Swiss Jura

A week in steep, airy Neuchâtel, where Edwards is teaching and writing his PhD on Byron. We climbed the Creux du Van early (warm sun, patchy snow) and toasted cervelas on the grassy plane high over Noiraigue.

A few days later we returned to Champ Du Moulin, a valley where I had gotten off the train on a whim earlier in the week and found a perfect campsite. Edwards had just finished teaching his Swiss undergrads about sonnets, so we were as unprepared as ever: two hours of daylight, no water, some useless groceries, and a Trader Joe’s bag full of electronics.

We found my spot again easily—a narrow, mossy flat ten minutes off the trail, up a steep peak and shielded by beech and pine.

I was tempted by a long spine of golden stone on the horizon. It seemed to continue along a narrow ridge from our spot and then run up steeply, almost to the level of Le Soliat.

Soon, however, the spine ended abruptly, and we were faced with sheer drops on all sides, carpeted with thick leaves and scattered rocks. Below, we could see the path and the river.

As we hovered at the edge, Edwards’ phone slid out from his bag and started down the slope—shyly at first as we snatched at it and then erratically, bouncing against the loam and spinning high and bright like a knife until it disappeared from view at the bottom of the hill.

After some discussion, I decided to go after it first while Edwards waited to avoid dislodging rocks from above. There were a few false starts before the momentum took over—then it was an uncontrolled slide, grabbing at mossy rocks and rotten branches as the Trader Joe’s bag swung pendulously from my neck, stuffed with the fetid Swiss groceries.

At one point I reached for a tree—but all I got was a slip of paper buried beneath the leaves, which turned out to be Edwards’ train ticket. I stared at this in disbelief as I slid, eventually sinking to a stop in the thicker loam near the bottom.

My descent scared Edwards off, so he circled back up to the spine to rejoin me on the path. I found the phone propped gracefully against a rock, somehow unharmed, and then took a dip in a gemlike pool while I waited for Edwards, who appeared triumphantly a few minutes later.

We walked back to a deserted train station and returned home to hot chocolate and omelets.