His 'n Her Towels

Our Wedding: The Location, The Church, The Dress

Monday marked the two year anniversary of when Carl and I said our sweaty "I Do's". This blog was supposed to chronicle our journey to the altar, but instead it came down with a severe case of babyitis. Babyitis takes over your life, leaving you bleary-eyed, itchy, and certifiably insane. Trust me. I’ve been rolling around on baby blankets trying to get my scent to rub off on them, because someone told me it would help the baby sleep. Now my body is covered in rug burns, and the baby still cries when we try to make her nap.  See, certifiable.

Before this blog succumbs to babyitis completely, I might try to get some wedding details down. Since that is where it all began anyway.

 

 

The Location: Vernazza, Italy

Vernazza is one of the five towns in the Cinque Terre region in Italy. It is a tiny fishing village on the Italian Rivera.

There are no roads, or car traffic in Vernazza. Just a beach, boats, sunbathing rocks, gelato, and plenty of fantastic things to eat. The perfect quaint Italian town, where the locals speak little English, and everyone knows you (if you stay long enough).

 

 

 

 

The thing to do, besides drink wine from the local vineyard, is to hike between the five towns. It is gorgeous! My favorite place on earth.

 

 

 

 

 

The Church: Santa Margherita d'Antiochia

One of the main reasons we chose to get married in Vernazza was the church. It was built in 1318 right on the sea. The church looks like it is coming out of the rocks and water, and when we were standing at the altar we had the most beautiful views. We didn’t need any decorations, the views did it all for us.

 

 

 

 

The inside of the church was gorgeous as well. Typically, when you see one old church, you’ve seen them all…but this one definitely stole my heart.

 

 

 

 The Dress:

Three things I needed when searching for a dress: one that would fit with the venue, one that had sleeves, and one that was easily transportable. We were informed that the ladies shoulders should be covered during the ceremony, so I went looking for a dress with sleeves, that wasn’t completely modern and awkward against our traditional Italian Catholic ceremony, and that we could drag across all of Europe. I think this dress fit all my criteria pretty well.  

 

 

Day 6: TOUR de FRANCE - Part 3

I’ve been recapping our trip to Europe that we took this summer for our wedding. (Carl and I decided, after MUCH deliberation, to get married in Italy. We did some traveling before and after the big day.)

Here is what has been covered so far.

Days 1 and 2: Travel Day to Zurich, Switzerland

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 1

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 2, “The Climb”

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland - Part 3, "The Lost Files"

Day 5: Sion, Switzerland

Day 5 – Part 2: Sion, Switzerland

Day 6: TOUR de France - Part 1

Day 6: TOUR de France – Part2

I’m incredibly slow at recapping this trip, and it’s been 100 plus days since our wedding, but I’m going to try to pick up the pace since I can’t wait to get to the good stuff, The Wedding.

 

Part 3:

After the parade caravan left, we waited for the cyclists to race by.  When the helicopters started surrounding the area we knew they were close. We could hear cheering and screaming before we saw anyone. Suddenly we were surrounded by police cars, motorcycles, and cameramen.

The race was finally on.

 

  

 

Lance Armstrong’s teammate (can’t remember his name) was in the lead.

 

 

 

Followed by this guy in second:

 

And here comes Lance in third…

 

So close I could reach out and lick the sweat off of him.

 

 

And there he goes…

 

 

The rest of them flew by. And almost as quickly as it began, it was over.  Carl and his brother decided to cheer on the left over cyclists that were lagging far behind. It’s sort of tradition to run behind the slowpokes and encourage them to the finish.

  

I think Carl started singing "Eye of the Tiger" to the cyclists at this point. You know, just in case they needed some more motivation.

 

   

I never thought twice about the Tour de France before. It never seemed like a big deal to me, but it is. People take this stuff seriously over there, and it was a fun sporting event to witness. In the end, I think it’s safe to say it was in the top five moments of our trip.

  

 
  

 

Day 6: TOUR de FRANCE - Part 2

I’ve been recapping our trip to Europe that we took this summer for our wedding. (Carl and I decided, after MUCH deliberation, to get married in Italy. We did some traveling before and after the big day.)

Here is what has been covered so far.

Days 1 and 2: Travel Day to Zurich, Switzerland

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 1

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 2, “The Climb”

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland - Part 3, "The Lost Files"

Day 5: Sion, Switzerland

Day 5 – Part 2: Sion, Switzerland

Day 6: TOUR de France - Part 1

I’m incredibly slow at recapping this trip, and it’s been 100 plus days since our wedding, but I’m going to try to pick up the pace since I can’t wait to get to the good stuff, The Wedding.

