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| Lake Oeschinen seen from the flank of the Bluemlisalp |
In a remote corner of Alberta filled with tall, jagged mountains, I spent a week decades ago skiing with a group of people that included a gentleman we all referred to as “Erhart zee Happy Bavarian”. Erhart was one of those ageless life-long skiers, as calm in his bearing as his skiing was smooth in a way that belied his many years well-spent in the mountains. A native of Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Germany, he could have been 65; he could have been 85; his actual age was unclear and utterly unimportant.
Erhart alpine skied in randonnée boots — we’d call them “alpine touring boots” now — at a time when they were uncommon in North America outside the guiding community. When I asked him why that was, his response embodied his whole approach to the sport: when there was a line for lifts at home, he would just start walking uphill instead (“Ven der iz a line for zee leeeft, I chust valk up zee moun-tain”). We shared many stories on that trip, as you do, and one of Erhart’s has been on my mind a lot lately.
Erhart did a lot of business in the United States throughout his career, frequently flying across the Atlantic to do so in that blessedly analog time. The very first thing he would do each time he arrived in the United States was to buy a Hershey’s milk chocolate bar before even exiting the airport. Garmisch-Partenkirchen was among the first German towns liberated from the Nazis by the U.S. Army in the Second World War, and to this day has a large U.S. military presence, and the distinctly American appearance of the Hershey’s bar and its particularly American taste and texture triggered vivid memories of the GI’s who handed them out to the local schoolkids, including Erhart. With each saccharine sweet chocolate bar, he was reminded of those young soldiers from our Greatest Generation, filled with the infectious optimism and generosity that inspired Erhart throughout his life along with countless others in post-war Europe. Buying one right off the plane, unwrapping the brown paper and foil, and savoring the sweetness of it was his way of paying tribute to those GI’s and of reminding himself of the modern, liberating democracy they brought to the world.
I’ve recently returned from an exceptional trip hiking in the mountains of the Bernese Oberlandt in Switzerland. I stayed in a small, remote town, just busy enough for the local folk to look forward to the slower pace and quieter weeks of autumn but without any bitterness or a lack of genuine welcome towards their guests. Though my mountain adventures are the premise for these trips I enjoy, without fail it is the distinctiveness of each place I visit and the opportunity to meet and get to know the people that stays with me long after I’ve returned home. My trip hiking in the beautiful near-vertical mountains around Kandersteg was no exception.
My German is terrible — I speak just enough to engage in a conversation that involves saying hello, ordering lunch or coffee and then quickly moving into English or French. The effort makes a difference in my casual interactions with people, especially if I am happy to take time and move and speak slowly — particularly important with the mountain Swiss who are just not in a hurry to do or say anything as though preserving their energy for what is really important is the regional pastime. On this recent trip, the locals in my hotel, in mountain huts, shops and tramways were curious to engage a little bit longer with me but only when nobody else was around.
“American?”, I was asked quietly and carefully. What followed my “yes” was usually a quiet nod and gently raised eyebrow, and it often included the sheepishly asked question: “Trump?”.
Obviously, I have my political views. It’s very important to me that I am a good, non-partisan ambassador for our republic and our people when I am overseas. For whatever reason, when traveling I frequently and politely have been put in the position of being the great explainer of all things American to the people I meet. This year, this trip, these interactions felt different. I felt as though the people who asked me about the current President in such loaded fashion really wanted to know whether their idea of America, the image they clung to in the same way as my friend Erhart, is still valid. It’s a question that I ask myself quite often at the moment, and I do worry very seriously that America’s deliberate abdication of leadership and advocacy for democracy and democratic values has left behind only a haze of constant, bellicose, selfish noise. It’s hard for us to maintain an informed and hopeful world view while drinking from a firehose, and it’s clearly challenging for our friends overseas to watch when they are accustomed to looking up to us and the society we created here.
I am not suggesting that we all start eating Hershey bars and eating them while binge-watching Band of Brothers in an effort to find a way to heal our nation. I do find the news of the day to be a severe challenge to my belief in the American Dream and my confidence in my own future and that of our Republic. Still, as I always conclude, I will not forsake the immeasurable effort of our preceding generations who came to America on whatever deck of the boat and in whatever status, and who made it the great nation our friends grew up admiring so much. I am not giving up. I am lucky to have Erhart’s memory and the hopeful inquisitiveness of the people I meet as a reminder that America as an idea still looms on the horizon and will always be a work in progress. There can be no going backwards, despite the consensus of the fire hose.
I bought some delicious freshly picked apples and beautiful corn at the farmer’s market this Labor Day Weekend. I did not buy any Hershey’s milk chocolate bars. Maybe I should have, and just maybe the idea of them and their sweetness is enough for now.
Thank you, Erhart. Enjoy your uphill walk, my friend.
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| Bonderalp ridge between Kandersteg and Adelboden |
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| Farmhouse in Ober Allme; nice cow bells! |
