The Ryan Air Experience

Ryan Air. Just saying those two words draws laughs from some, concerned looks from others. This super-budget regional airline was crafted for backpackers and those that place 0 value on customer service. The journey from Paris to Dublin began with figuring out how exactly to get to the airport that Ryan Air flies into in Paris. The problem there was that despite the flight being from “Paris” to Dublin, our flight left from a miniature airport 1.5 hours from Paris that looked like it was built to be a temporary shanty home out in the middle of nowhere. Our confirmation e-mails did not contain any info on this because that would ruin the fun. So our price of transport went from a cheap 50 Euro to 68 Euro immediately. We caught a 6:30 a.m. shuttle bus to arrive at our doll house airport a bit early at 7:45, and followed some signs through our sagging eyelids to check-in. While we opted for mobile passes, Becca noticed the fine print on their mobile passes read "This mobile pass is not a mobile boarding pass," which might as well have read "GOTCHA!" So we found a window to print our passes, as there were no kiosks. Why? Because normally, it is 15 Euro per person to print your boarding passes. I just looked on Craigslist and found some used printers for less than $15, but Ryan Air wanted to charge us $66 to PRINT BOARDING PASSES. On a piece of standard printing paper. Luckily, the agent recognizes the pure ridiculousness of this entire idea, and did it for free. Plenty of time, it was 8 a.m. when we got in the first of 30 or so lines.

After a small snafu locating my passport within the large pocket of my suitcase, unpacking and then repacking, we hopped back in line. We got through the first line leading to security with no problem until the Ryan Air "agent" (or, a massive black man hired to calm the angry crowds), pointed at our suitcases and grunted something French. He then pointed to the miniature metal cage which is built to house a pet gerbil. Needless to say, none of our bags carrying our two weeks of survival materials fit. Becca tried and it looked like a triple scoop of ice cream sitting on a sugar cone. Not even close. Katie's and Aaron's weren't much better. But he only wanted Becca and I to go check our bags. Probably because we looked terrified of him. Whatever, plenty of time until our 9:25 flight, let's just do it.   

So we waited.We reached the baggage check-in line by 8:18, watching the clock tick and watching the security line we'd already been through double, then triple in size. Ryan Air has more lines than Neuschwanstein Castle and Disney World combined. We made it to the front by 8:30, now starting to sweat a bit for our 9:25 am flight. We shifted some clothes to backpacks, and our kind agent said with a smile "35 Euro each, please!" Yes. 35 Euro to check a bag we were being forced to check. 35 Euro almost doubled the price of the ticket itself. That, and we couldn't pay at the desk. Becca had to go pay at a separate window, then bring the receipt back, then they'd check our bags. Price of travel now 103 Euro. Well played, Ryan Air. Time now 8:35. We turned around and, well, that's it. The security line was now reaching us from about a half mile down the hall. I remained calm in the pocket. Becca started going through what we could do in Paris for the day, since we obviously weren't making it.

We reached the front at 8:50, amazingly. 5 minutes to get through and get on the plane before the "gates closed" at 8:55 according to the signage that nobody believed. Problem: 3 lines were trying to merge into one. With no other instruction, the Spanish speaking squad around us basically cut the half hour line on the right, another dialect cut on the left. This was basically a free for all at this junction. This is not an exaggeration: there was a family rolling through with two strollers, and I'm pretty one kid was 6 years old but put in a stroller to fly free. They also had 12 bags among them, not including the strollers, but claimed some of these monster duffle bags were actually their 3 and 6 year old childrens', which earned a miraculous thumbs up from the new gate agent. We reached security at 8:55, when the gates were supposed to close. For the first time, I began to lose hope. The mix of languages and anger and confusion would be too tough for any form of crowd control. Thankfully, Ryan Air is conditioned to operating within the realm of pure chaos.

After a half-hearted effort at screening the masses proceeding through, we brisked through and made it by 9:03. No chance we were getting on. The nail in the coffin: stumbling into passport control, which there were 0 previous signs for. Amazingly, no line existed, though. This either meant that there is 0 passport control whatsoever, or we were too late. Somehow, we weren't. The gates never truly close at Ryan Air. We made it through, and to our gate, after a quick 1 hour and 20 minute total process. Aaron and Katie upon arrival: "Hey!! Where you been?!"

