Smiling ear to ear

            I never thought I would smile ear to ear from the sound of gunshots. But when I stepped outside the train “station” (platform) in the tiny “town” (cluster of houses) of Realp, that’s precisely what happened.

            I had traveled two stops further, to Andermatt, in search of the International Biathlon Union arena, and more specifically, in hopes of finding some Swiss biathletes at work. Andermatt ended up being a bit of a disappointment in that 1. The whole town seemed to be under construction, 2. I was ripped off at lunch- (“Come on now, I’m just looking for some frîtes to satiate my never-ending appetite from yesterday’s hike...do they seriously need to cost 10 francs?”) and 3. There was no biathlon stadium to be found; I needed to go back to stops to Realp if I wanted to see any shooting action.

            So back I went, and what started as a blah-ish long travel day ended up as highly dedicated stocking that was well worth the 7-hour round-trip commute. When I walked off the train platform in Realp, I obviously headed towards the gunshots (isn’t that what everyone does when they hear guns going off?). I couldn’t believe my luck. Ahead of me lay 15 or so student biathletes lying prone, shooting into targets, their coaches giving them commands, guidance—and sometimes reprimands. I introduced myself, making sure to wear my Dartmouth jacket so I didn’t come across as a complete weirdo, and the coaches were happy to have me watch. Yep, there I was, smiling at the situation, at the sound of gunshots, the cuteness of all the guys in front of me, while they were probably like “Who the hell is that girl and why does she seem to get so much pleasure out of this?”

Some of the athletes, once they had changed to standing shooting

The targets 

           After several minutes, when I felt I had outdone my non awkward time there (if such a thing was possible), I thanked the coaches and headed out. I thought those few moments would mark the highlight of my day, but things were just about to get better. After walking less than 100 steps, I came across some of the CUTEST baby goats (a recurring theme perhaps?) who were running around and chasing each other, sometimes standing on their hind legs. I of course walked up to them, remembering the tasteless peach I’d been storing in my bag for days that I’d been saving for situations such as this one. An old woman came out, smiled at me, and said lots of things in Switzerdeutsch that I shyly smiled and said “ja” to. I showed her the peach and asked if I could feed it to the goats in “kleine Stücke.” She energetically nodded her head yes, and started calling the goats by their names (which they completely ignored). 

How could this little one not make your day better?

After some time of running around chasing the little cuties and then instantly becoming their friend once they realized what was in my hand, the old woman’s husband came out and insisted I sit with them for a drink outside their house. I tried to decline, but it became clear that this was also the highlight of their day and they really wanted me to come sit with them.

            Oh my goodness was this what I had envisioned when I thought about conducting interviews in the Swiss Alps. The cutest darndest old couple sitting on picnic chairs under an umbrella, offering me “Bier oder Mineralwasser?,” us speaking in multiple languages, laughing at it all, all the mistakes and misinterpretations.  We talked about cross-country skiing, biathlon, all the people who come to the races in winter from all over Europe (and the US, I made sure to add), and I even managed to squeeze in a few questions about climate change. The husband was incredible- no matter what language I attempted to express my thoughts in, he listened intently and translated to his wife.

            When it became time for me to catch the next train, I asked if I could take their photo. They were flattered. I also realized we had never exchanged names. “Marksh” and “Tshudy” they said (I will interpret that as Mark and Judy). I attempted to leave without any “Bier oder Mineralwasser” (not another time breaking that bottled water pledge I signed at Dartmouth…) but it also became clear that this was not an option. Not only that but they also offered for me to spend the night. They didn't have much--a teeny concrete house, a little barn, and their three goats--but it seemed like they were about to offer me everything they had. Taking a bottle of their water was the least I could do to thank them for their generosity. 

Mark and Judy

So now in my backpack I have some Swiss Alpina Mineralwasser that Mark and Judy handed me while proudly pointing to their mountains. Hmm, I thought. There is much more we could have talked about here. Do they think that water actually comes from those mountains? And what about its plastic shell- how can they not connect that to our conversation on Klimawandel we just had?

            All I know is that there is much more work to do, many more conversations to be had, and that the bottled water I now possess encompasses my entire project—it’s part glacier (supposedly), part Mark and Judy (as well as my whole wonderful experience in Realp), and part complication and contradiction—which represent the heart and soul of climate change.