 

Race time:

I didn’t know what to expect from the Tour de France. Typically, watching people ride their bicycles is so not my idea of a good time. For me, it’s on the same level as watching someone golf, weed their garden, or sort their socks - it’s a pastime, not a sport.

When it came closer to race time though, I started to get the impression that this was a BIG DEAL. I mean, beer vendors were lining the streets, and people had drinks in hand before noon. If that doesn’t scream sporting event, then you’ve never been to college.

The race that day was Stage 15: 207.5-km (129 mi) from Pontarlier, France to Verbier, Switzerland. This was a mountain stage, and the race to the finish line was a steep climb up a mountain to Verbier. I have a hard time climbing the slight incline up my driveway without getting off the bike and walking it the rest of the way. So, when I saw the crazy, zig-zaggy mountain these cyclists would have to climb to finish the race, I was impressed. Maybe, this sport is legit after all.

The weather was perfect. The sun was warm, but a cool breeze filled the air. This was good, because we had to exert energy, which I usually reserve for watching television, by hiking up the mountain towards Verbier to find our spot. It wasn’t easy, but thanks to the cool mountain breeze, it wasn’t sweaty.  

At the base:

 

There were people everywhere, from all over the world, lining the streets with campers, and tents, and porta-potties. I never knew so many people were so passionate about cycling. It felt like that time I didn’t know what LOL meant, and by the time I figured it out and tried incorporating it into my life, everyone looked at me like I was a total amateur. I’m sure I come across just as unskilled with regards to this whole biking thing.  

Anyway, people everywhere. Before the race began, a lot of people rode their bikes around, covering the same route that the Tour does. Seems silly to me. Why would you want to purposely put forth that much effort, when you’re not the one winning in the end? Leave it to the professionals, I say.

 

Meanwhile, others dressed up like the devil and rode around in circles:

We found a place to sit, just in time for the Tour caravan to come around. The caravan is  like a mini- parade, only awesome. Sponsors of the tour build these “floats” that have good-looking people aboard who dance to techno music and throw swag to us little people below. It’s a parade for adults.

 

 

 

We tried to score as much swag as we could. Hats, keychains, whatever. I didn’t care. I just knew I needed to get more FREE STUFF!

 

 

The caravan came and went and all we got were these dorky hats. (plus plenty of keychains, pamphlets written in french, european candy, and even more dorky hats)

 

 

I’d say we came out ahead on that deal! Oh, yeah.

 

Race day, to be continued………

   

 

Day 6: TOUR de FRANCE

I’ve been recapping our trip to Europe that we took this summer for our wedding. (Carl and I decided, after MUCH deliberation, to get married in Italy. We did some traveling before and after the big day.)

Here is what has been covered so far.

Days 1 and 2: Travel Day to Zurich, Switzerland

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 1

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 2, “The Climb”

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland - Part 3, "The Lost Files"

Day 5: Sion, Switzerland

Day 5 – Part 2: Sion, Switzerland

 

I’m incredibly slow at recapping this trip, and it’s been 100 plus days since our wedding, but I’m going to try to pick up the pace since I can’t wait to get to the good stuff, The Wedding.

 

Day 6: TOUR de FRANCE

The night before the Tour de France, Carl was in bed resting up for the Big Race. He wasn’t actually participating in the race; he is just one of those guys that believe his actions affect those of the athletes that are, in fact, competing. Take football, for instance. If Carl is wearing his #4 jersey, has received plenty of sleep and exercise, and has a well-balanced diet, then he can better concentrate on what plays need to be made that day, resulting in Brett Favre winning the game. Yes, Carl can control the outcome of sporting events with his mind. But, obviously, only if he is in good shape.

While my future husband was peacefully slumbering, I was wide awake. I couldn’t sleep for fear that gangs of cycling enthusiasts were going to break into our room. Every footstep I heard pass by I was sure was a psycho cyclist that wanted to come through my door and do a wheelie on my face.

Maybe no more wine right before bed?

I finally drifted off to a sketchy sleep, when very shortly after, Carl awoke. He was all happy and stuff. I don’t do happy that early in the morning, so I retaliated to the untimely wakeup call with hostility and noncompliance. The more Carl told me to get ready faster, the slower I went. You know, much like a three year old would do.

Our plan for the day was to meet Carl’s brother and his wife, who were staying in Martigny, Switzerland. Then we would all travel to the race site together. Since no one had an international cell phone, we agreed to meet them at the Martigny train station at a set time. That meant we had to leave our Sion train station exactly on time.