How was this possible?? Well, we were being sent out into the rain to wait more, that's why. You see, there were other disheveled cheap flyers that were currently de-planing. We were boarding a plane that had pulled in 5 minutes previously and was currently de-planing. No cleaning. Maybe some refueling. No safety checks. Maybe put out an engine fire if needed. Other than that: one group in, one out. Are you kidding me? This is essentially just a flying bus stop?!?

Pretty much. On board is a site to see. The backs of the seats were plastic yellow squares with the instructions in case of emergency. They fly over 20 million passengers per year, and boast of a 90% on time rate... but the other 10% are in the ocean somewhere. Hence, the emergency instructions in open view. One of them read: 'WARNING, you're about to fly Ryan Air!!!! You sure about this?'

Aaron and Katie and Becca were just audibly laughing at the entire situation at this point. Aaron was actually concerned that the whole plane was made of plastic, not just the seat backs. The plane is essentially what I designed in 3rd grade: a tin can with wings, just for fun. No first class, no complementary amenities, and an overly colorful bright yellow interior. Former roommate John Kinzer once described this is airline as a "flying McDonalds Playplace," and that's pretty dead accurate, sans the ball pit. In addition, the flight attendants are turned into part-time salesmen, and they actually have to buy their own uniforms and pay for their own training, as Ryan Air is run by one of the con artists turning profits by the Eiffel Tower. Probably.

 I felt like we were on the Sacre Cour hillside again, getting accosted by vendors. Here are the things the flight attendants sold, in order: drinks -> snacks -> magazines -> morning newspaper -> drinks again -> makeup (?!) -> snacks again -> Insurance. I'm not positive on the last one, but through the muffled and possibly drunk flight attendant's announcement, I'm almost positive he said they were selling insurance. I believe they meant that it wasn't too late to get life insurance or medical insurance in case you didn't realize you were flying on Ryan Air.

I asked for a coffee at one point, not realizing that Ryan Air offers 0 complementary anything. Not even a seat pocket. Or a SkyMall to purchase a robotic dog house. This coffee made me almost burst out laughing. I am not a coffee snob by any means, but when I ask for one I have a baseline expectation that, at minimum, the coffee is brewed. Mine was not. The attendant opened the lid and poured hot water into the grinds sitting at the bottom and handed it to me. "Make sure you drink through the filter." "Um. What." "This part - this is the filter," she explained, pointing to the plastic lid which had a built-in mesh. To supplement this revolutionary coffee experience, I was also given a cup of condiments. So there I sat in the flying can mashed full of humans, drinking and chewing my coffee which had just been mixed with "Milk in a stick," or, milk coming from a little plastic baggy. My God you could at least have some dignity, Ryan Air! But coming from a business whose CEO honestly is exploring the possibility of flights where there are no seats and only standing, like it is a very literal Air Bus, I guess dignity is optional.

A few jumbled messages came from our pilot who probably just polished his 5th Guinness, and we'd landed. A tad roughly, but forgivable considering it was likely his 20th bus stop flight of the day. Off we got, in to more rain because Ryan Air doesn't believe in gates and/or "customer satisfaction," and on the next group got, through the other door. Incredible. We made it, I think. Still not entirely sure what just happened.

Paris + Versailles = happy

Paris: Day 2

We started Day 2 off hot with some coffees but cold on decisions. We masterfully crafted a plan to beat the crowds and get to the interior of Notre Dame early. 10:30 felt mighty early after spending the previous night of fending off beer vendors approaching us like we were the sharks on Shark Tank. The only differences were that their products required 0 innovation, their propositions were preposterous, their presentations were shoddy at best, and their asking price was about 1/500,000^th of a normal investment. Unfortunately, about 10,000 other tourists had the same morning plan. Seeing the line of tourists wrapped around tourists was a bit discouraging. We decided that this was Notre Dame the non-French and fake Irish rural Indiana school's fault, and that it probably wasn’t that cool anyways. So we moved on to the Natural History Museum. 

