Seven Million Stairs -- Piano delle Creste, Switzerland

Massi knows I love to hike (it's not really hard to deduce. Alps make me freaking ecstatic). So for one of my final summer experiences in Switzerland (this summer, at least), Massi, Timo, and I went on a hike. 

I don't think any of us realized that the hike would include approximately seven million stairs. Had we known, we might have approached the formidable mountain with appropriate trepidation. 

But as we were blissfully ignorant, we practically sauntered up the beast before us. 

"About seven hours until Piano delle Creste," Massi read the sign. "That's written for the slowest. We can probably do it in seven hours, with lots of breaks." 

Such was our hubris. 

The first part of the hike was steep up, but it was followed by a leisurely walk along a river and lovely strolls beside idyllic little mountain villages.

But then the "UP" really started.

And the "UP" just kept going.

ALL THINGS MUST END, BOURGET, I yelled at myself consolingly.

THERE WILL BE AN END TO THESE STUPID, INCORRIGIBLE, GINORMOUS STAIRS, I shouted soothingly to my dying knees.

The scenery (and the stairs) took my breath away. The weather was perfect, and Timo and Massi made the best hiking buddies. They patiently waited for me as I trudged up the stairs behind them, because even giardia induced sprints up a hundred stairs to the nearest composting toilet couldn't have properly prepared me for this beautiful, beastly Alp.

It's a good thing I love nature so much. Otherwise I would be wondering why the hell I'm torturing myself on purpose. 

But in the end... I'd walk up those stairs any day (not every day), to see views like this. 

To smell air so clean. 

To really feel the quiet. 

We reached the lakes, which meant we only had four hundred meters of elevation to climb and another two hours to hike.

Unfortunately, we didn't quite realize that 400 meters of elevation left to climb didn't really include the fact that we had to descend. And then climb. And then descend again. And then climb again.

"I think it was a drunk mountain goat who made this trail," Timo complained as he looked at the absurd amount of scree we had in front of us.

I almost wept by the time we made it to the one hour sign.

OH THANK GOD. THIS REALLY WILL END. 

(my knees didn't believe me this time. Not that I blame them. I'd been leading them on shamelessly for hours)

The final climb.

Our final descent was steep and sketchy. It included a chain hooked onto the side of the mountain, with several links missing.

ADVENTURE. 

Tired, but jubilant, we reached a lake just outside of our refuge for the night.

And we plunged in.

(plunge might be a strong word. Terrified tip-toeing, in the way the keeps your nethers as dry as possible for as long as possible would be more accurate. But less dramatic)

It was not, er, warm. But it was deliciously refreshing, after what ended up being 8+ hours of hiking.

Stupid seven million stairs. 

It was my first experience staying in an Alpine hut, and it was definitely a warm and cozy one. We all dished out an extra five francs for a steaming hot shower, then met in the restaurant area for dinner. A dinner everyone staying in the refuge were served at the same time, family style.

Pasta has never tasted so good.

The bedding situation was also a bit novel for this refuge newbie. It was as if one giant bunkbed had been stretched to accommodate thirty people, with fifteen small mattresses on top and fifteen small mattresses on the bottom. You were literally sleeping shoulder to shoulder with your fellow hiker.

In our case, fellow hikers happened to be Swiss people in what looked to be their sixties.

HOW DID THEY GET UP HERE? 

Was what crossed my mind on first sight. And then I realized that Swiss old people are probably much more active and in shape than American young people.

Respect. Boundless respect. 

The walk down the mountain the next day was three hours of cold, wet, steep trekking. And since downhill always suits me better than uphill (my knees were in shock by then, so they didn't notice anything), I flew down the mountain.

Pausing my flight to take the occasional picture, of course.

We were on our last cookies and granola bars by the time we finally reached the trail head (it was becoming desperate, really). And as we were looking forward to neither a) waiting for the bus, nor b) walking the couple of kilometers back to the car, we decided to hitchhike back to where Timo's car was waiting for us.

What. An experience. I want to get in a hot bath right now. With bubbles. And to get out probably never.