Now, the next few details are somewhat hazy. (My husband would say that it’s funny I seem to claim amnesia only in the situations where I was in the wrong. He likes to call this selective memory loss. I like to call it, convenient.) Sure, I may have been a little on the unhurried and uncooperative side that morning, but I did manage to get out the door on time. And even though I was completely and unquestionably on time, we arrived at our train station one measly minute too late. How that happened, I do not know.

We had to wait fifteen minutes for the next train to come, and it was a fifteen minute ride to Martigny, meaning we would be thirty minutes late to meet his brother. Carl was no longer happy. He hates being late. He blamed me for the whole situation and was not going to let it go easily.

I, in turn, was mad at him for being mad at me. Yes, it may have been a tiny, microscopic bit my fault, for which I was sorry we missed the train and made his brother wait without any way of getting a hold of him, so that he wouldn’t worry. But if we must go over this again, Carl was the one who found us a room in a hotel that wasn’t conveniently located next to a train station. HE was the one who booked us a room in a hotel that left me wide awake at night, worrying and wondering if I would be ravaged by spandex-wearing hooligans if I shut my eyes for a second. Oh, and lest we forget that HE screwed up our hotel reservations a mere day ago, almost making us homeless, and adding anxiety to an already stressed-out bride-to-be. HE should have known better than anyone that mistakes happen.

As we waited for the next train, we separated and went to opposite ends of the station. We needed our space and to cool down, before our “special wedding trip” turned into “just some trip with this guy I used to know” -- While I stood there hating on men, one approached me and, what I can only assume, began hitting on me in a different language. Now, I hear they say love is it’s own universal language, but this was not love. This was not even lust. This was dirrty.  I didn’t exactly know the words he was saying, but I knew it was no good.

I told him that I didn’t know. And to just go. This excited him:

You speak English? Me too. Talk English to me baby, talk English to me. Oh, yeah. Talk English to me.

Umm, no.

It took one disastrous interaction with that man, to realize that the one I have, maybe, isn’t so bad.  I went running back to my future husband, and far away as possible from el creep.

Carl and I boarded the train together and sat the rest of the ride in silence. I may not have been ready to speak English to him at that precise moment, but I knew in my heart that I would rather speak English to him than any other man in the world.

When we arrived in Martigny it took a quick look around at our scenery to realize we shouldn’t waste this day being mad. We had arrived at some place good, some place happy. No sense in staying mad.

We met up with Carl’s brother and his wife, who were having some problems of their own. Not like the marital kind of issues that we were having, but more of the airline-lost-our-luggage-with-all-our-wedding-attire-that-we-are-supposed-to-wear-at-your-wedding-kind. Oops. Luckily, the airline was able to return their luggage and another wedding crisis adverted. Phew. 

The rest of the morning was spent touring Martigny before the race started. I promise, things do get much, much better from here. And my spoiled brat tendencies grow fewer and farther between.

I wish I would’ve taken more pictures in town. Because it is really some place special:

 

 

Outside the window of Ben and Allison's room (BIL and SIL):

 

Quick trip to a small roman amphitheater in Martigny. It makes me laugh that this amphitheater was probably built in 40 A.D. and now it's still standing but with hotels and electric stadium lighting surrounding it. Not to mention a Saint Benard Museum (yes, a dog museum) off to the right, and a McDonanlds in the distance:

 

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quick trip to a small roman amphitheater in Martigny before the race begins. It makes me laugh that this amphitheater was probably built in 40 A.D. and now it's still standing but with hotels and electric stadium lighting surrounding it. Not to mention a Saint Benard Museum (yes, a dog museum) off to the right, and a McDonanlds in the distance.

What better place to resolve our differences, than a place where gladiators bludgeoned each other to death?:

 

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We never got to take engagment pictures...so why not do a mock photo shoot where gladiators bludgeoned each other to death?

 

Sometimes, love really is a battlefield.

 

To be continued......

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 3, "The Lost Files"

I’ve been recapping our trip to Europe that we took this summer for our wedding. (Carl and I decided, after MUCH deliberation, to get married in Italy. We did some traveling before and after the big day.)

Here is what has been covered so far.

Days 1 and 2: Travel Day to Zurich, Switzerland

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 1

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland – Part 2, “The Climb”

Day 5: Sion, Switzerland

Day 5 – Part 2: Sion, Switzerland

 

I’m incredibly slow at recapping this trip, and it’s been 100 plus days since our wedding, but I’m going to try to pick up the pace since I can’t wait to get to the good stuff, The Wedding.

However, I realized when I came across some pictures from the trip that I forgot a day - our last day in Lauterbrunnen, the day after the big hike. 

