Standing on the Ridge Between Comfort and Panic

It's taken me a week to publish this post because I couldn't decide whether or not I should share it.  Well...here goes.
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On Friday morning of last week, all the ThinkSwiss scholarship recipients met inside the Bern train station to begin our "networking weekend" together. Lucky for me, as I only had a 4-minute downhill bike ride to get there (most of the other students had come from Zurich and Lausanne).

We headed to the Bundeshaus (equivalent of our White House- except there used to be a public parking lot right in front of it and there is still no gate and hardly any security) in order to learn about the differences between the Swiss and U.S. political systems.
Afterward, we toured the city by scooter with a badass 65-year-old woman leading us, fearless on the endless cobblestone lanes down to the river.

Scootering around Bern- WOW do people look thrilled. 

Out to dinner at a "floating restaurant" in Luzern. 

Overall, the 36 hours together were great--there was lots of nerdy science talk, many laughs, jokes, stories that made us quickly get to know one another and break any barriers of discomfort. It was an odd situation for me at first, because I found myself at the center of a group of girls, many heads turned my way, doe-eyed at my stories from Morocco and from the Arctic, laughing at my jokes, following me as we meandered through the streets of Bern. Perhaps this silent assignment as leader came from my knowledge of the city, or from my being one of the oldest, but I'd like to blame it Dartmouth.

Yes Dartmouth, I am giving you lots of credit right now, especially since you pride yourself on teaching us how to become great leaders. But I must say that before you, I was a doe-eyed girl who timorously searched for that face who could smile and laugh and put me at ease.

Along that vain, this weekend carried with it an intense vibe. Each student was here to study his or her own science niche. Students explained to one another what they were working on, most of the time topics that I did not comprehend. Some mentioned SAT scores (at Dartmouth this was not allowed so I felt like I had gone back in time to being four years younger, while simultaneously wanting to tell them they were breaking a rule and should shut up).

By 2pm on Saturday I'd had enough and was craving some time alone. Funny, because I've spent almost all my time here alone so was surprised to want to go back to that so soon. But all that English speaking to other English-speaking people felt like a break in some sort constantly-lost-in-languages routine I had going. The waiter at the restaurant we attended spoke to us in English, we walked as a pack of Americans on the sidewalks, and to be honest, I forgot I was in Switzerland most of the time.
So, in the mood for some exercise and a situation to say "Grüezi"and not "hello," I left the top of Mt. Titlis (where we had taken 4 gondolas to get to, and then shared the summit with hundreds of Indians and Japonese), and headed out for a hike.

Snow on Mt. Titlis. Dying slightly not having my xc skis with me. But also happy to leave the touristy summit. 

When out adventuring, I love to be in that place between complete comfort and safety, and absolute panic. It can be a fine line at times--the difference between turning right and left, or keeping going when near exhaustion, when turning back is the wiser choice. More often this balancing act is a mental game--where the scale is tipped one way from a loud clap of thunder amidst a torrential downpour and then back again thanks to a misty shower's reassurance of simply light rain.

I love to be in this place because it requires absolute concentration--it's my form of zen I suppose. You must be smart but not think too much so that you begin to worry, and then allow your worry to turn to panic. It's an ever-moving line; as long as you stay in this place, nothing is certain. It's a game and it is overwhelmingly addicting. As soon as you push towards places of discomfort to the point that you've swallowed them into your comfort zone, you must go find more ground to cover.

My one complaint about the hiking system in Switzerland is that it is difficult to get to the place of playing the balancing game. The trails are very well marked (not a bad thing- just makes getting lost difficult) and can be very crowded--some people hiking, but mostly, I am afraid to point out, people in cablecars and people eating at restaurants at the tops of mountains.

This is going to sound crude, but one measure I use when evaluating a trail is one's ability to take a really good poop in the woods. Where you can take as long as you like because the likelihood of someone passing by is quite slim, where there's a nice view, perhaps a mountain in the distance, maybe a sunrise or sunset if it's that time of day. The woods are pretty much my favorite kind of toilet.
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Some animal shots from along the hike:

Yep there are Bernese mountain dogs in Bernese Oberland :) 

And Border Collies

And cute cooows of course

I also met some very kind hikers who chatted me up on my project. But mostly we talked about how impressed I was at all the old people who go hiking, while they attempted to convince me that the Swiss are becoming fatter.

Some of my temporary hiking companions

Whenever I am traveling alone and meet people, one of two thoughts usually enters my mind: 

1. This person seems nice/cool/attractive/non-harmful- I'm going to talk to you more and maybe we will become friends or at least have a nice chat

or 

2. I am scared, this is sketchy, and I am going to walk away quickly now. 

It's unfortunate that I feel the need to create such a binary system. Those who I do not [sometimes instantly] label as nice/cool/attractive/non-harmful automatically get put in the "sketchy" category.

Fortunately, these fellow hikers fell into my making-friends-with-self-protection category #1. Perhaps the presence of women helped- gah I hate to use that as criteria, but that's what my gut tells me. Maybe also the fact that they kept pointing out wildlife, and every few minutes we would stop and they would not allow us to continue hiking until I was sure I had witnessed said animal. But mostly, such trust cannot be put into words, or at least not broken down into rational categories.