Cool - we've seen enough

This was actually a convenient accident. Becca’s first bathroom break of the hour was about 30 minutes into the day, and brought us into the museum upon arrival at the zoo/Esplanade/flower walk/conservatory/Natural History Museum grounds. Aaron magically learned how to translate a sign in what looked to be Elfish to me, but was actually just French, and determined that 26 and under had free admission. No, we still have not determined a single reason why 26 would be the cutoff age. But PSA to 26-year-olds like myself: you can’t be on your parents’ insurance anymore, but you CAN get free admission to Paris’s Natural History Museum, so those pretty much cancel out.

The museum was like a regional Southeastern U.S. United flight – it was packed with unreasonably enormous immobile creatures basically sitting on top of each other. This included a narwhal, which may or may not have been totally fake, amazing reconstructed blue whales, whale sharks, dinosaurs and creatures I think they made up. Each exhibit had accompanying French explanations that we made up translations for and concluded “Yea that sounds pretty accurate I guess.” 

Aaron is just as chiseled as the archeology remains

After our fictional pre-historic tour, we walked the gardens outside which, of course, insisted on containing the most robust flowers ever. I now recognize that when Paris doesn’t know what to do with some slightly unused plot of land, they just start making it rain flower seeds all over the place. Flowers, or just a palace. Or the biggest cathedral conceivably possible. One of those three though. Patios, roofs, windows, street lamps, even flowers within flowers – everything is a victim of flower attack, almost to the same level as Switzerland. Luxembourg Palace is a good example of all of the above. This glorious, pristine little summer home and estate has been turned into a public park complete with miniature boat rental for the main fountain, 109 statues, tennis and basketball courts and cafes, as if the palace itself is just an afterthought. Whatever, just another dumb palace, let’s go play doubles. A quick follow-up on the fountain boats: Katie has insisted that the sticks that these motor-less wooden toy sailboats come with are more than just sticks for kids to move them from the wall with. You wouldn’t just rent these for 4 Euro if there weren’t some magical superior force emanating from the aforementioned stick. They could be anything from magnetic to spiritual to supernatural to dark wizardly powers. She insists. Predictably, just about every boat/yacht/barge we see now comes with a sarcastic question from Aaron or myself regarding where we can get the spell casting stick to control said vessels.  

Flower..

..Power.

Magical mini boats

The view from within

 We headed from here to the Eiffel Tower. Previously, we had placed bets on how many steps it contains. Despite breaking it down mathematically, estimating about .75 feet per step, my guess of 750 steps was actually 1,000 short, and Katie’s prediction of 1,700 nailed it. No less, Aaron and I were determined not to short ourselves of a manly conquering experience, so we were going to climb every step. Ladies, if we don’t make it, we love you. Stay strong... about 500 steps later, despite our insistence to be valiant in the face of such a treacherous journey, we discovered that tourists aren’t actually allowed to climb the stairs to the top. There’s a stop midway for all, no matter what. Whoops. A bit of a blunder on my end here, as I had done the Eiffel before, and bragged that I climbed the stairs to the top, when really it was about midway, and now I am way less cool. I feel like I need to call all my previous life achievements into question as well, maybe they’re only half as good as I thought.

We legged it to the Arc de Triumph, which I believe was built for anyone who climbed up to the second level of the Eiffel Tower instead of using the elevator, mixed in a dinner crepe at some point, and then made the trek to Sacre Couer. Sacre Couer is a gorgeous church perched on a hill overlooking the city, complete with a 270-degree view of the sunset and swarming with Parisian teens and more beer suitors. The nightly summer crowds overwhelm the trash system, and 0 porta-potties in sight meant the streets were brimming with urine as the locals have absolutely no shame urinating on the other hillside just feet from a palace of the Lord. I believe this downhill urine tributary to the Seine could be an alternate explanation for the same scent wafting into our apartment windows.

But that view

The main event is the ensuing sing-along provided by the acoustic artist on the steps. This included not one, but two renditions of ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis. An African American friend of mine, Ian Roundtree, once referred to this as “the whitest song of all time.” While that’s definitely accurate, it’s also a European anthem of sorts, as I’ve now heard it covered just about every time I’ve heard someone playing a guitar in Europe. The crowd made it echo into the Parisian night. Some more annoying beer suitors repetitively confronted us, and when Aaron and I didn’t whisk them away with a royal wave of the hand, we went to town with some soul crushing deals. Aaron, incredibly, went one on one with a suitor who looked to be friendlier than most. A few feet away just minutes earlier, some English lads achieved a 2 Euro for 1 beer deal that they assumed was the deal of a lifetime. Little did they know, our elite standard was 5 Euro for 4. Aaron smelled blood in the water though, and this suitor was weak. Evolution selected for the fittest and Aaron managed to pull off the previously inconceivable one for one deal. There was a point he was literally dangling a 1 Euro coin in front of the vendors eyeballs. He couldn’t resist it.

