"And then we'll drop in on the old woman," Kathy said, describing the route of our hike.
We had been waiting two days for the weather to improve. Clouds still hung in the mountains and we could barely make out the Fisialp.
"That's where she spends the summer," Kathy pointed to where mist was trailing along the cliff like a ragged veil.
When the sun finally spilled over the Doldenhorn and rushed down the valley, we decided to go. We filled our water bottles and said goodbye to Heinz and Liesel, the elderly couple who owned the farmhouse where we were staying.
Kathy, a Canadian teacher and professional hiker, led the way, followed by her husband John, on leave from a special building project in Moscow, then Janet, my Canadian partner, walking gingerly in her new boots, and me, full of expectation about what the day would bring. I like the unusual and the idea of visiting an old woman who spent the summer on a remote alp fascinated me. She was supposed to be in her 80s. How on earth did she make it up there?
We trudged through Kandersteg, a lovely old village in the Bernese Oberland, till we came to the start of the trail.
"It's pretty steep," Kathy warned, "so pull up your socks."
The trail immediately disappeared in the woods, still sodden and steaming from all the rain. It was narrow and winding and we only caught an occasional glimpse through clearings of the dwindling houses below. After twenty minutes, I realised how out of shape I was. Luckily John stopped to size up some logs. "What beautiful trunks!" he exclaimed.
"What's so beautiful about them?" I asked, catching my breath.
"Well, they're straight and even. They'll make perfect planks."
He was looking at them from a builder's point of view. For me they were just wood.
About an hour later we reached a slope littered with scree. From there we could see the Oeschinensee, one of the most beautiful alpine lakes I know. Opposite us was the Allmenalp where some paragliders were sailing off the side of the cliff to hover in the sky like vultures.
"Come on," Kathy reminded us that we still had an hour to climb. We plunged back into the woods and waded through some nettles to a steep outcropping. I caught up with Kathy.
"Tell me more about this woman."
"Well," she said, wiping the sweat from her face, "I discovered her on my last hike up here three years ago and we immediately hit it off, even though my German is poor."
I'm convinced that Canadians are the most easy-going people in the world and if you dropped them on Mars, they'd hit it off with whatever form of life was there.
"Do you think she'll remember you?"
"I hope so," Kathy said. "She's had a tough life. She raised four children practically on her own by working on a farm. When we're up there, look at her hands." The last part of the hike was the steepest. As we struggled around a huge boulder, I felt like an ant crawling up the side of an elephant. With much puffing and bending, we passed through a makeshift gate to lush a meadow sweeping up the side of the mountain. In the distance we could hear the tinkling of bells. "That's where she lives," Kathy said, pointing towards a dark hut.
We walked up to a trickling water trough where two pigs were rooting in the mud. One squealed when it saw us and trotted off to a shed. Some shirts and pants fluttered on a line. A woman in a faded orange T-shirt and kerchief tied around her head came out of the hut and waved.
"Hello!" Kathy rushed up to her." "Do you remember me?"
The woman squinted at her for a moment, then her wrinkled face broke into a smile.
"The American woman! Of course I do."
"Canadian," Kathy corrected, patting her hand. I had learned the hard way that mistaking Canadians for Americans is almost as bad as confusing Swiss-Germans for Germans.
"These are my friends," Kathy introduced us, "Roger and Jan, and that's John, my husband."
"Es freut mich sehr," the woman shook our hands. "Ich bin Heidi."
I looked at her hands; they were as gnarled as an ancient oak branch. Part of her right thumb was missing.
So, is this was what had become of the Heidi? A lifetime of backbreaking work had bent her, but here eyes still gleamed with intensity. "Would you like something to eat and drink," she said in her Oberland dialect, which I translated for John. She went back in the hut and after a few minutes brought us some herb tea and dark bread with cheese. In the meantime, I looked about the place. There was a small stall attached to the hut where some goats were tethered. She's still the Heidi we know, I thought, and wondered which of those goats was Daisy or Snowflake, her favourite ones in the story. "Heidi, how on earth did you get up here?" Janet asked when we were eating the delicious goat cheese.
"By helicopter," she laughed. "At my age I can't climb that high anymore. The pigs flew in with me too. Right Pesche and Moritz?" They had come out of their shed again and were grunting about us.
"What are the goats called?" I asked.
"Pesche and Moritz," she said. "I name all my animals Pesche and Moritz, male and female, the chickens too. It saves time because when I call them in the evening, the whole lot comes at once."
"Heidi," Kathy slid up to her on the old wooden bench where we were sitting, "did you ever make that trip to the U.S.?"
"Oh yes," her eyes glowed even more, "I went there last year with my oldest son and his family in a camper...and loved it."
"What did you like most?"
"The friendly people and wide-open spaces, but I guess what impressed me most.", she paused and took a deep breath, "was.Las Vegas."
"Las Vegas!" We almost fell off the bench.
"Yes. All those lights and fantastic hotels. We stayed in the Luxor, an exact copy of a pyramid. I saw the Sphinx and a pharaoh's tomb. I've always wanted to go to Egypt and that was my big chance. I gambled too with those.what do you call them.one-armed robber things." She gave us a grin, "and won twenty dollars. But you know something?"
We braced ourselves, expecting the worst. "I was glad to come home again. I'm happiest up here. I love the mountains, the fresh air and meadows in spring when all the flowers come out."
We were relieved. That was the Heidi we knew. "I don't know," she added, "how much longer I can come up here. Soon it will be autumn and the helicopter will fly me back to Kandergrund. There I will spend the winter in my little flat. It's warm and cosy but I don't like being cooped up in those concrete walls.it makes me depressed."
"Will the pigs fly back with you?" I asked. "Oh no! Pesche and Moritz are too fat now. They'll have to walk down with the goats and my grandsons." Some dark clouds had appeared from behind the Fisistock, a warning for us to leave. We gave Heidi a big hug and a kiss. Kathy exchanged addresses with her.
"The next time you must come to Canada and visit us in Novia Scotia," she said. "Oh, I've always wanted to see Canada," Heidi brushed a tear from her cheek, then, with eyes widening, she added, "Do they have casinos there too?"