bleak outlook when considering the physical appearance of that which he describes.

Home Sweet Switzerland

Ah, home at last. After a 3 day weekend to travel we have all returned “home"--or at least that is what it feels like. Having been at the chalet for two weeks now it is definitely easy to say that this place has become our home away from home and all who stay here are family. With the breathtaking view and fresh mountain air it is not difficult to see why everyone who comes here is in a perpetual cheery state.

Last week, on a beautifully clear day, I went paragliding. It was sublime, pastoral, majestic, and just plain amazing. I was like a bird floating over the mountains and looking down on the villages. From this perspective, it is hard for me to see that anyone would have a negative view of the Alps. This is, until I watched the aptly named film The White Hell of Pitz Palu. If the title didn’t already give it away, this 1920’s black and white silent film showed two hours of worse case scenarios on a mountain--from falling off a glacier and getting frozen alive to climbing a mountain and being stranded on the edge of a cliff for days with concussions and broken limbs. One of our novels, When the Mountain Fell, also gives a good description of the powers of the mountain, retelling the story of a great rock avalanche destroying an entire village.

I suppose you must always take into account all perspectives of each situation. The mountains are certainly a force to be reckoned with and all respect is due to them, but from my experience here, I don’t believe these negative views will sway me any time soon.

The Simplon Pass

The Prelude is a fourteen part autobiographical poem about the life of William Wordsworth. In part six of the poem, Wordsworth describes his travels across the Alps, and more importantly, his encounter with the Simplon Pass. Last week, our group decided to visit this famous landmark.

As the bus came to a halt, Dr. Davies told our group we had arrived at our destination. I was surprised because the Simplon Pass didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary; it felt like we had just driven to the top of a hill. I then recalled how Wordsworth wrote about the same feeling. In fact, Wordsworth didn’t even know he’d reached the height of the Simplon Pass; he passed through it without a clue. If I had not known that was our destination, I too would’ve passed through it without a thought.

As I pondered the situation more, I realized Wordsworth wrote about his feelings over two hundred years, yet I wasn’t feeling different from him. Sure, there were signs, roads, buildings, and busses marking the Simplon Pass, but the site wasn’t significant to me. The look of the place may have changed, but the nature of the area stayed the same.

Locked in

Wednesday morning we took a class trip to the site of Byron's Prisioner of Chillon, where we learned the history behind the poem.

Chillon Castle is located just a short boat ride away from the city of Vevey. When we arrived, we immediately went down to the dungeon where the prisoner, Bolivard, was kept. In the poem Bolivard was chained with his two brothers down in a dark cell, where he was forced to hear them slowly die. At the sound of his secound brother`s death, Bolivard broke free from his chains.  He asked the gaurds to bury his brothers outside but, his request was refused.  However, the guards allowed him to remain unchained, which allowed him to constantly pace his cell.  Although Bolivard faced horros in his prision, by the time he was rescued he longed to stay.  Rumor has it he paced his cell so frequently that the shoe prints remained etched in the stone.

We unfortunately did not see the remainder of Bolivard`s footprints, however in reading the poem together on location, we had the unique experience of witnessing the truth in Byron`s description of Chillon`s dank prision. I personally enjoyed this opportunity because it allowed me to better connnect with Byron`s words, especially in how he related to Bolivard.

Yesterday Becky, Ally and I made our first independent journey to Interlaken, Switzerland. Today, we took the train to the Jungfrou, which is the Top of Europe. It was beautiful, and brought to mind two of the novels we read in preparation for this summer class, Frankenstien and Heidi. Both of these novels describe the Swiss lanscape in wonderfully acurate detail, which can only be expierenced in person.  Pictures and words don`t give the beauty of the mountains the full justice they deserve. Sublime is the only word to define what we were fortunate enough to witness today.  It was as beautiful as described in Heidi with a touch of terror that can be felt in Frankenstien.

We Went to the Top of the World Today and Still Haven't Come Back Down

So today Allison, Mary and I braved "The Top of Europe" aka the Jungfrau. It was actually an accident. We were aiming for the Eiger but through a mix up that I blame on Mary we ended up on a train toward the mountain known as "The Top of Europe". We had to pay 24 francs for a one way ticket to the top. Not wanting to pay our way back we decided, "Hey, let's climb the Jugfrau." And thus our adventure ensued.


First thing to know: we were severely under dressed. Because we weren't planning on hiking on a snowy mountain our attire was less than adeqaute. Allison and I were in shorts and none of us had hats. So after climbing up and rolling in the meadows of flowers and hiking up some hills in victory we skiddaddled over to the souvenir shop for hats. I purchased a miracle scarf, and let me tell you, it's pretty miraculous. We then grabbed something to eat (bratwurst and fries for Allison and Mary, peanut butter crackers for me) and began our descent.


The entire four and a half hour journey was worth every franc. The mountains, meadows, clouds, sky...everything was perfection. We were alone and basking in the Swiss sunlight. I took over 500 photos of the most beautiful sights. I'll never witness something like that again.


We stopped at almost every meadow to frolic in fields of wildflowers and roll down hills. We screamed like crazy people as we ran around the Alps completely off the trail. We were charting our own path, leaving traces of ourselves behind us. Our laughter would echo and our silence would as well. We could go an hour without saying a word because what we were experiencing couldn't be described. There are some things that cannot be put into words, cannot be explained with any adjective in the English language; we said nothing.


We drank from the streams again and it was sublime. The water is so pure because it comes from the snow on top of the mountain. It trickles down and forms waterfalls, I think we probably took a picture of every single one. We ran into cows and goats and horses and random people who all spoke a different language. It was beautiful to behold.


At some point we began to cut corners and go off book. Into the wild we ran; screaming and laughing and soaking it all up. Trying to hold on to the moment, because the sun and the air, the very atmosphere, would never be the same again. We tried to hold on until we had to let go and move away, back into the wild.


At some point, probably around the third or fourth hour, we came upon a cabin. Secluded and hidden among the pine trees, the cabin reminded me of the Alm Uncle in Heidi. Not because it had some goats around it or because it was on top of the Alps, though those are all honest comparisons, but because it was so close to the way I had envisioned it in my head. I loved reading Heidi because it was a novel with no hidden agendas or messages. It was a book of pure storytelling. A book about how one person can make a ripple in an ocean of so many. A book about how a place can save a person. The Alm Uncle's cabin represents all of this. So, when we saw the isolated cabin, saw the wind caress the grass and the Jungfrau's reflection in the windows, I thought of all the Alm Uncle's cabin stood for and I smiled. I was standing in a place of magic and healing. I was watching the sun set behind the Swiss Alps. I was organic. I was alive. I was happy.


We did make it back to civilization. Our bodies hurt, but our minds were rejuvenated and numb with awe. And so they remain. We made it to the top of world today and I hope we never come back down.