The Cow-pocalypse and Other Camping Misadventures

Myself and another summer vollie (Jess) have been spending this week in a tent rather than the Main Chalet attic bedroom.When the summer vollies all moved out for the interum time between attic and the staff house, this was basically the conversation that took place.


Random summer vollie: Yeah, so there`s not enough space for all of us in the Camp House. Someone`s going to have to sleep downstairs or outside.


Jess: Ok, I dibs a tent.


Me: Buildings are for losers.


And thus, we began our week of sleeping in a tent and feeling smugly superior about the entire experience. Everytime we unzip our door, we are greeted by this incredible panoramic view of the Adelboden Valley, and up until last night, we were blissfully unaware of the protecton that one little red tent would provide in a wind/rain/death storm.


I woke up at 3ish to the soft patter of rain drops and wind rustling our tent flaps. "How cozy!" I thought as I bundled back down into my blanket and fell back asleep. False. Not cozy. Did you know there is sometimes wind in mountain regions? And if you happen to have set up a tent on an open hill top, several dozen yards from trees, there will be nothing to protect you from said wind?


At approximately 4:07am, the wind threw some sort of temper tantrum all over our tent. I don`t mean it was windy. I mean the rain and wind cooperated in such a way as to allow both to completely freeze and drown myself and Jess, and I began to have flashbacks about a camp backpack trip last summer where we named the river running through our tent. As far as last night, this wonderful breeze continued to tear apart our tent for the next two hours, while both of us buried our heads under our blankets like the adults we are. Beautiful.


Around the time this storm is letting up and I`m drifting in and out of some trippy, sleep deprived dreams, I began to hear cowbells in the background. We have two cows temporarily living at Our Chalet and eating our grass, so this would not have been weird except that this was louder. And getting closer. And instead of just Bambie and Trixie, it sounded like a mob of cows was headed straight for our tent. Billions of cows. With some sort of bloodthirst for Girl Scouts in little red tents. As it turns out, local farmers like to take their cows up to higher pastures to graze (aka how we got Bambie and Trixie), and this is part of the idyllic Swiss life I`m coming to lead, but seriously? 6am?


Eventually, the sun rose and the rain lessened and I stopped being bitter towards the chipping birds. Also, I wasn`t trampled, which was a plus. At breakfast while retelling my near-death experience, everyone else was like, "Oh, it rained?"


And that`s my life in a tent. Where I risk my life nightly.