A final previously inconceivable event occurred on Sacre Couer. This is such a sketchy and ridiculous business, that one suitor seriously approached us, spoke some jumbled words, pointed at a large box at our feet, and walked away. Generally, this is the same format for a terrorist attack, but the guy seemed trusty enough. Turns out, he wanted us to watch over his box of 20 Heineken while he went and sold elsewhere. Never seen anything like this in my life. Here, customer, watch over the only thing I have to make a living off of while I walk around for a half hour. We considered pulling off a 20 for 0 Euro deal, but after considering we had his liquid currency at our feet, we opted against it, and instead walked down the steep hill to find a late night Doner Kebab and Crepe oasis before retiring.

Day 3

Day 3 was dedicated to the most ridiculous, overzealous, totally selfish and unnecessary housing unit on earth…next to Neuchwanstein castle, maybe. King Louis XIII established this immense plot of land as the “family hunting grounds” after Louis XII started that trend. Louis XIV then decided the 6+ palace options within Paris (that we have seen, at least) just weren’t good enough if he was expected to get up and, you know, be a rich king every morning. Tough life. So we arrived at ol’ Lou’s house by noon to assess the line to get in. This assessment took approximately 3 seconds, as we saw that it wrapped around the golden gates of the gorgeous palace and, again, promptly decided the interior was probably old and run down anyways. Couldn’t be that cool if it was built 400 years ago – Louis XIV probably didn’t even have WiFi LOL!

The gardens in back, though, were mind blowing. Even a second time through, I’d somehow forgotten the pure majesty of this place. The incredible insistence on detail and manicured lawns and flowers would make St. Andrews’s golf course Head Greens Lieutenant (pretty sure that’s a real job title) shudder. We walked and walked and then did some more walking. After my legs transformed into linguini, we shifted our mode of transportation to our masculine manly men upper bodies. Aaron served as house servant, and whizzed us royalty up the royal grand canals. That was fun, but then I came in as the closer, which wasn't as fun. Fun fact: approximately 3% of tourists know how to row a boat properly. This creates for a fun scene of beautiful views mixed in with 7 or 8 near-disastrous crashes per tourist. We docked, and luckily timed it so that we had 1 hour left of the “Musical Fountain Show.”

The Musical Fountain show is a ridiculous concept. Essentially, they turn the fountains on on Saturday afternoons. To watch this, you must pay 9 Euro per person, although the fountains are only doing…exactly as they were built to do. But there is music, so, you know, that’ll cost ya. No less, we paid our dues, and it was glorious. Louis XIV absolutely LOVED water structures, apparently, so he built a hundred or so, as was necessary.

Running short on time to see them all, we started...well, like I said, running. The Tour de Fountain was probably the most unique way one could see the palace. We jogged for about 3 minutes through the perfectly trimmed 40 foot hedges until reaching another fountain exploding with joy, took a picture, maybe two, and took off for the next. ‘Cool! Alright, ready, smile! Andddddd NEXT!’ Nailed it all, with exception to the two fountains that never turned on. You had one job, Versailles.

We concluded our Parisian voyage with Steak and Frites. Just kidding – we had steak and frites and THEN concluded the night with “dessert crepes” down the street from Hostel de Urine. Had to get some sleep before departing for Dublin. Any sleep. Becca was very excited to hear that Aaron is different from Katie and I in terms of travel. Accordingly, then, my beauty sleep would be cut a few hours short, as Becca and Aaron insisted we leave about 16 hours before our flight, but we compromised at just 4.

Next, came possibly the most outrageous experience we’ve had yet: our first Ryan Air flight. To those who have ever flown Ryan Air, you’ll understand why I say that describing this experience needs to be saved for the next post. It was…well, you’ll see.

