On my last day in Zermatt, an expedition to a Michelin-recommended restaurant in the midst of the Alps seemed like a good idea. An entire day spent amidst the ragged beauty of a mountain range anchored by the grand old Matterhorn, rising some 14,691 square ft. An indulgent meal at Chez Vrony, better known as one of the Alps' more fashionable ski-in, ski-out places in winter. And an easy-going hike along the rocky pathways of summer.
What could possibly go wrong?
The path up to Chez Vrony, in the Findeln Valley, can potentially start in Zermatt, as I learned this morning. The vertical climb takes 1.5 hours going downhill -- so I can't even imagine how long it takes to puff your way up the mountain in the first place. The better news is that via Zermatt's Sunegga train (which is more like a funicular; the six- minute ride takes place entirely inside a mountain), you can ascend up-country without as much as a huff.
From the mount, it's a 30 minute, oft-treacherous vertically downhill set of rocky trails, some as narrow as your arm, to the restaurant (if you are curious about how staff commutes there they take their mountain bikes up the Sunegga, and at day's end, hurtle downhill toward Zermatt).
I've always been an active, hardy traveler and yet here's where I blew it. About a year ago, I had knee replacement surgery. Mercifully I've forgotten a lot about the recovery process except for one thing that still plagues: When I walk downstairs or downhill, sometimes it feels like the ankle is disconnecting from the knee. On a trip last summer to the Greek Isles, a long day on Paros climbing up and down village peaks left me dizzy, limping and in tears. This winter, a steep hike up a hillside above St. Barth's Gustavia was no problem; coming back down became a terrifying ordeal as my leg locked up with almost every step. Ever since, I've tempered my expectations a bit, on how many steps I walked, or pedals cycled. And as such, I have lost a bit of confidence. I have lost the part of myself that craves activity to the point that it's part of my emotional well-being.
When I'd made my big plans for an indulgent-yet-healthy day in the shadow of the Matterhorn, I hadn’t realize what a trek Chez Vrony entailed. And so here I stand, on a mountain so steep I'm literally pitching forward, and wondering: What if I can't make it to the restaurant? What if, physically, I'm no longer able?
And this time, for the first time since the surgery, there was this stubborn voice, one that's lived inside me for all my years save for this one. Whispering, you can do it -- but take it slow.
And so I rambled. Took long pauses. Admired the lopsided peak of the Matterhorn, clear and bright on this sunny day. Identified wildflowers in the meadows around me. Became intrigued by the ancient cottages with their roofs covered in shards of slate. Wondered what it would be like to stay in an old-fashioned cottage in a tiny village and would you get bored by all this silence? I shook out the ankle when it got tetchy. I told myself, breathe, breathe again. I rested if I felt like it, on impromptu platforms ranging from concrete bases of telephone poles to stray rocks; once there was the luxury of an actual bench.
As I wound around the valley on the approach to Chez Vrony, there was a wedding taking place on site, a joyful, exuberant gathering that welcomed me there, back to the land of the living. It wasn't because I’d finally arrived at the restaurant. It was because I'd managed to creep down that mountain. The strength I'd lost was starting to come back.
If I got anything right before planning this day around lunch at Chez Vrony it's that I did make an advance reservation. Alas, I made it for tomorrow, not today. Confused, the owner said, "are you planning to return tomorrow for lunch, too?" I visibly shuddered and laughed. This journey was challenging enough.
Regardless, she found me a wonderful table. The food was as divine as promised. There was Bloody Mary tomato soup, with fresh Swiss tomatoes and a hint of a bite courtesy of a slug of vodka. The wine was crisp and white and Swiss with grapes grown relatively nearby. It was a bright, cloudless sunny day and the Matterhorn was in fine photo-bombing fettle, offering quite the spectacle from just about any perspective.
I did, after some genuine consideration, skip dessert and a second glass of wine. After all, the trek home began with yet another hike, this time back up the way I'd come.
Before that fateful day, I'd been planning a trip to explore Iceland, later this summer, on a circumnavigational cruise around the island. On one call, at Seydisfjordur, "Chasing Waterfalls," looked intriguing but its activity level was marked strenuous. No can do, I had told myself. Nor did “Glacier Canyon River Rafting” in Akureyri, equally strenuous, seem like a possibility. I convinced myself that it would be more fun to experience the museum and cafe cultures in Iceland's second city but I knew even then I was fibbing to myself.
Balderdash. It's been a month since that fateful day in the Alps near Zermatt and I still feel like life's coming back to me, as if I'm coming back, too. Yesterday, I finally organized my shore excursions. Yes, I booked the “Chasing Waterfalls” and “Glacier Canyon River Rafting” experiences. I may not actually partake in the latter's invitation to try "cliff jumping" while there, but I'm feeling game for just about any other challenge that's on this path.