At this point, you're probably wondering if I've had some negative experiences while traveling. Well yes. Nothing terrible, but enough that the memories linger and the resulting instincts are now subconscious. 

My bad times in Morocco had nothing to do with me (okay except for the fact that I was born female and white). 

One afternoon, a friend and I had stones thrown at us while we were passing by a metal door, which made the stones hitting the door sound like gunshots. That was the scariest part. The boys (apparently boys throw stones for fun there?) only managed to hit my shin. And my friend and I got to ride in a Moroccan police car after--quite the experience. You could say the policemen were rather tough of these boys. 

I also had that typical man who's reciting some sort of monologue to himself follow me for a good several minutes. He was riding a moped, I was walking (on my back from a restaurant before my peers, in order to Skype with my parents at a pre-arranged time). The worst part about this particular scenario was that there was no hiding that he was following me because he didn't keep up with the traffic. At the roundabouts, he would wait for me to cross (which takes a while in Morocco- pedestrians have like zero rights..), talking to me the whole way in his mumbly monologue.  Eventually, I got to Café Normandie, my regular hangout, ran inside and burst into tears. One of the waiters recognized me, sat me down, brought me water, and offered to call a taxi. At that point I was not far from where I was living, so once I had allowed my heart rate to lower I proceeded home. 

My mishaps in Finland were a bit different. They felt more personal--less about me just being female--and also more unfair. One of my projects entailed interviewing Muslim immigrants (yep, even on the Arctic circle) and my first contact person was a Moroccan man who is now the meteorologist at the Rovaniemi airport. What began as a nice father-daughter-esque relationship (or at least that's what I convinced myself to label it as)- meeting for coffee and reminiscing about our favorite Moroccan dishes- ended up going in a direction that frightened me. I began to receive text and facebook messages full of winky faces and comments that do not usually come from someone you have met for the first time. 

The pinnacle of my fear occurred during a blizzard on the tarmac of the Helsinki airport when I was on my way back from Geneva, where I had visited my mom. Hoping to skirt the 20 euro taxi fair back to my apartment in Rovaniemi, I gave my meteorologist friend a call, knowing that he would be driving the same route. With wind and snow whipping through the line of travelers about to board the train, I heard my phone signal a new message that read "Of course pretty Rosalie. I wait for you ;)"

My heart began beating faster and once in my seat, I pressed the button for a flight attendant to come. "Do you know the meteorologist at Rovaniemi airport? Is he someone I can trust?"

"I don't know! That's not my problem; I'm just a flight attendant."

After a series of messages arguing back and forth about my ride home from the airport, I convinced my Moroccan "friend" that I had another ride coming and would be fine without him. God what an idiot I am, I thought. I'll pay 20 euros any day just to know that I'll make it home fine.

Later that evening (once I had arrived home safely), I received a text from my fellow Moroccan apologizing for calling me pretty. A deep layer of sadness washed over me, at knowing that a line had been crossed and that we would not be able to go back to our father-daughter café rendezvous--and probably all because of cultural misunderstandings. 

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This evening, I went to Marzili, the main swimming area along the Aare, to meet up with a man I met through the forum InterNations--a group for expats. I was a little weirded out that he contacted me directly without having met me first at an organized InterNations event (there was one that evening that both of us went to afterward) but he said he likes to run and hike, and since I am always looking for adventurous companions, I thought why not go meet this guy. 

Just before leaving my apartment, I thought I should take a look at his profile on the InterNations website since that was pretty much all I had to work with. I immediately noticed that his only other contacts were all females--lots of them.

"Okay, guard goes up," I thought, once again extremely annoyed with myself that I had made a snap judgment about someone, even prior to meeting them. 

Our encounter ended up being totally fine. He gave me a Rivella--a very Swiss drink made from milk whey. We walked along the bike path with every other Bernese resident who wanted to cool off in the Aare, and then floated our way back downstream. Our conversations were fine, nothing out of the ordinary. There was neither a spark of intrigue nor a boom of fear. 
When we returned to the grass at Marzili where we had left our belongings (because you can do that in Switzerland), I chatted for a few more minutes in order to be polite, put my running clothes back on, told him it was nice to meet him and thanked him for the Rivella drink, then headed out. I could tell he was disappointed--that I had given him the uninterested vibe or was playing hard to get. 
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A balancing act. A mental game. The difference between boredom and a grave mistake. Testing limits. Riding a fine line. Standing on the ridge between comfort and panic. 

There's a difference though, between pushing your limits while out adventuring and testing your safety when encountering new people--for most often, physical tests lie within your control.

But no matter the line you walk, you must learn to listen to yourself. You must be thinking, and not over thinking. And if things become tipped too far, you must breathe and search for a glimpse of zen amidst the looming panic. 

And most importantly, you must remember that it is this same tipping that causes growth. It is a matter of searching for a challenge without finding fear, pushing your heart rate without injuring a knee, exploring a mountain range without having to stay the night on the summit, and making a friend whom you can trust. These are not easy feats. But without any pushing, balancing, swinging, daring, following, hoping, and trusting, we would all be standing at the base of a mountain, alone, wishing for a companion and wishing that we could venture up to its high-up peak.