Enjoy some pics from Lou's Place, see you in Dublin

Gold gates: for when you don't know where else to put your excess gold

Kinda looks like us..but not

Nearly shipwrecked in first 3 minutes of half hour alotment

We named this "Vomiting Earth Man Throwing a Rock Grenade"

Aaron channeling his inner Asian power pose..

...Mine was better though

Not entirely sure

Potential future home viewing

Incredible burst on display

GET THE KNEES UP. FOUNTAINS TO SEE!

I don't recall the king and queen taking selfies back then but I could be mistaken

Paris: the City of Light and possibly sewage

Ever since my last banana and Nutella crepe off the streets of Paris, I’ve been waiting to return. In fact, I told Becca four years ago that I would have to bring her back some day to be introduced to the other loves of my life. Upon arrival from Switzerland, we noticed immediate changes between the two spots: 1) The air freshness…is lacking 2) There are a LOT of humans in this city 3) The urban air probably has a faint scent of urine because of people like the delivery guy we saw, full frontal, peeing on the street in the middle of the day. Yes, a bit of an abrupt change. But much has remained the same: 1) Crepes should be their own food group - they are the most versatile food on the planet. Or maybe I’m just saying that to justify the breakfast crepe, dinner crepe, and dessert crepe regimen we started out hot with. 2) Even a second time through, my head is spinning with history lessons from the city. 3) There are so many gorgeous historical buildings, you can grow immune to them quickly (‘Oh, another palace? Great. Seen better. Next!’)

            We’ve linked up and formed a formidable travel quad with Aaron Fried and Katie Pappas, two proud BC alums and even prouder new Omahans. Aaron and I are just recently reviving our souls from the recent shell shock of Step 1 boards, and it has taken a seriously concerning amount of European comfort food to do so. Nothing one or thirty crepes can’t fix, of course. We ran a few minutes late meeting them, as Becca needed to make an emergency Parisian hat purchase, but found them in front of our cozy penthouse AirBNB rental. Cozy penthouse, of course, translates to air-conditionless attic with occasional wafts of sewage. We haven’t located the origin quite yet, but the sink/the street outside are the leading culprits. No less, this was in a fantastic location, so we set out over the next three days and put our Fitbits to the test.

Some Stats

            Luckily, those two run the same style of Smashmouth tourism offense that Becca and I do. We don’t have much time in Europe, so we basically take week-long vacation plans and jam them into 2-3 days and call it good. Over the first week, Bec and I walked 73.4 miles, averaging just over 10 per day and over 23,000 steps per day.  My Fitbit at one point asked me if I was lost, drunk, or needed a taxi, as during the Step 1 study period I averaged about 300 steps per day if I didn’t go on a morning jog, and most of those were just to the bathroom and back. Fatigue is setting in, but morale is high, don’t worry fans.

            Day 1 highlights included the following:

-       Lunch crepes

-       Dinner crepes

-       Notre Dame cathedral - even though the American version of the school is the enemy of…basically everyone except themselves, this building itself is amazing

Could the 7,000 of you get out of my pic really quick?

-       The Seine and its innumerable gorgeous buildings we can’t even name

-       The con artists lining the streets probably making 6-figure salaries off tourists

-       The Louvre and its gardens – Aaron wondered aloud “This almost looks like a palace,” and an extremely random and convenient American walking by unexpectedly chimed in “actually, it was multiple palaces built by multiple kings over a long period.” “…Oh, well…alright, thanks man!” we shouted as he dissipated into thin air. 

Some priceless art seen in the Louvre gardens

-       Eating a baguette and crepes on the curb in front of the Eiffel tower, while illegal beer and Eiffel Tower keychain vendors begged us to purchase their goods

-       Ending the night learning French from our movie-crazed cab driver. Upon telling him we came from Nebraska he rattled off his three favorite movies filmed in Nebraska, followed by a separate list of his “Top 3 favorite Sean Penn movies.” I was barely able to name three of either category.

