The tunnel was ten minutes long, just darkness and the strange feeling you get in your ears when you go through a train tunnel, but when we burst back into the sunshine the view was incredible. Sadly, I missed my first view of KISC because I was looking out of the wrong side of the train, but it was probably just as well- the view was so picturesque that if everything had gone right with it, my head might just have exploded with the beauty of life in that single moment. I got off the train at Kandersteg station, decidedly too hot in my trousers and hiking boots, and since I was an hour early I decided to wander into the village and see what was there.
Kandersteg village is a small alpine village, which I am sure is not really any different from hundreds of other villages in the region. However, when you are used to the flat grassy fields of England, it is easy to convince yourself that you have landed in a little slice of heaven. Chalets really are the main style of house here, all of them wooden (though newer ones are concreted on the ground floor) and they all have large woodpiles hinting at an idyllic, eco-friendly existence. The village is small, but not poorly equipped- I passed a post office, supermarket and several outdoor shops on my way to a seat outside the tourist information centre. And sure enough, dotted around the village, one can find scouts. Within ten minutes of arrival I had received an offer to trade neckerchiefs, which I decided to turn down since I had only been wearing my UK neckerchief for a total of half an hour ever. After an hour of wandering round the village, probably gawping like an idiot, Rikka arrived from KISC to pick me up, and we drove the ten minutes back to the centre.
KISC was founded in 1923 by Walter Von Bonstetten and Robert Baden-Powell. Bon Stetten was the chief scout of Switzerland at the time, and as most people know Baden-Powell started the whole scouting movement. Since it's inception, the centre has expanded in many ways, but as I dumped my bag in the Swiss room of the Old Chalet (they got a new one built next to it in 2005 so they had more room for the staff to live in) and took off my boots, I was struck by how much history still lives on in the place. The bunk-beds in the rooms are still done in the traditional style, and most of the interior is wooden. There are plenty of reminders about previous events and visitors to KISC all around the building (they only have about 1/3 of their donated neckerchiefs pinned up around the top of the communal rooms, and we are trying to fit more up!) but the place isn't stuffy in the way a stately home or a castle can be; it definitely makes room for the present among the past.
The first few days were a bit strange, as I was pretty much left to my own devices in the middle of an outdoors centre that I didn't know my way around or anything about. I was three days early for the start of the Autumn season, and the first of the "shortys", as we are known, to arrive. I had a walk into Kandersteg village, down the rive, and drank in the views of the mountains and the river itself, grey with glacial melt and fast0flowing. Three days later, we had all arrived: Su from South Korea, Laura from Australia, Miguel from Mexico, Rikke from Denmark, Caihome (pronounced 'Keeva') from Ireland, Kyle from the US, and Johan from Sweden, along with myself. We were welcomed into the staff team, and on Monday our training began.
Most of the training days were fairly placid, only disrupted by the occasional fire drill (including the one where we missed five of the staff who were hiding in places like the shower, waiting for us to come and evacuate them) and the many coffee breaks that seem to happen every five minutes sometimes. Tuesday was the one exception to this. 6:15am, and the long term staff burst into the staff living area (they live in their own chalets), bashing pan lids together and making loud noises until we had all got up. A short walk to get fancy dress items followed, during which I picked up a white fur jacket, a pink skirt, an alien mask and a yellow German military helmet, and a wooden gun, making me look rather like a militant, extra-terrestrial pimp. After that we headed to the Tower, where we were given breakfast and our mission: in two teams, we were to make our way into the village on a photo scavenger hunt! This was very exciting, and on the way into the village we learnt the location of all the long term staff chalets.