So, here is the LOST day, set mostly in pictures:

 

On our last day in Lauterbrunnen I woke up and no longer had the use of my legs. My muscles felt like they had been in an extreme knife fight. The hike the day before paralyzed me from the waist down. AND the waist up. I was down for the count.

I didn’t want to waste our last day by being immobile, so I forced Carl into performing a full body massage. He achieved some small miracles. I was at least able to put on my pants, with some assistance.

We had planned to go to Trummelbach Falls that day  – according to Wikipedia, The Trummelbach Falls are a series of ten glacier-waterfalls inside the mountain.  

Image courtsey of Wikipedia

 

According to Jamie, it was awesome. It was worth the thirty minutes it took me to hobble my frail self-destructing body there.

On our walk to the falls we stopped at the Weisse Lütschine River that ran through town for a quick photo opp.

 

 

 

 

 After that, we were on our way to Trummelbach Falls.

 

 

My eyes are closed in this shot. I may look like I have needs that are quite unique and dare I say, special, but regardless of my eye-opening inadequacies, this picture is a perfect example of how powerful and forceful the waterfalls are flowing through the mountain. 20,000 liters of water per second are moving through there.

 

 

Here is Carl inside the falls:

 

 
 

 

 

Views from the top.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I look like a creeper in that one above, I think I was trying to demonstrate how far down it was by looking over the side. Instead, I demonstrated how to look sinister and up to no good.

 

When we were about to leave it started to drizzle, but I was already a little damp from the falls splashing me that I didn’t notice the rain. Suddenly, I felt a downpour of water, all at once, beating down on the top of my head. I was afraid for a second that the mountain had collapsed under the pressure of the 20,000 liters of water per second, and the water couldn’t be contained anymore and a massive flood would happen and we would all drown. I have a very active imagination sometimes. Turns out, it was just raining.

It rained the entire thirty minute walk back to our hotel. It rained hard too. We were soaked and REALLY cold. We huddled under our little red umbrella. It was basically useless. My right side and Carl’s left side were still exposed to the coldest rain ever.  It was probably in my top 5 horrible brushes with nature. And that kind of thing is exactly the reason nature and I don’t get along.

 

 

 

As soon as we got back though, the rain stopped. Of course. And we went to dinner and enjoyed the rest of our time in Lauterbrunnen. Besides the rain, it was such a fun day. I miss Switzerland....

 

 
 
   
 
 

 
  

Day 5 : Sion, Switzerland

 

I’m still working on recapping our whole trip and wedding. I know I’m incredibly slow, and it’s been 100 plus days since our wedding, and it isn’t even relevant anymore, but the wedding portion is coming soon, promise. The other posts of our trip can be found here, here, and here.

Everyone has their bad moments on vacation, right? Everyone eventually breaks down and becomes a sobbing, angry mess; wildly swearing at your future spouse in another language that you previously didn’t know, but all of a sudden can fluently shit-talk in ~in perfect tongue~ at a train station terminal in a country that already has it’s judgments, in the first place, about crazy Americans with their psychiatric disorders and ADHD. [take breath here]

We’ve all been there, right?

Maybe YOU don’t have bad moments. Maybe you are an incredibly mentally sound person and nothing fazes you on vacation. Not even non-smoking rooms that have clearly been smoked in, unexplained rashes, or missing trains. (Not because you were late and it left without you. Missing trains, as in, the train went missing! As in, disappeared! As in, the customer service people can’t explain what happened to the 82,000 pound train. It just didn’t show up at 5:15am as scheduled. For. No. Reason.)

I’ll admit, I’ve had dark days while on vacation, and this portion of the trip happened to highlight all of my worst ones.

DAY 5:

Carl is a big cycling fan, and an even bigger Lance Armstrong lover supporter. Naturally, he really wanted to see a leg of the Tour de France since we’d be around that area.  I, being a compassionate and amazingly selfless fiancée, agreed to take two days out of our trip to do just that.

One portion of the Tour was scheduled to be in Martigny, Switzerland and end in Verbier, Switzerland. We would be traveling near there anyway, so we decided to try and fit a stop in Martigny/Verbier to catch the race. When we went to book a hotel, months and months in advance, there were no rooms available in any of those towns. They were all sold-out due to the Tour. So, we were extremely lucky when Carl was able to find and book a hotel in Sion, a town that is about a fifteen minute train ride to Martigny.

