The Happy Hypochondriac Survives World Travel. Kat Spitzer

to himself with drugs, so could we just meditate a little less on the matter and instead head out to the next site? I was starting to get the heebie-jeebies being surrounded by dead people for so long; perhaps subconsciously worried that it was contagious. Plus, there was more to Paris that I wanted, nay, NEEDED, to see. My breathing started to constrict. Enough with the mini panic attacks! I contributed an “I love you, Jim” to the wall and appealed to the group to move on. It was hard, due to all the teen-aged emotions suddenly flowing for a guy who had his heyday before they were even born, but finally we left. It was time to celebrate life before I lost it.

      Our visit to Switzerland offered visions I’d never imagined. When we drove into the country, all was fine and pretty and ordinary and then suddenly, like a backdrop direct from fantasy, the Alps appeared. They were not there, and then they were, in all their glorious majesty. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.. I felt cold and tingly from inside the bus, before I even stepped outside and into their presence. If you haven’t seen them, they are an awe-inspiring, overwhelming, visual perfection; a confection of snow-capped beauty. I kind of wanted to eat them. On the ground, however, it was early summer and a rich display of color trimmed each peak; a dazzling array of gorgeous flowers. Periodically we would spot a waterfall and in one area, rainbow-hued hang gliders dotted the landscape. I was scarily breathless, like I had jumped off a wall, forgot to bend my knees, and had the wind knocked out of me. I was frightened and stupefied and in love all at the same time.

      “Tomorrow, we’re going to take a train up the Jungfrau to the ice palace at the top and try a little skiing for anyone who’s interested.” I almost fell off my seat. I want to ski! Wait, we’re going up one of those peaks? That’s a bit high, right? And steep. Hmm. Not so sure about that one. The whole group was going. I would go.

      After a perfect evening and night’s sleep at an inn in Interlaken, filled with a down comforter-aided cloud-like sleep that continues to blow away every other night’s sleep I’ve ever had, we boarded a rickety-seeming train that took us slowly up the Jungfrau, one of the highest peaks in Europe. I had to keep myself from looking out of the window at the sheer drops along the side of the train cars. My hands started to sweat and I had trouble swallowing. I stared directly at my friends as they talked because if I focused hard enough on them, I might have a chance of not passing out. Up and up and up we climbed. I could no longer see the ground because of the winding of the train on the mountain. All that rose above us was a vast whiteness. Was this it? Was I going to heaven now? One of the chaperones came around to give us the lowdown once we got to the top. I wanted to tell him to sit down, and not stand up during the ride. Safety first, man.

      “Once we get up there, we will walk through the ice palace and all its carvings. You are free to get a bite to eat at the café or you can go outside and try to ski a little. It’s just trying it out, as we don’t have the time to stay and ski for any period of time.” He cleared his throat. “Now, you all are from Florida, which is really flat, as you know. I don’t know how much experience you have with altitude…” He looked around and everyone shook their heads no. “Okay, well, this mountain is really high. Really high. When you get off the train, just take your time walking around. Don’t try to run around, as you will get really tired. Get some water and drink lots of it. You might feel dizzy. You might feel sick to your stomach. You might get a headache. The air is thinner, so it might be…different…to breathe.”

      What?! He’s just telling us all this now? I was already struggling with breathing from my panic and now we were going to the top of a REALLY HIGH mountain in the Alps. As far as I knew, all Alps were really high, so to say it was really high meant this mother was REALLY HIGH! Dizzy and sick? Check. And I hadn’t even gotten out of the train yet. Oh boy. I wondered immediately if there was a medical station at the top. Or, if we stopped breathing, would we have to take the slow, rickety train ride all the way back down to the small village at the bottom for care? I was not liking this at all. Oh no, I just looked over the side. Must stop doing that.

      We reached the top and I walked out, taking steps in slow motion. The others looked at me.

      “What? He said to take it slowly.”

      “Yes, but not to be crazy about it,” said my friend. “You’re not re-enacting the moon landing. Let’s just get some water and you’ll be fine. Walk normally. Just don’t run right away. He said once we get used to it, we will be fine.” I picked up my pace, but only a little bit, so as not to attract attention, and judgment.

      In the ice palace, I was fine. It was awesome actually. Ice sculptures in an ice building at the top of a mountain in the Swiss Alps. What could be cooler (no pun intended)? Plus, I couldn’t see the outside and thus didn’t have a constant reminder of just how high we were up in the sky. I drank more water. My dizziness, whether self-imposed or actually brought on by the altitude, started to subside. It was time to face the outdoors. I would not let my fear hold me back.

      There was a large open area where they allowed people to strap on skis and give it a shot down a relatively flat hill. Once I could put them on and stand up without immediately falling, I held my breath, never the wisest choice, and pushed myself off my stationary spot with my ski poles. Within seconds, I was speeding way too fast down the hill into a white void. There was nothing to see but white and the silver jagged peaks of neighboring mountains covered in more white. Then I saw unexpected red. I had fallen, tangled up in the red plastic fence netting at the bottom of the hill used to mark the end point of the ski area, and I assume, catch wayward neophyte skiers like me. Go past that point and you would be lost into the snowy abyss and nobody would hear you land. I looked down and found my feet still attached to the skis but twisted in uncomfortable ways backward and to the side.

      I tried to sit up, but the heavy breathing made me dizzy and I fought for each breath with difficulty. Once I finally found my way to an upright position on my rear end, I attempted to stand.

      “Just walk your hands up your ski pole,” said my chaperone, who had come to a stop nearby and who had clearly skied before. I grunted and huffed and wheezed the thin air, but lacked any upper body strength whatsoever to complete the task. I gave up and instead found the ski binding releases and applied more strength than I thought I could feasibly muster to try to escape those death planks. I was now certain that I did not enjoy skiing. It would take me a number of years before I would try it again. But what could I expect? You strap skis onto a novice (from Florida no less!) at the top of the Alps and wait and see what happens. Does someone take to it that fast? If so, I was not one of those super skilled people.

      Once I hiked my way back to the top of the hill under the burden of the equipment that had tried to kill me, I promptly dumped the skis and joined another group who had started sledding down the hill on sacks. That was much better. Now when I overexerted myself with laughter and excitement, I just laid my head down on the sack until the dizziness passed and I could hike back up again. I noticed some other people skiing, people with actual skills, in a winding fashion all around the mountain, even in places with no holy red plastic protective barrier. One misstep and they would have disappeared forever. I had to cover my eyes. I can tolerate that kind of thing in movies, maybe James Bond, but not in real life. I had vertigo just watching them and prayed that they stayed on whatever was considered the path.

      Needless to say, since this account has now found its way to print, I survived. I felt my sanity and breath return, my dizziness subside and my blood pressure decrease with each click of the train back down the mountain. I sighed when we hit bottom, happy to be alive and exhilarated by just how alive I felt. I bought a Swiss watch to celebrate, and maybe a little Swiss chocolate. After that adventure, we walked through the fields at the base of the mountains and decorated our hair with wildflowers. Considering I was tethered to a large group, I’ve never felt such freedom. And now that my heart rate was back to normal, I could really let myself go and enjoy the beauty all around me. I savored a bite of Toblerone.

      Yes, Europe gave me everything I asked for and more. In Amsterdam, I ate Gouda and wandered through tulip markets and saw windmills and tried on clogs. I also strolled by the windows in the Red Light District and saw all the ladies for sale, like moving mannequins, with actual red lights. I didn’t expect the literal red lights. I didn’t try any drugs, so I’ve been told I missed out in that regard. But