However, at a car park just outside Kandersteg, we ran into Vahne, from Bulgaria (catering assistant) who explained to us that we now had to make our way round the various businesses and places in Kandersteg
However, our train eventually managed to find its way to the tourist information and, after a quick look round the village museum (which had a whole room dedicated to KISC) we went up the Oescninensee gondola, had a go on the toboggan run, and then walked down to the glacial lake for lunch. After lunch there was a rowing session on the lake, which turned into a swimming session since the weather was nice. Despite not having my swimming gear with me, I was OK because at the tourist information I had opted to get rid of the trousers (the sun had come up by then and was rather warm) and so just had the skirt on- a good solution for most of the day, except during the rodelbahn (toboggan run) when it became a rather embarrassing air brake, especially when a lady appeared halfway down the run adjusting her shoes. Thankfully she didn't look up.
In any case, after swimming we made it down the mountain on foot, and then were given a new challenge: we had to buy, then cook, dinner for all the staff at the chalet! It didn't go too wrong; the others were very nice about the food, even though it was half an hour late, and by the end of it I had a large headache from dehydration and so was unable to go the pub.
In any case, Saturday finally rolled around and we, the Autumn staff team, graduated as Pinkies! We're not allowed to say what happened at the ceremony (which doesn't help my attempts to convince people that Scouting isn't a cult) but it was a very moving experience. We were now ready to start work... except for the issue of the staff board. We have to make the staff board before we are allowed access to the staff bikes, and we also have to make it by the end of our first week. So far we are still arguing about the design of the board ( I am writing this right now instead of participating in said discussion), so the question of whether or not we will finish it in time, and therefore get access to staff bikes, will have to wait until next time...
Tuesday 20 September 2011
Thursday 15 September 2011
The Journey
"So what do you think of Geneva?" one of my Roommates asked me as I struggled to fit my bright orange duvet into the considerably less interesting cover.
"It's dark," I replied. And, my natural wit notwithstanding, I was right. I had arrived into Geneva, Switzerland, about 45 minutes earlier from London Luton, and the time was about 9:45pm. Taking the train from the airport, then a tram two stops, back two streets, left and then on the left at the end of the road had all been accomplished with only minimal checking of direction, which had given me maximum time to try not to look terrified of anyone who came within five metres of me, as travellers on their own are wont to do. I had made it to the city hostel, where I was staying overnight before getting a train to Kandersteg in the morning.
The journey had, I reflected, been revealing in showing how I travel. Usually a continental adventure, of which I have done a fair few, would have been undertaken with friends from the University Scout and Guide Society, or my girlfriend. However, this trip was solo. I was journeying to the International Scout Centre in Kandersteg (KISC for short) to help run the centre for three months- my longest stay outside the UK ever. Whereas normally on a trip the details of flights, accommodation, transport and so on would be diligently written down, I was not sure what my hostel was even called, and had only brought one piece of paper with instructions with me instead of the usual three. It made me question what exactly it was that we had been writing down and referring to on previous trips. No panic had beset me at the lack of paperwork though; a fatalistic sense of calm had invaded my being, a faith that someone, somewhere, would tell me what I had to do. Either that or I hadn't slept well enough the night before to have the energy to worry about things like where I was going, or sleeping for the next night.
Anyway, my blinding attempt at humour was followed by an amicable chatting session during which we all discussed the usual things one discusses in hostels: the weather, where everyone else is from, what prompted them to travel to wherever you are, and so on. There was a travelling Australian, a Liechtensteiner student attending a conference, and a guy also attending the conference of an undisclosed nationality. We discussed how expensive everything is, which gave me a sinking feeling in my heart and a deflating feeling in my wallet. Then, just to spice things up, we all picked up our various books and engaged in that time-honoured tradition of ignoring everyone else around you and reading. Soon after that, things got even more exciting. Two more guys came into the room. We were literally speechless with surprise- we said not a word to them. And then, when the tension in the room was at fever pitch, the grand finale happened- we all went to sleep. It was at that point that the evening took a turn for the stranger, as the noise of the city gently lulled us off to sleep...
