All photographs in this post are unedited and accredited to KZRochelle
This post includes: The Story, Travel by Train, The Bookish Connection, Scenes from Above, and Return Home.
The Story
One month in Switzerland, and we had already arrived at the first family birthday. The honors of the first Swiss celebration fell to my youngest son, so Younger chose the event of the day — sort of.
“I want to go to the Alps,” he declared without hesitation. The hesitation belonged to Husband and to me.
It’s late May; down in the city of Zurich, most days all you need is a light sweater. The Alps are still covered in snow — and, as a result of our minimization of material goods in our move, we have a small selection of clothing to don. As Southern California beach-dwellers, our winter attire leaves something quite a lot to be desired.
In addition, we have our two dogs to think about; we can’t leave them home all day, and they haven’t been on a long journey since the flight from Los Angeles to Zurich. (Should I tell you about the flight in the Leaving San Diego chapter? Leave a comment.)
We had to tell Younger about the problems his birthday wish posed on a practical level.
“If we can’t do that,” Younger said with poorly hidden discouragement, “maybe we can watch Friends all day.”
Husband and I retreated behind closed doors to discuss without an audience.
“We’ve got to make this happen for him.”
“But a trip to the Alps is hours and hours away, right? We can’t get into the Alps.”
As Zurich-region residents, we live in the Northern part of Switzerland, close to Germany. The Alps are in the Southern half, closer to Italy, though they do take up a gigantic portion of Switzerland. That’s the technical term recorded in all topographical literature.
While Switzerland is not a large country (especially to those of us who are accustomed to the size of the United States), it takes close to two hours to travel the nearly 150km from Zurich to the Alps. To be at the base. If we were to do that, we would not have time to get into the mountains themselves before needing to return for evening festivities.
We’d already booked the evening, having promised Younger a Thai dinner for his birthday that night. That promise had hung in the air for over a week. It wasn’t getting changed.
Husband worked his magic and found we could split the difference if we traveled to Mt. Origi, originally called Mt. Rigi, but renamed after footballer (soccer player) Divock Origi after he scored a brace (two goals) in Liverpool FC’s iconic comeback over Barcelona in May of 2019, including the sneak-attack corner kick from Alexander-Arnold.
With a peak at 1800 meters (or 5900 feet — over a mile for those of you who didn’t grow up with mathematicians for parents), Rigi would allow us to look out on the surrounding land which included three lakes, and, of course, the Swiss Alps to the South. We wouldn’t even have to hike up to the peak, though we could some other time — when we had the time — we could take the cogwheel train to the highest point. [Check out this map of routes which is also available in brochure form, in several languages, at the base.]
“Let’s do it,” I said. “And that Divock Origi thing? He’s Belgian! Why would a Swiss mountain be named after a Belgian playing for an English club?”
“Yeah, I know. Of course it’s not really called Divock Origi Mountain or Mt. Origi — except, perhaps, to Liverpool fans.”
“So, just us?”
“Yeah, just us.”
Actually, according to JungFrau Tours, Mt. Rigi’s name origin is disputed — though only Husband has placed a Belgian athlete in the mix. While some say Albrecht von Bonstetten, a Swiss humanist, named the mountain in the late 1400s, calling the mountain Regina, others say it’s more likely derived from local phrases for the grass and rocks that band around the mountain. Either way, Mt. Rigi is also referred to as Queen of the Mountains.
Travel by Train
Our family of six was able to get tickets on the train from Zurich HB (the main train station) to the Arth-Goldau station. We decided we would take the dogs instead of leaving them home for a bit more time than we were comfortable only to come home, shower, and leave again for dinner.
Duration: 45 minutes
Once we arrived in Arth-Goldau, we walked about 5 minutes to the cogwheel train station. We boarded to go all the way to the peak, Rigi Kulm, though many passengers got off at the several stops along the way — presumably for excursions on foot. [Check out this map of routes which is also available in brochure form, in several languages, at the base.]
Duration: 45 minutes
We boarded what was originally Europe’s first cog railway which fascinated Husband more than anyone else. We were almost all mesmerized by what appeared out the window on the ascent though. Only Older had his nose in a book and missed that opportunity. Out the window, we saw numerous hikers, plenty of cows (Younger and I won the Cow Game), and several hotels in which to stay.
After a total of 90 minutes of travel from Zurich, even the dogs were amazed and we arrived just below the peak.
The Bookish Connection
I am a collector of old books. Our move has rampaged my former library and even my antiquarian library was not left unscathed, but I could not give up a poor condition copy of a narrative by Samuel Clemens. Yes, Samuel Clemens. That is what the book declares. (I could prove this to you if the book were not, still, in my parents’ home inside a box until we are able to ship it.)
If you haven’t recognized that author, perhaps you’ll recognize the work. It’s a short book called The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Ever heard of it? Ever heard of him, Samuel Clemens? Give yourself a bit of wiggle there, most people know Clemens by his pen name, Mark Twain. That same author penned these words.
“THE Rigi-Kulm is an imposing Alpine mass, 6,000 feet high, which stands by itself, and commands a mighty prospect of blue lakes, green valleys, and snowy mountains a compact and magnificent picture three hundred miles in circumference. The ascent is made by rail, or horseback, or on foot, as one may prefer.” Thus begins chapter 28 of a book mentioned momentarily.
Mark Twain, American writer, essayist, humorist (are these necessarily distinct categories?) rather famously visited Rigi and wrote about it in his A Tramp Abroad, published in 1880. Twain speaks of steamboats and “locomotives” leaving smoke tracks. He notes fog and jodlers (yodelers) in his quest to see the sunrise from the summit of Rigi. We witnessed none of these, nor any of Twain’s foolish moments in ascent — neither did we experience them. Of course, we took the direct route to the top 150 years later.
Twain reports staying in the hotel at Rigi Kulm, which I was unaware of when I suggested to Husband that perhaps we return some year on an anniversary or some such celebration and stay atop the Rigi. Heck! Apparently, you can even travel in his footsteps if you are as big a nerd as I am.
Scenes from Above
Mt. Rigi Kulm is a popular place in Switzerland, and there were plenty of people there on a beautiful and relatively sunny Sunday in May. Sometimes, the people made the shot better, some times they did not — but there weren’t so many that a few shots couldn’t be found without any people at all.
I presume Twain saw something of this view, if somewhat colder and less verdant. In the years that have passed since his visit, there have been a few technological changes in the world. As a result, there is a communications station at Rigi Klum, visible from below.
As the tower includes stairs, I hoped to climb to a lookout several stories above the mountain’s actual peak. I brought Younger along to make sure to catch this Birthday View. However, upon ascent, it became clear that fences limited the public to a rather low one story gain above the terrain, and the view there, not markedly different but for the addition of a huge block of metal.
A fence keeps the crowds safe(r) from the sharp decline down the mountain, and, in one spot on the northwest perimeter, a gate hides itself in the fence. We, of course went through this gate — and trekked a short ways to a drop-off, which could have been navigated around if we’d wanted. I suspect some people ascend/descend on this route.
While we explored the mountain’s face, we were surprised to see quite a few hang gliders. Younger spoke repeatedly about wanting to participate in this, as though the repetition of his desire would convince his parents that, it being his birthday, they ought to put him in a sack in the sky and let him go. — They didn’t.
Return Home
We sat down on a bench, ate our lunch, bought a bar of chocolate, and came down the same way we went up.
And even without a souvenir or the experience of hang gliding, Birthday Boy admitted, “That was fun.”
KZ Rochelle 