Up Where the Air is Rarified

Looking back on our three weeks together as a studious bunch of people, I have to make sure to follow the path set down by the Romantics, the seekers of the Alps' knowledge, that came before. They came to this wilderness in the sky looking for deeper meanings to the functions of the world, yearned for more vertical height between them and the plebeian men and women toiling fruitlessly for some other being. The Romantics, Byron, the Shelley's, Wordsworth, and others, wanted to get above the clouds of industry and consumerism, and move to the restorative mountains, in their majestic glory, to wipe their lungs and minds clean.

But the mountains are like all other incarnations of the Divine; they are beautiful and deadly, healing and intimidating, fertile and desolate. The people who spent millenia eking out a living in the crags and narrow valleys thought the Romantics were crazy. Who would want to climb a mountain? For fun, nonetheless. That was one of my first thoughts upon deciding to come here: I will not climb anything unless something above is worth getting or something below is worth escaping. But climb I did, and for no real purpose other than putting one foot in front of the other.
In the course of my study, I have scaled two Alps, crossed rivers, ridden innumerable trains, swum in Lake Geneva and the Adriatic Sea. I have heard the moo's and baa's of cows and sheep, and used earplugs to drown out the racket of their bells. But I feel like the mountains have taught me something each day. Whether it be the fierce strength of independence or a grand love of cheese and chocolate, I feel a connection with the Romantic view of Switzerland. The mountains have power, and the air is clear. With each firm in my mind I am ready to return home with a new view.