Feeling Alive

I closed my eyes.

I could hear cow bells stereotypically chiming and my guides voice repeating “don’t open them yet, just a few more steps.” I blinded obeyed.

“Now.”

I looked up. Right on cue the clouds began to slowly retreat like the curtains at a theatre to reveal the star: The Matterhorn.

I turned to my Granma to see her mouth wide open. You know you’ve seen something magical when someone who has been all over the world and back again, is stunned into silence.

The setting sun filtered through the clouds and when it reflected off the snow tipped peak, it made the whole mountain appear golden; as though Midas himself had touched it. But before I had time to fully appreciate it, the clouds rolled back in. They continued: coming and going, coming and going, just like waves. My eyes however did not waver. I didn’t want to miss seeing the towering mountain, its rugged peaks, rocky edges and snow capped crest. I had never seen snow in my life.

The next morning I bounded out of bed and raced outside. I hadn’t felt such excitement since Christmas Day as a child. The sky was cobalt blue, the sun was shining and this morning there was not a single cloud to obstruct my view.

Going up the chairlift was terrifying. My stomach was churning but whether it was from excitement, my fear of heights or the car swinging precariously from the thin wire I will never know. I could see the patched roofs and flowerbeds of the little Swiss village of Zermatt turning into miniature models below.

The higher we went, the colder it got and it gradually became harder to feel my fingers and toes and harder and harder to breathe. When we finally reached the top a Saint Bernard puppy ran over and licked my face. A fellow tourist let me get a picture with her plush yodelling beer mug. I clawed at the glacier, trying to gather enough ice to make a snowball.

There were moments where I laughed hysterically, overcome with a child’s excitement to be standing on top of the world in the Swiss Alps. And there were moments where I simply froze and looked in awe at the skiers above me and hikers below.

My tour guide walked over and pulled out his camera. “I only take photos of really special things. Not a cloud in the sky and sunshine in Zermatt; that’s special, that’s rare. You get day like this once in every seven years if you’re lucky.”

I don’t know who felt more excited and blessed to be on the mountain that day. The sun or me?