Loving Livigno

Just across the border from St. Moritz, Switzerland lies the town of Livigno, Italy. Spread out in a valley 6,000 feet above sea level, Livigno looks like an Italian-style outdoor mall, except one with alpine grace and wotten-waven pizza. Located in a duty-free zone, Livigno has slot machines and a casino, but surprisingly little booze.

On either side of the Livigno valley, gondolas take you up to 9,000 feet high mountain ridges. Since I had ridden in cars, boats, buses, planes, and many kinds of trains, it was high time for my first gondola ride.

As we rode up the Costaccia gondola, I sat on Mom’s lap and looked down at the valley below. Livigno is one of the few places in Italy where the water flows into the Black Sea.

As we stepped out of the gondola, the operator came out of his booth to say, “Ciao.” He and my dad talked about our route along the ridge. It had snowed the week before, so we were concerned about the trail. But all was clear, said the operator: "Nessun problema!"

We climbed 2,000 feet to the highest point along the ridge with mountain views in every direction along the way.

At the top, we met a British couple who live in Sri Lanka. They were visiting family in Britain but flew over to see friends in northern Italy for a week—and because they love the cool, mountain air. The man had an intent gaze; when he listened, he heard. They told us about a road trip they took around Switzerland in the eighties before moving to Sri Lanka. Based north of Colombo, they do extensive volunteer work and were very much involved in tsunami relief efforts. We asked about the Sri Lankan civil war, which they said is over now. Bombs had exploded near them in Colombo, but bombs had also exploded near their homes in London in the eighties.

"It's amazing what you get used to," said the woman.

Our mountain top friends are Jehovah’s Witnesses, and I think they gave us a silent blessing. It sure felt that way.

Pizza Matters

Speedy and Tootsie in conversation on the Potersalp trail
in Appenzell, Northeastern Switzerland.

I Think; Therefore, I Wag

Sometimes my mom asks me what I'm thinking about.

I wag. Thump, thump, thump. This is what I’m thinking:

"Cuddles, food, life. And something more."

I think about how named colors represent abstractions.

I think about how one dog biscuit might be better than another, but both are pretty good.

I think about how I prefer raw meat but never get to eat it.

I think about the eurozone.

I think about how our Swiss landlady likes to clean and my mom prefers to write a poem.

I think about how humans are perpetual failures.

I think about how it is important to love them anyway.

Green Dachshund

Johann from Raise a Green Dog recently shared a set of dog hiking tips. Thank you, Johann, for such an insightful post!

Because I'm a green dachshund, I would like to revisit Johann’s tips and respond from my own long and short experience. I am going to use Johann’s original questions to prompt my answers.

1. Are you and your dog ready?

It is imperative to start with little walkies and gently build us up to longer hikes. I’m long, but I’m also short. Fitness training is essential for wienies. Before Mom adopted me, I was a fat little dog. I’ve turned into a fit little dog thanks to Mom’s gradual hiking program. How did I go from fat to fit? Gradually and gently. With one exception: the Swiss tundra Greina hike was way too long. I mutinied.

2. Pack it up!

In Johann’s words, "Some dogs are suited for carrying packs, and some aren't". I’m not! Check out my long back!

3. Leash up!

I cannot control my nose, especially around wild animals and the abundant marmots in the Swiss Alps that are often bigger than me. And I don’t want to get in trouble with bigger dogs that may be off leash. Not to mention that I still don’t really understand that cars (and trains) are dangerous. My parents keep me on a leash as a general rule, but do make a few exceptions when it is reasonably safe. For example, I got to play off-leash at the beach recently. The problem is that 'reasonably safe' is a furry concept. As a case in point, I was off leash when we ran into a viper near Passo Vivione.

4. Keep hydrated!

My parents and I are still working on this one. I often refuse to drink the water my parents offer me on hikes, even though they bring my own water and my own travel bowl. But then I drink lots when we get back home, and I have to wizz late at night. What’s a hot dog to do?

5. Snacks!

Yip!

6. Pick up the doo!

Mom and Dad always do pick up the doo: as I get on with my pooping, they get busy with the scooping.

7. Watch the temps and the weather!

Dad and I are great big fans of MeteoSuisse, but we still face challenges from time to time.

8. Those enticing waters!

Mom agrees with Johann: one should always avoid unfamiliar water sources. Dad claims that water sources in the Alps are generally safe. Mom says that I have a delicate tummy. Dad says I’m tougher than I look. Mom says we should always bring my water. Dad always carries my water.

9. Take breaks!

Take naps!

10. Check the pads!

Thanks for pointing this out, Johann. Mom has been looking for specially-made dachshund booties.

11. Body check!

Very important tip, Johann. Lots of ticks in Northern and Western Switzerland. Luckily, Lyme disease is not a concern where we live in Southern Switzerland.

As a final note, I also appreciate a rub-down at the end of the day and a blanket under which I can burrow.

Catch a Wave

Novel

I recently visited France for the first time. We crossed over the Swiss-French border on the south shore of Lake Geneva in the binational town of St. Gingolph.

Dad took us on a walk—on French soil—along the shores of Lake Geneva.

I’m always up for walkies and investigating new places. I’m a mighty trooper.

Dad had picked St. Gingolph for our walkies because he wanted us to look up at Grammont, an imposing mountain overlooking the lakeside town. Last year, Dad hiked from St. Gingolph to the top of Grammont.

Here's a view from St. Gingolph looking up at Grammont:

Here’s a picture Dad took last year looking down at St. Gingolph from the top of Grammont:

The trail from St. Gingolph to Grammont runs through the mountain hamlet of Novel, spelled exactly like “novel” in English. Dad thought Mom would like that name. She did, and I did, too.

From St. Gingolph, we drove up a one-lane mountain road that wound round the mountainside to Novel.

The two hotels and the B&B in Novel were closed for the season, so we drove back down the one-lane mountain road. For once, I was glad to have an empty tummy.

Happy Hallowiener!

Trick or treat?