I figured if I managed to pull off running Ultravasan I would be deserving of some creative rest and recreation. And where could be more restful and restorative than Switzerland? A stay in a Kurhaus hotel in a country that has known peace for 700 years must be the most calm and peaceful experience imaginable, right?

Wrong.

For sure, if you wanted to, hanging out in the World’s Most Scenic Bank Vault ™ could be as coma-inducingly quiet and laid-back a time as you ever had, but since I’m here with my good friend Lauren, chances of that happening are slim to nonexistent.

Canyoning

We start off with canyoning early Saturday morning. For me, this comes as close to outdoor perfection as anything I’ve ever done. The concept is deceptively simple: using whatever means necessary, you make your way down a canyon. Seems straight-forward, but tells you nothing of the exhilarating rappels, jumps, slides and climbs you experience en route. Nor does it give any inkling of the gorgeous gorges, placid pools and wonderful waterfalls we see on our way down.

It’s like entering a lost world, a jungle ravine where plesiosaurs could still lurk in the grottoes and deep pools, and in a sense it is, since you would never be able to do this and live to tell the tale if you didn’t have experienced guides along to tell you where to step, how to jump, when to release the rope and slide down natural water slides that put to shame any amusement park ride you care to mention.

They tell us it’s a canyon for newbies, but that’s only because it progresses perfectly to more and more technical stuff, so – after having started off with easy passages (that seem quite intimidating to a beginner) – by the end of our four hours we are happily jumping off cliff edges as much as eight meters above the water, and rappelling down waterfalls so high you have to let go as you reach the end of the rope and slide the rest of the way, landing in a cascade of water. By the end of the canyon we feel like fully-fledged canyoneers, ready to take on any challenge.

Bungee jumping

It’s a perfect way to spend the morning, and it also builds up quite nicely to the activity of the afternoon, where that theory will be put to a severe test, because we are to bungee jump off the Verzasca Dam in Lucarno. Famous as the dam James Bond jumps off at the beginning of GoldenEye, it’s a tremendously intimidating prospect, and I mean that quite literally; The moment I see the dam my hands tremble, even walking onto it seems a foolhardy notion, let alone jumping off it voluntarily!

I’ve never done anything like this before, and this is the highest bungee jump in Europe – two hundred and twenty meters worth of falling. Suddenly James Bond’s propensity for Dirty Martinis seems quite understandable. We exchange weak smiles and even weaker puns as we wait, try to listen to the instructions as best we can. Contraptions are attached to our ankles – all that we will hang our hopes on- and then it’s time to step up on the launch platform.

I get called first, and walk up, over the edge of the dam, and try desperately not to look down. Bungee cord gets attached without me even noticing, the guys in charge joking, efficient, and good. Doesn’t help. I step onto the edge, manage to get my feet right (toes outside but not too far) without looking down, anything but looking down, spread my arms out in the manner of someone about to be crucified, and they ask me if I’m ready. Could you ever be? “Let’s do it,” I whisper, and then it’s three, two, one, and I dive into the chasm.

Nothing, but nothing prepares you for what comes next. I had vaguely planned to shout “Geronimo” as I jumped, but every cell in my body is crying out in primal fear, and I with them. Tumbling through the air, falling, falling, impossibly still falling, it doesn’t matter the least bit that intellectually your brain knows you’re going to survive this; the rest of the organism is in “FuckFUCKwe’reabouttodie” mode, and the sheer adrenaline rush is so overwhelming screaming at the top of my lungs is all I can do.*

Well, I don’t suppose I’m spoiling the story by telling you I survived. I managed to follow the instructions I had received in a fog, got back up again, shaking and grinning like a fool, wanting to kiss the ground and everyone around me. Then I watched Lauren go trough the same ordeal, and then we went home and went to bed, and – alas, so un-Bond-like – slept like babies even though it was only seven o’clock, our bodies and minds exhausted from sensory overload.

Ridge running

It’s hard to top what we both agreed was one of the best days of our lives, but we both tried hard, each in our own way. So while Lauren spent the Sunday enjoying every conceivable spa treatment the Kurhaus staff has been able to dream up, I set out for the funicolario in the next valley.

The Alps are more imposing here than in Slovenia, where I last encountered them, but I have my eyes on a ridge path that looks like it could be a good run. Monte Lema (1624m) to Monte Magno (1636m) is seven kilometres, making the total a good round trip, I reckon. What I haven’t reckoned with is the first kilometre (all downhill, highly technical), nor the second (all uphill, highly technical). That, plus the fact that I’m three toenails short of a full set, put paid to my ambition.

I still manage to walk just about the full distance, and it’s very pleasant. There are hardly any people about – I spy two runners, but take solace in the thought that they probably weren’t in Sälen last week – but I do encounter a flock of goats, thankfully less evil-looking than their demonic brethren in Mallorca.

It’s a tough slog though, reminiscent of the hikes I did last year in New Hampshire. And because I’m wobbly-kneed as it is after Saturday, and as when ridging the divide (to coin a phrase) between two valleys you really cannot afford to be less than sure-footed, hiking it instead of running feels like a wise decision. And this way I can really take in the views and marvel at the grandeur of the landscape.

Joyriding

When Europe rear-bumpered Africa, it did some severe damage to itself; to whit, the Alps**. The Alps are the most grandiose mountains I know, and walking along the ridge I can really appreciate our insignificance, seeing little villages spilled out among the mountains, tiny playthings left behind by a capricious deity. It’s a wonder anyone made the effort to settle high up on the mountainsides, but I’m thankful that they did, because the impossibly serpentine roads they needed to reach these settlements mean the whole landscape is one big rollercoaster.

I’ve been holding back before out of respect for my co-pilot, but now – on the way to and from the hike – I really let rip, and it’s the most exhilarating drive I’ve had since my dad taught me to drive on the logging roads in the forests of Dalarna. 180-degree turns, hairpin bends, twists and turns, up and down it goes, and the goofy grin never leaves my face. I’m beginning to see why every other car here is a Porsche, Maserati or similar. This is pure petrolhead paradise. Zipping around roads such as these is what driving should be all about.

And so the weekend is over, only too soon. Lauren is going back to D.C. where she will continue to live smack-bang in the world of politics (arguably an adrenaline sport as well), but I’m already eying the map for more. Those downhill mountain bike paths look cool, the guys who had pitched tents along the ridge were probably thru-hiking the Alps, that would be awesome, and there’s base jumping, and those canyons you have to be heli-dropped into, and, and, and… You can keep your Bolivian cocaine – I’m hooked on Swiss adrenaline.

 

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*I believe my exact choice of words was “WAaaAArrggHHooouuuaaAArrraaarggHH.”

**Geologically speaking, Africa has just begun driving off after the collision, and an onlooker (it would admittedly have to be someone watching in Deep Time) could be viewing in horror the way the continental body had crumbled up in the crash, with Italy and Greece barely hanging on, like a mangled hood ornament and a smashed headlight, respectively. It’s a wonder no one has tried suing for damages. But I digress.