I awoke a few hours later, unable to breathe. This was not quite as dramatic as it sounds, as I suffer from a common disease called "OH GOD WHY CAN I NOT BREATHE THROUGH ONE OF MY GOD-DAMNED NOSTRILS?!" Some people call it hay fever, but most of those who suffer from it use the first name. Often they call it the "OH GOD WHY IS MY NOSE FILLED WITH CEMENT?!" disease, because not everyone always has the luxury of breathing through one of their nostrils. Those who do have obviously made some sort of agreement between their brain and the pollen, which states that only one nostril will be blocked in exchange for the brain refusing to use any antihistamines which you put into your system. However, that doesn't stop us, like ancient man desperately sacrificing goats to appease the uncaring gods and lift the drought which is slowly killing their village, from stuffing pills, sprays and olbas oil into our bodies like we are corpses being stuffed with pot-pourri.
In any event, I got up to go outside to the locker where my things were kept safe. The locker was opened by a keycard that works wirelessly, but alas lived outside the room, so in getting up, going outside, rooting around in my bag for the pills, and closing the locker again (my two bags didn't quite fit properly so closing the door was a bit of a mission) I managed to come fully awake. And, as I lay down again, I noticed a low rumbling that was getting slowly louder, like a storm approaching. It took me a while to work out what it was.
Snoring.
HGOOOOAAAARRRR" rising above the radiators and the aeroplanes overhead, leaving you with the kind of helpless fury that one only usually experiences when watching 'The Glee Project'. So this was the state I found myself in. Unable to breathe. And then, from out in the hallway, came another noise- one that chilled me to the bone.
There were two lifts in the hostel, down to the reception, and each one made a noise when it opened: "bing, bong!" That's fine. However, each lift had a slightly different tone to the other, and because neither of them arrived at the same time, what you ended up with was a tune. But this was not a happy tune. No, it was the kind of tune that gives small children nightmares. The kind of tune that makes people wet themselves in fear because they think creepy little girls are going to set them on fire. And you could only hear the noise when everything else was quiet; say, for example, like when the snoring beast of Geneva was on a break.
This was the position I found myself in; for half an hour it was horror music, followed by "HGOOOOAAAARRRR", followed by creepy lift music, followed by "HGOOOOAAAARRRR", with some more lift music to follow. And then, I realised that I had lost my keycard. Probably shut it in the locker, but equally likely that a robber was now stealing all twelve pairs of my underpants. Obviously I needed to go and get another keycard from reception, and now- before the robber made it away with my underwear. But I was on the top floor, which would mean that I would have to go down three flights of girls wanting to set me on fire. How I managed to find the courage is still beyond me, as is how I managed to get myself to sleep once I made it back to my bed. I suspect I hit myself with a brick, or something.
The morning arrived, sunny and with the promise of being warm. Leaving behind me the ordeals of the previous night, I clambered back onto the tram and then onto the train to Kandersteg. That was a week ago nearly now. In my next blog I will cover what happened when I arrived, and more about the centre, and training.
"It's dark," I replied. And, my natural wit notwithstanding, I was right. I had arrived into Geneva, Switzerland, about 45 minutes earlier from London Luton, and the time was about 9:45pm. Taking the train from the airport, then a tram two stops, back two streets, left and then on the left at the end of the road had all been accomplished with only minimal checking of direction, which had given me maximum time to try not to look terrified of anyone who came within five metres of me, as travellers on their own are wont to do. I had made it to the city hostel, where I was staying overnight before getting a train to Kandersteg in the morning.
The journey had, I reflected, been revealing in showing how I travel. Usually a continental adventure, of which I have done a fair few, would have been undertaken with friends from the University Scout and Guide Society, or my girlfriend. However, this trip was solo. I was journeying to the International Scout Centre in Kandersteg (KISC for short) to help run the centre for three months- my longest stay outside the UK ever. Whereas normally on a trip the details of flights, accommodation, transport and so on would be diligently written down, I was not sure what my hostel was even called, and had only brought one piece of paper with instructions with me instead of the usual three. It made me question what exactly it was that we had been writing down and referring to on previous trips. No panic had beset me at the lack of paperwork though; a fatalistic sense of calm had invaded my being, a faith that someone, somewhere, would tell me what I had to do. Either that or I hadn't slept well enough the night before to have the energy to worry about things like where I was going, or sleeping for the next night.
