Travelling to the Alps is always a powerful multisensory experience. It is the crisp air, unadulterated by the pollution from human hands in the valleys below. It is the feeling of being so far above mundane life; so close to the jagged white peaks that challenge the boundary between earth and sky. In the spring, the fresh and sweet smell of blooming flowers and newly grown grass permeates the air. In the summer, the baking sun hits your face, disguised by a cold breeze that is pleasant yet deceptive, urging you to wear a hat and a jumper as well as sunscreen and sunglasses. The colours of the warm months are dominated by the many tones of vibrant green, surrounded by dark rocks cliffs that have been weathered by millennia of wind and rain. Tinges of violet and blue, whites and reds, appear among the meadows. An explosion of flowers. The squeaks of marmots and the resonant clanging of cow bells echo from afar, filling the valley with distant yet comforting sounds. Bumblebees and crickets reign the fields, buzzing and chirping to create a uniform harmony. Somewhere behind a stream rushes by, carrying the fresh meltwater of perennial snow from the heights of the Alps down to the valleys below, joining to create powerful rivers that nurture both animals and people alike. As I walk up a path that snakes through a grass covered hill, I reach a quiet lake the colour of jade with tall mountains looming over either side. The colours of the Alps are doubled in the reflection and among all the assortment of senses I feel calm and accomplished. Then, the landscape turns to a palette of oranges, yellows and reds. Leaves fall to the ground covering the trails, crunching beneath walking boots and paws. When only the peaks far above were once white, now the whole mountains are covered in soft snow. Only the deep blue-green of the fir and pine trees survives. I gaze out the window from the warmth of my hotel room and I watch the silent scenery – a white sea dotted with dark silhouettes of trees and interrupted by the puffing smoke from the chimneys of other chalets in the village. In the morning, the pinkish warm light of the sun rises from behind the mountains, shining on the freshly fallen snow. The shadows of barren trees are cast on the ground like dark doppelgangers, stretching long with their finger-like branches. I brace myself for the cold and push my hands deeper into the pockets of my padded coat and sink my chin beneath the scarf. Though my nose is cold and my cheeks are blushed, the fresh prickling air feels revitalising and clears my lungs from the dusty air of the city. It is nature at its most vulnerable, yet also at its strongest. What survives during winter grows sturdier the following spring. It is the perpetual repetition of this alternating seasonal cycle that I find most comforting. Although I cannot remember the first time I experienced the power of the Alps, as I was far too young to develop any tangible memory of it, I can certainly recall the continuous overwhelming sense of excitement I felt while growing up. Now, whenever I return to the lush pastures of Switzerland during the spring or the snowy slopes of the Dolomites in the winter, the valleys and the peaks are filled with the same colours, smells and sounds. I am flushed with a certain sense of nostalgia from the days of my childhood which I spent discovering the beauty of nature. Yet, each year something changes in my perception of the Alpine landscape. Upon each revisit I discover new smells, new sounds and new arrangements of natural entities that catch me unprepared and suddenly remind me of the ever-renewing power of the mighty Alps.
Stay tuned and stay wanderlust, Dael
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