The Jungfrau in My Closet

I took a train to the roof of Europe. Now it's in a closet in my guest room.

When I was thirteen I traveled with my family to Switzerland. My father rented two Volkswagen Beetles to convey us through the Alps; he drove one, my older brothers drove the other. In the first days of our trip it was thought that the kids’ car would be the “fun” one. Then I realized that it merely provided an opportunity for the older brothers to pick on the youngest—me—incessantly. So I retreated into the backseat of my parents’ Bug and enjoyed the view.

The climax of the trip came when we were visiting the city of Interlaken, which is presided over by the Jungfrau, a 13,000’ behemoth of an Alp. My father, as our travel planner, was well aware that the Jungfrau had a rail line leading to its snowy summit. But when he realized how expensive (very) it would be for six of us to take that train, he declared: “Your mother and I are now over the hill, so this is our last chance to take the train up Jungfrau. You guys can take the [much cheaper] gondola up the Schilthorn instead.”

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