Anyway, my blinding attempt at humour was followed by an amicable chatting session during which we all discussed the usual things one discusses in hostels: the weather, where everyone else is from, what prompted them to travel to wherever you are, and so on. There was a travelling Australian, a Liechtensteiner student attending a conference, and a guy also attending the conference of an undisclosed nationality. We discussed how expensive everything is, which gave me a sinking feeling in my heart and a deflating feeling in my wallet. Then, just to spice things up, we all picked up our various books and engaged in that time-honoured tradition of ignoring everyone else around you and reading. Soon after that, things got even more exciting. Two more guys came into the room. We were literally speechless with surprise- we said not a word to them. And then, when the tension in the room was at fever pitch, the grand finale happened- we all went to sleep. It was at that point that the evening took a turn for the stranger, as the noise of the city gently lulled us off to sleep...
I awoke a few hours later, unable to breathe. This was not quite as dramatic as it sounds, as I suffer from a common disease called "OH GOD WHY CAN I NOT BREATHE THROUGH ONE OF MY GOD-DAMNED NOSTRILS?!" Some people call it hay fever, but most of those who suffer from it use the first name. Often they call it the "OH GOD WHY IS MY NOSE FILLED WITH CEMENT?!" disease, because not everyone always has the luxury of breathing through one of their nostrils. Those who do have obviously made some sort of agreement between their brain and the pollen, which states that only one nostril will be blocked in exchange for the brain refusing to use any antihistamines which you put into your system. However, that doesn't stop us, like ancient man desperately sacrificing goats to appease the uncaring gods and lift the drought which is slowly killing their village, from stuffing pills, sprays and olbas oil into our bodies like we are corpses being stuffed with pot-pourri.
In any event, I got up to go outside to the locker where my things were kept safe. The locker was opened by a keycard that works wirelessly, but alas lived outside the room, so in getting up, going outside, rooting around in my bag for the pills, and closing the locker again (my two bags didn't quite fit properly so closing the door was a bit of a mission) I managed to come fully awake. And, as I lay down again, I noticed a low rumbling that was getting slowly louder, like a storm approaching. It took me a while to work out what it was.
Snoring.
HGOOOOAAAARRRR" rising above the radiators and the aeroplanes overhead, leaving you with the kind of helpless fury that one only usually experiences when watching 'The Glee Project'. So this was the state I found myself in. Unable to breathe. And then, from out in the hallway, came another noise- one that chilled me to the bone.
There were two lifts in the hostel, down to the reception, and each one made a noise when it opened: "bing, bong!" That's fine. However, each lift had a slightly different tone to the other, and because neither of them arrived at the same time, what you ended up with was a tune. But this was not a happy tune. No, it was the kind of tune that gives small children nightmares. The kind of tune that makes people wet themselves in fear because they think creepy little girls are going to set them on fire. And you could only hear the noise when everything else was quiet; say, for example, like when the snoring beast of Geneva was on a break.
This was the position I found myself in; for half an hour it was horror music, followed by "HGOOOOAAAARRRR", followed by creepy lift music, followed by "HGOOOOAAAARRRR", with some more lift music to follow. And then, I realised that I had lost my keycard. Probably shut it in the locker, but equally likely that a robber was now stealing all twelve pairs of my underpants. Obviously I needed to go and get another keycard from reception, and now- before the robber made it away with my underwear. But I was on the top floor, which would mean that I would have to go down three flights of girls wanting to set me on fire. How I managed to find the courage is still beyond me, as is how I managed to get myself to sleep once I made it back to my bed. I suspect I hit myself with a brick, or something.
The morning arrived, sunny and with the promise of being warm. Leaving behind me the ordeals of the previous night, I clambered back onto the tram and then onto the train to Kandersteg. That was a week ago nearly now. In my next blog I will cover what happened when I arrived, and more about the centre, and training.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)