The day before the race, we left Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland and traveled to Sion. I was already a little aggravated when we arrived in Sion because of the whole missing train thing (the connecting train that we were supposed to be on didn’t show, totally ruining our well-calculated and time-sensitive travel itinerary. )

 
 

As soon as I stepped off the train though, I became extremely worried that we had accidently deboarded a steam-powered locomotive, engineered by a crazy-haired scientist named Doc, and equipped with a giant flux capacitor,  that had brought us back from the future (part lll!)* to a time where recycling and legal systems have yet to be invented. Because we just entered a whole new world.

 

I could’ve been biased, seeing as we had just come from Lauterbrunnen, a beautiful and magical land with cheese wheels the size of small Ferris Wheels, and sparkling mountain water served by striking blonde boys in clogs and lederhosen.

Sion just didn’t compare.

It was dark, dusty, and nobody in town looked like they wanted to perform a folk song and dance in the middle of the street to welcome us.

Basically, if Lauterbrunnen was SuperTarget, then Sion would be the Walmart of the Retail World. Nothing against Walmart per se, but if you’re used to the bright and shiny wonderfulness that is SuperTarget and then one day SuperTarget closes its doors for remodeling, leaving you with no other option than to go to the Walmart down the street where the blue walls, yellow smiley faces, and harsh fluorescent lighting reminds you of a psychiatric wing of a hospital, then it can be extremely unsettling. Especially when you know that the people of Walmart are probably not harmful and that your cross-body handbag probably doesn’t need to be worn underneath your clothing, but you are cautious just in case, because it’s a new world to you, and the lady in the wolf-howling-at-the-moon-t-shirt and water moccasins is staring at you like she wants to braid your hair, then strangle you.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was out of my comfort zone for the first time on the trip, and it was quite uncomfortable indeed.

At that point I was tired, hungry, and just wanted to get to the hotel. But, WHERE is our hotel? Oh yeah, someone forgot to research the exact location of this hotel when he booked it. Leaving us walking around Sion, carrying every piece of luggage we owned, burying our heads in maps that we couldn't comprehend, with flashing neon signs above us that read Live Nudes! TOURISTS! WE ARE TOURISTS FROM AMERICA! MUG US!!

When we found the one and only person in Sion who spoke English, (I’m not saying they should have to speak English, it’s their country after all.) the woman informed us that our hotel was not within walking distance. She suggested a cab.

One small problem, we did not have any cash to pay for a cab, because someone forgot to take out money before he left Lauterbrunnen**.  As a result, we had to do another few laps around town, with our luggage and our flashing neon "MUG US SOME MORE" signs in tow, to look for an ATM or a bank. Regrettably, we didn’t do the responsible thing before we left the States, which would be to learn some important French terms, for example: “ATM” or “Bank”, putting us in an awkward situation when we tried to withdraw money from the local post office. (true story)

When we finally found a real ATM and a cab driver who could interpret our wild hand gestures, we made it to our hotel that so happened to be in the middle of nowhere, not conveniently located in town or next to the train station at all.

Another hotel fun fact: upon checking in, we found out that we only had reservations for the first night, instead of two nights, like we needed. It seemed that when Carl booked our reservations online, he reserved the first night with no problem, but when he went to reserve the second night he accidently booked the room for exactly a year later and didn’t realize it. This means, if we want to go back to Sion on July 19^th, 2010, we can! Because we already have a reservation!

It was an accident, but a very HUGE accident, seeing as it left us without a place to stay the next night, due to NO OTHER ROOMS BEING AVAILABLE! Every room within a fifty mile radius was booked  because of the Tour de France. We were hoteless in a strange place. [Enter excessive profanity here]

To be continued…………

 

* I think this is the second time in this blog that I have referenced the Back to the Future trilogy. In case you’re wondering, this is a good thing.

** My husband doesn’t read this blog, so I can place blame on him for all things that go wrong and there is nothing he can do about it. Really, it is his fault; he should take more of an interest in what I’m putting out to the public.

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland - Part 2, "The Climb"

When I told Carl about my brilliant plan to hike a mountain in Switzerland, his eyebrows performed an interpretive dance for me. They bounced to the top of his forehead in surprise, raising and lowering as he processed this information, fish-hooking every so often in suspicion, and then curtseying into a furrowed brow.

I interpreted this as confusion. Confusion about the girl who gets altitude sickness on an elliptical machine, the girl who wears high heels to football games, the girl who drives around the parking lot of her gym waiting for a front row spot so she doesn’t have to walk too far --this is the girl who now wants to climb a mountain in Switzerland?

Carl was very apprehensive at first; knowing my track record for never finishing what I start, he was probably correct in assuming that I’d beg him to leave me there, FOR DEATH, after only the first 30 elevated feet. Nevertheless, after weeks of convincing him I would not be a baby, here we stand at the base of what I can only describe as the biggest freaking Stairmaster EVER.

