Author: Shuting G.

Mount Rigi, a stone’s throw away from the scenic Lake Lucerne in Switzerland, became my destination of choice under the influence of Mark Twain—or so a friend suggested. My knowledge of Twain was largely confined to dusty school textbooks, but the chance to shadow a literary giant promised to sprinkle some fancy glitter on my Instagram travel diaries. To prep for this cultural expedition, I pledged to consume Twain’s travel tales like a fine Swiss chocolate.

But how naive I was to think Twain penned just a single travelogue. After devouring two chapters of “The Innocent Abroad” and flipping through the table of contents thrice, I realized on the plane—much to my dismay—that I might have been reading the wrong book. Needless to say, my cultural refinement didn’t quite get the pre-trip lift-off intended.

Lo and behold, post-journey, I uncovered the holy grail: “A Tramp Abroad,” and dutifully soaked up the chapters concerning Mount Rigi. Now, like Twain, I can chest-thump and boastfully affirm that I too have indulged in his travel insights and conquered Rigi’s majestic heights.

From Zurich, direct trains whisk you to Lucerne. Exiting the station, you’ll face the ferry piers where tickets to traverse Lake Lucerne are sold. These ferries double as sightseeing vessels, docking at quaint towns along the lake, including Twain’s point of ascent, Weggis, and my starting post, Vitznau.

While Twain hoofed it up Rigi from Weggis then rode the train down, I flexed my modern laziness, opting to chug up by train from Vitznau and descend on foot because—let’s face it—fighting gravity is for apples and Sir Isaac Newton.

Vitznau, charming and equipped, flaunted inns, eateries, and a haven for the snack starved—a supermarket. Dining lakeside at [Restaurant Sens](https://maps.app.goo.gl/BrmaeZDZmQiuPucf9) as the sun bid adieu was an Instagrammer’s dream. The view was cheaper and the service more delightful than the Big Apple’s—plus, without the hefty side dish of New York’s tipping guilt.

During tourist high season, you can catch a mountain-bound train from Vitznau about as often as a bear yodels in the woods—or once every hour, if we’re being factual. Jet lag made me choose the 10:30 ride to scale the mountain, and what a feast for the eyes! Swiss vistas never bore, offering mountains, abodes, and cows that seemed to have their lives more figured out than most humans.

Mountain top’s welcome committee? A thick fog. Hello, mystical obscurity! The spire emerged like a magic act’s finale, while a blanket of white smothered everything else.

Next surprise? A rock etched with “Emei Mountain”—a Chinese tourist’s fever dream or twin peaks united, thousands of miles apart? I wondered if there was also a stone inscribed with “Mount Rigi” at Mount Emei?

The walk down the mountain was smooth, and along the way, besides the heavy fog, there were many cows. Without any herdsmen in sight, just the cows, which led me to envy their seemingly carefree life.

Hunger struck at a mid-mountain eatery where a Viennese pork schnitzel and I bonded over beer. Swiss dishes come with sides, a novel concept to my American dining encounters where fries fly solo. Kudos to Swiss beer too, bereft of that bitter punch my American taste buds brace themselves for.

Further down, a combo station: trains to Vitznau, cable cars to Weggis.  The ticket lady, in a twist of Swiss kindness, spotted me a discount even without the expected guest card. Take note, wallet-gouging tourist traps elsewhere!

As I slid down the cable car wire to Weggis, the fog decided to slack off, gifting me with a view that my camera tried and failed to fully capture. Weggis, a mirror image of Vitznau minus my hotel room, served as a gentle ferry glide back.

Back at the hotel, I shared pics with my Rigi-conquering pal, eliciting shock at my foggy snapshots. Apparently, he’d visited some parallel-universe Rigi—blue skies, lush greens, and not a whisper of fog. I clearly had been to the wrong mountain or the wrong time; apparently, fog skips early risers.

The next dawn, bleary-eyed yet determined, I set off to greet the peak in HD clarity. The proverbial worm was caught, and the views, no longer shrouded, were spectacularly unveiled. What two hours could do for a landscape was sheer alchemy!

My descent—take two—was a rerun, but with new hours came new inconveniences, meaning no repeat lunch at the schnitzel sanctuary. The path turned sneakier and steeper, leading me through a cow barn escapade and a game of follow-the-leader over cattle grids. Note to self: down-mountain hikes are tougher on the knees than Swiss bank vaults.

However, the payoff was the solitary enjoyment of panoramic Swiss beauty, an exclusive love affair with the setting that wedged itself into my memory bank.

Back home, my quest to align with Twain’s prose led to an Amazonian venture for “A Tramp Abroad.” Twain’s Rigi adventure, peppered with missed sunrises and foggy misadventures, made my excursion seem rather, well, pedestrian. His gift of transforming a commonplace hike into an odyssey was a testament to enduring literary magic.

If fate leads me back to Rigi, promise to myself: I too shall witness a sunrise atop this legendary pinnacle.