The last point is worth expanding on. I am not in business school like Aaron now is (MD/MBA route – if anyone is looking to hire a doctor that actually has a remote sense of what a “budget” is). But, my self-made father and my lame but fairly smart older brother have imparted a fair amount of haggling skill upon me. Several gentlemen from the Middle East confronted us to do just that over some trinkets and miniature ½ -pint European beers. Being in Paris amongst royalty with way too much money caused us to transform ourselves to act like we weren’t in a crippling state of debt, whisking away potential suitors with a flick of the wrist at times, as if their goods didn’t meet our royal standards. At least we know we’re headed somewhere with our loan repayment, though. Our suitors, on the other hand, depend on every beer they sell to get by…so Aaron and I made sure they weren’t going to make any off us. Kidding. Based on the principle of making a gentleman’s deal, though, both sides needed to be getting a fair shake. Dismissing our “suitors” one by one was some of the most fun I’ve had here, but explaining a lesson in basic economics and mathematical rationale to our Arabic salesmen was a futile task. “3 beer, 10 euro, good price foh’ you,” they’d say. “Nope, not good enough.” “OK 3 beer, 9 euro” “No. Bye.” “3 for 8!” “Merci, but no.” “6?” “4 for 4.” “4?! No…” * Suitor begins to walk away * “…”4 for 5?” “Done.” * Exchange, suitor walks away, dejected. No worries, we made sure they hauled in .13 Euro per peer – go get yourself something nice, fellas. They prowl and prowl, all sell the same products, and the only separating quality is the temperature. Some would just come up and put the beer on your neck to show their product superiority. Here’s a market that could be absolutely shattered if someone a) sold a different product or b) had ice or c) the suitors spoke English.

 The greatest victory of all, though, would be Day 2 on the hill of Sacre Couer, but more on that tomorrow. For now, enjoy some more pics:

Parisian locals are so cool!

Interlaken

Interlaken

Originally, the plan was to go to Zurich and Geneva to get a good grasp for what Switzerland is all about. We’d hit the big cities and lakes, do some hiking, get some inside guys with the U.N., try to move here, and go bankrupt in a week. Most of that remained true, particularly the bankrupt part, but the decision to switch Zurich and Geneva for the two tiny Swiss towns Lucerne and Interlaken was possibly the best of the trip. 

The train in was full of what I dreamed Switzerland to be, but didn’t realize was actually possible. Blue and green lakes, rivers that rivaled the mighty Missouri but excluded dead animals, snow capped alps, and Swiss cheese and chocolate flowing down the mountains, off of waterfalls and into my mouth. This country is magical. In fact, the streets are so pristine, the alps and rivers are so pure, that we’ve been desperately searching for the country’s faults. It’s too beautiful, too perfect. Taxes? Everyone has too much money? Mountain sheep overpopulation? People are TOO nice? Swiss army knife factory accidents? Short life expectancy from drowning in Swiss chocolate? Unclear, still searching.

We did find one thing that can ruin Interlaken, a tourist-ridden hiking town, though: rain. Not even rain, actually, just clouds. Clouds polluted day one. Our plan, naturally, was to reach one of the highest points behind the town, Harder mountain. It would have certainly been Harder had we made the two hour vertical hike, but a funicular with a 64-degree incline took care of that 1300-meter climb in 8 minutes. Within 2 minutes, we were within a palace of clouds, wondering if we had taken a wrong turn and gone to heaven. Except this heaven was full of drizzled trees and the visibility was 30 feet and there weren’t any Husker legends and old friends and family and saints to hang out with, as I expect Heaven to have.

We were slightly downtrodden, and resorted to taking pictures of postcards to just act like we saw what they showed. We actually started taking pictures of any clearance in the clouds at all – “I think that’s a building!! Wait…nope it’s gone.” We decided to hike around the peak and as it turns out, when the peak is within a cloud, you can’t really walk through it or brush it aside. I tried.

After we considered leaving around 6, the lord heard our calls for help, and the clouds slowly started moving away. I began cheering for them to move like I was at a horse race – COME ON, GIDDYUP! GO! GO! GO! Except this race lasted about an hour and a half and the jockeys were condensation. Nonetheless, for some divine reason, the clouds broke. And we saw our postcard. And our postcard looked like Heaven. 5 hours of staring at white walls was well worth the wait.

Some pictures of the miracle unfolding:

Ok so we look like we're entering Mordor but it should be fine

Beautiful right?!

Does our happiness look fake? It was

LOOK WE WERE HERE

Is that a...there's a lake down there?!?

THERE'S TWO LAKES?!