 

I can start to feel the intimidation in my neck as I gaze up at The Mountain. Looking forward is a fallacy, for I know this pleasant dirt road won’t stay horizontal for long. Shivers run down my exposed legs; the air is cool, but I’m not entirely sure this is a temperature related chill.

 

I notice the morning sun is staring down at me. She has formed an alliance with The Mountain and together they begin threatening our mission. The only defenses I have are in a quart-sized Ziploc bag in Carl’s backpack. I shield myself with some spray of the bug, nasal, and sunblock variety. I spray two coats of SPF 60 on my skin, and secretly wonder to myself if that equals the protection of SPF 120.  Hey, I ’m going to be a bride in 9 days, my biggest fear right now is not-so-much falling off a treacherous cliff, but having evil tan lines on my wedding day.

 

There are butterflies in my stomach fluttering at the speed of a hummingbird's wings. One would think with this crazy hybrid activity happening in my abdomen that I was getting ready to ask The Mountain out on a date or something. Butterflies or not, I have procrastinated for as long as I can get away with and Carl takes my balmy hand in his as we take our first steps together. 

 

I am being pushed upward, but I don’t care. I’m already madly in love with this mountain. My eyes are open as wide as possible so that I don’t miss a single moment, but it goes by so fast, and seems to last forever at the same time. Now I know what Michael Bolton has been going on about all these years. Tell me, how am I supposed to live without you now, Mountain?

 

Our pace is quick, as if we have an amazing race to finish, until one of us sees: a bird, a stream, or a rock in the shape of Betty White. We have to stop and stare at it, and maybe write a love ballad with a romantic saxophone break in the middle about the gloriousness of the bird, stream, or Betty White rock. This happens often. We’re basically going up a down escalator.

 

  

We are getting higher now and I can no longer see where we started from.  To my left is every landscape painting I have ever seen hanging above a couch in a living room. Except these colors weren’t faded from hanging in direct sunlight; these colors came alive in the sun. There is a comforting breeze flowing through the colors and I breathe in The Mountain’s scent. It smells like clean laundry. It’s so fresh and crisp that I want to iron pleats into it.

Someone should really try to bottle this scent up.

 

 

Even higher still. 

The tension in my legs feels good and our conversations roll as effortlessly as the hills. This is all too easy.

We talk about baby names, dream houses, and owning a farm raising nothing but hundreds of cute little puppies. Screaming babies, mortgage payments, and dog poop do not even exist in our world.

 

As we round the bend the floating sensation I have been experiencing has dropped out from underneath me. The ground has found me and my breath has escaped me. I am floored.

We’re here in silence now because there are no words to describe it. I feel so close to him in this moment, closer than ever before, because he sees what I see too. 

This is the happiest I have ever been.

 

 

 

We have everything we need right here. I can’t imagine how we could ever leave this moment, but we do. We continue in the same direction, but something’s not quite right. The path has changed. I always knew this would happen, but I had myself fooled into thinking that we would be different.

We forge on.

 

My throat is parched. I swallow and it feels like the sands of time are being poured down my throat. The last hour of this trail has been nothing but hiking upwards with cinder blocks strapped to my thighs. The tension in my legs no longer feels good.

What was I thinking? 

I don’t care anymore what middle names my nonexistent children will have. I don’t want to sing songs about mystical woodland creatures. I just need water and I need to use the restroom.

In the distance I see a chicken playing an imaginary game of hopscotch down a dirt road. Am I seeing things, or is that chicken leading me to a town?

 

 
 

The town, if you can even call it that, is pretty desolate. There are three buildings that look like the two lesser intelligent little pigs built them out of straw and sticks. One of the buildings appears to be a chicken coop built into the side of the very steep mountain. That seems dangerous to me. If I were a chicken I wouldn’t want to be layin’ my eggs on the edge of a 5,000 foot drop, especially when eggs aren’t particularly square. 

To each her own, I guess.

 

 

The other building looks like a pig barn with a diner attached to it - how convenient.

I start making my way over to the diner, praying a bathroom is inside, when a man steps out from behind the barn. He is a big man, the epitome of burly. He doesn’t look like a hiker. He looks like a hiker’s worst enemy.

As the man moves closer I can see he is holding an axe, and suddenly I don’t have to pee anymore.

 

  

Carl is running after me, assuring me that the man is probably going to chop wood or something. He tells me there is nothing to be afraid of. I tell him that is exactly the kind of thing Hiker #1 says in the movies before his credits end FOR GOOD.

Hiker#1 and Hiker#2 get lost in the woods and approach an axe wielding mountain man? I don’t think so!

We leave as quickly as my feet will take us, the Axe Man doesn’t seem to be following. Maybe he really is just going to chop wood. Oh well.

The good news is that I got my second wind back. Bad news is it doesn’t last for long. Our path has grown more jagged and black. My calves scream at me with each step I take. We keep traveling up with no end in sight.  I’m out of breath, the air is thin, and my sides are aching. I do not want to continue. I can’t possibly continue. I tell Carl I cannot go up anymore. He tells me that the only way is up. I correct him. Actually, we could go down. Down is a very viable option. He suggests we keep moving.

 

I’m angry. I feel slightly guilty for being mad at the man I promised to marry in nine days, but I can’t help it. He knows I’m not capable of this! He shouldn’t have listened to me when I suggested this! This is his fault entirely! Why is he doing this to me? Gah!

Carl turns around and grabs me by the hand. I consider he might have been reading my mind, so I think good thoughts about him just in case. He pulls me close to him and starts singing some ridiculously girly pop song. It sounds vaguely like Taylor Swift. He does this to cheer me up, and it works.

He makes me laugh and I forget what I was even mad about. The pain slowly fades into the background and I know I’m making the right choice now by continuing on. I try to stay positive because he’s trying so hard to help me not look down.

The rocks are getting steeper now. It's getting harder and harder for me to reach the next step.

Carl lifts me up and over a particularly abrupt rock, and I see that we have arrived.

We have reached the top!

I am relieved, but amazed. Every feeling of doubt has vanished, and I feel nothing but pride at this moment. We have loved, strived, struggled, laughed and accomplished all of this, and we did it together.

 It is all I could have ever hoped for.

 

Days 2-4: Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland - Part 1

I was stumbling around on the internet, researching places to go on our trip, and typed something like, “what is Switzerland all about?” in Google’s search bar.  And with all its magical Googleicious powers, I landed on a blog written about Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland. In fact, it was an article about the camping accommodations there. I had every intention of clicking the big ‘X’ in the upper right-hand corner, to exit me as far away from the words “camping” “waterproofing” and “Gore-Tex” as possible.  

Camping is fun, from what I hear, but I do not need to be wrestling a big wet bear over my fragile, not-waterproof, easily shreddable wedding dress. At least, that was the image that came to my head when I put camping and wedding trip in the same sentence.

As I was saying, I was all set to exit away from Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland, when my eye glanced towards a picture similar to this one:

 

After seeing this picture, I thought, surely they have to have some hotel accommodations somewhere in that town. It was too beautiful not to see with my own eyes.

 

And I was right.

We arrived in Lauterbrunnen by train. One of those trains that you can stick your head out the top of the window and yodel…

 

 

I knew as soon as I de-boarded the train that this would be one of my favorite places in the world.  

We wheeled our two suitcases (both airport-approved at exactly 50 lbs. a piece, thank you very much) and carried our two garment bags, plus two carry-ons, up a more-than-slight incline to town. When I finally got a chance to look at my surroundings I totally lost my shit. I was in such shock. I dropped everything I was doing and just stood and stared. It was so magnificent, and everything else felt so small.  

 

Unfortunately, while I was looking up and drooling, my soon-to-be husband was chasing my suitcase  as it rolled back down the hill.

 

We walked down the  town's one main street, with little shops and restaurants that lined the whole way, to get to our the hotel. Along the way, the town’s clock struck three and the church bells went wild. I stopped and braced myself at that moment, as I fully expected hundreds of little wooden people to come dancing out of those shops, spinning robotically around and singing “It’s a Small World After All”.

With its coo-coo clock houses and its cheese wheels too large for real life, Lauterbrunnen was a Disney-ish kind of world. The German version.

Our hotel, Hotel Staubbach, was the very last hotel on the street. It was difficult dragging our bags there, but in the end I would have walked even farther than that, it was a great place. We stayed in a room with a balcony facing the Staubbach Falls. BEST. VIEWS. EVER.

Hotel Staubbach

 

View of Staubbach Falls from the balcony of our room:

 

View from our bed:

View from the balcony (please ignore our travel weary presence):

 

 

 

 
   

Our Room:

 

 
  

The pictures do not accurately portray the Awe-mazing views, but we really did have the best scenery surrounding us. The falls, the mountains, the valley, everything that could ever be described as beautiful was right there, being all good-looking and intimidating, staring us directly in our meek little American faces.