AND THEY'RE BOTH BEAUTIFUL!?

celebratory dinner here seemed mandatory.

Day 2

Today we planned a day trip to Gimmelwald, a tiny town in the alps. Beforehand, Bec was feeling her annual ‘Let’s do something extreme,’ surge, and signed us up for paragliding. In the morning, though, our cloud friends were back. Bec cancelled the trip, only to receive an email an hour later, saying we’d actually have to pay for the whole trip, $160 each. To keep a long saga short, I ended up doing my best lawyer impersonation, calling upon the injustices of the world and bringing down the hammer via e-mail argument, and the final email from Twin Paragliding read: ‘It’s ok. Have a nice trip.’ A little anti-climactic. But a victory for Andrew J.D.

We set out instead, taking approximately 5 forms of transportation en route, and didn’t return until the sun forced us to. We hiked 12 miles, and every minute was amazing although I couldn’t feel my feet for the last few miles. Sometimes I played a game where I would close my eyes and try and remember every detail of what I was staring at. This was never successful as I am not very smart and there was simply too much to take in. 

Caution: Children at Play

 Two minor hiccups occurred on the trek: 1) The cow invasion and 2) The time we almost died on a mountain climbers’ bridge thousands of feet in the air without cables

The cow invasion was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Yes, I’m from Nebraska and all my East coast BC friends have asked at least once if I rode a cow to school. But this was different. Sitting peacefully along our perch over the alps, well, suddenly became not so peaceful. Cows. Tens of cows. All these cows adorned with cowbells slowly migrated toward us. This was cool at first, until they started circling us, like sharks in the water. Some just stood and stared, like we had entered their unwritten gang territory. We didn’t really know the protocol. Do we scare them? Give them food? Do cows like apples? Sandwiches?  Instead, we took some selfies, and scurried away slowly from our thousand pound creature friends, leaving them an adorable 70+ couple to feast on. 

Just enjoying the sites...

Oh hey look some cows...

...OH MY GOD. COWS.

...NOT SURE HOW TO PROCEED

Now what?

Sorry sir, leaving now. Also, your home is beautiful.

Bec did get a video, and I believe it to be the most epic video I have ever seen, as she accidentally recorded it in slow motion. Watch as the death bells start ringing, as if the grim reaper has arrived, and the cows stare into our souls. 

Second issue: taking unmarked trails in the Alps. Seemed like a good idea at the time to try and cross a bridge a couple thousand feet in the air to quench Becca’s adrenaline urges. When we found ourselves stuck behind an electric fence on a farm leading to the path, and subsequently on a 2-foot wide ridge, holding a cable just to reach said bridge, and finally reaching the bridge and noticing that it required technical climbing gear and some inkling of climbing experience, we concluded we’d probably made a tiny mistake. Which could have possibly led to death. But the views were amazing! 

Something seems wrong here.

You're doing great Bec, just don't step two inches to your left

The rest of the hike was exactly as one would imagine the Swiss Alps to be, and was capped off by a stop in Gimmelwald, a town of maybe 100, which hosts hikers to the best of its abilities. One hostel required hikers to leave a mark on a chalkboard before their morning departure next to their room indicating if they would to receive the only dinner option being offered that day on their return.  One big thing stood out in this town, other than the stunning 360 degree views at every turn: The Honesty Shop. The honesty shop was an entire store with clothing, food, drinks, etc., but nobody patrolled it. Nothing but your honesty kept you in check. Envelopes were left at the front to write your price, include your money, and a message. In the U.S., this place would get looted faster than New Orlean’s Best Buy following Hurricane Katrina – THANKS FOR THE FREE FOOD DUMMIES! Here, the messages on the envelopes created a montage of inspiration on their walls. Incredible.

Again, words can only go so far in describing this day of hiking. Pictures can only do marginally better, but enjoy!

How is this even possible?? This place is magical

We have a knack for finding nice porch hang outs

...and eating dinner on cliffs

Tomorrow, Katie Pappas and Aaron Fried make their first appearances on the blog as we link up in Paris. This promises nothing but the best of times. Paris will actually feel cheap in comparison to Switzerland, where I have been stealing breakfasts from our hostels daily to serve as lunch just to avoid defaulting on my credit card, but we'll miss our favorite country ever.