The falls illuminated after dark. Coupled with the blue shine that reflected off of the moon, it was the perfect nightlight for late night bathroom trips. It was terrifying and brilliant, at the same time, to see those monstrous mountains in the dark that way. I guess it’s easier for me to describe it in vampire-speak: if the mountains were vampires, they would be The Cullen Family - beautiful beyond words, but yet, you can’t help being a little afraid of them.

(Oh, no she didn’t just throw a Twilight reference in there!)

Oh, yes. I did.

On the first day there we had planned to eat dinner and go right to bed, but we suddenly didn’t feel tired anymore. We had our first dinner of fondue, which I guess is Switzerland’s thang. And I think Carl ordered some German dish, probably something with sauerkraut.

 

After dinner we walked to the top of the Staubbach falls and climbed underneath the waterfall. It had started to rain at that point, but it did not matter. It was the first time I didn't care if it was raining on my vacation. Honestly, I didn’t even notice.

 

 

 

To Be Continued......

 

Days 1 and 2: Travel Day to Zurich, Switzerland

Enough with the small talk. I’m just going to jump right into our trip. I need to get it written down on paper before I start to lose all my memories:

Day 1 and 2: Travel Day to Zurich, Switzerland

Everyone, who has ever been to Europe before, told us to pack light. So, I only packed one suitcase instead of two. I packed that thing tighter than Octomom’s uterus. And when we got to the airport, we were that couple. The ones that were flinging clothes and undergarments at each other trying to make up for the fact that one suitcase (my suitcase) was feeling a bit bloated that day.  90 extra dollars too bloated, actually.

The scene played out something like this:

Me: Here take my shampoo!

Carl: There are only 5 ounces in that, give me something more substantial!

Me: You forgot there's 3 extra ounces in the packaging!

Carl: Still not good enough! Give me your hairdryer! Check the weight now! …..still over?! Dammit! Give me your pink shoes! No, these are brown, give me the pink ones!

Me: What difference does color make?!

The pressure to make weight, while everyone in line is glaring at you, is UNREAL. I imagine that is what an anorexic person goes through when they step on a scale and see that they are 30 ounces too heavy. So, they have to strip off all their clothes and run in place until they meet their goal weight. All the while others are staring in disbelief, screaming at them, "Why can't you just be normal!"

Besides our checked bags, we had two carry-on’s per person; our garment bags that housed our wedding attire, and a backpack. It was quite a load, but necessary for the wedding. (Sidenote: for anyone having a destination wedding, those black luggage garment bags work really well. They are easy to carry and both Carl’s suit and my wedding dress barely had any wrinkles and we had to lug those things on multiple trains and airplane compartments for 11 days before the wedding)

We made our first flight fine, but we were late to our connecting flight in New York. We were the last people to board the plane, and of course, there were no more overhead bins to put our garment bags in. The flight attendant told me I would have to check my garment bag. I told her, “But it’s my WEDDING DRESS!”

Not a flicker of compassion shone through those black, frigid eyes as she told me there was still no room, and I would have to check it. I have never wanted to takedown someone as much as I wanted to take her down and shove that stone cold face into the peanut encrusted aisle floor at that moment.

Did I say this was just some random pretty party dress? No.

Did I say this was a completely normal dress, to wear to some casual everyday occasion? No.

This was my WEDDING dress, and it does not get checked. Ya hear?

Carl took one look at me and knew he’d better act fast before the tears of NOT joy inundated the aircraft. He grabbed my garment bag from me and sought help from a gentler, more user-friendly flight attendant, and together they found a safe home for my dress in a First Class overhead compartment, where it belonged in the first place. And all was right in the world again.

We arrived in Zurich the next day and MAN ALIVE, Switzerland is really proud of their country. Like, really, really proud. Like, my-child-is-an-honor-student-and-loves-to-clean-his-room-and-reads-to-blind-kids-for-fun kind of proud.

They have Swiss flags EVERYWHERE to showcase this pride. EVERY. WHERE. And if you didn’t get the point from the flags waving in your face, then maybe their naming system would tip you off. For example, an airport in Switzerland is not an airport, it is a Swissport. A telephone? Swissphone. Swissknife. Swisstrain. Swisschocolate. Swisschair. Swisswatch. SwissBank. Swisscheese. Is that a cow? No, it’s a Swisscow.

The Swiss also like to keep things ridiculously clean. I saw a janitor dusting his broom handle; that is how clean they keep their country. I understand it though, because  if I grew up there I would have cleaned my room more often too.  The surroundings are so beautiful that you don’t want any mess to infiltrate the beauty of it. You feel a personal duty to protect and maintain it. Similar to if I was a model; I would probably feel obligated to shave my legs more often, because if you’re blessed with something beautiful, you have to handle the upkeep.

To be continued….