Bern – A near death experience
The Aare river is a vast body of fresh water that surrounds the city of Bern and powers the city's electricity supply through a series of hydroelectric plants located around the town. The natural current of the river means that it flows with a speed strong enough to create substantial electricity. The Aare also serves as the singular and vastly popular swimming destination for both locals and tourists. As you may imagine, herein lies the complication.
On my first day in the Bern Backpacker hostel, I met a pretty cool friend Andrew who would soon risk my life and then save it. That very first day, he and I decide to go down to the river with the intention of swimming in it. In order to test the speed of water, we threw in a stick, which seemed to swim faster than Thorpe down the river and end up about 50 meters from us in about 10 seconds. This, and the freezing cold water dissuaded us from venturing into the rushing torrent....for the moment.
The next day, after an intense day of cycling around Bern, we were quite sweaty and hot, so we gathered up our courage, asked the hotel lady about some more information about where to get into the water and where to disembark. She informed us that it is advisable that only strong swimmers venture into the river. After pointing out some good entrance and disembarakment points marked by bridges and various other infrastructure, she gave us a waterproof sealable bag for our clothing. The purpose of this bag is to place the belonging you have with you at the point where you enter the river because you may get off several kilometers away from that point.
Andrew and I arrived at our port with smiles and good humour, having made jokes to the admin woman about 'if we don't return, tell our mothers we love them'. Little did we know how ironic those statements were soon to become. As we placed our shirts and towels into the waterproof bag and sealed it with all confidence, we slowly submerged ourselves into the rather cold water.
The first ten minutes of our journey was admittedly extremely enjoyable and exciting as the river carried us at a good speed towards our destination. I was charged with the task of ferrying the bag, and it provided added buoyancy as I floated carelessly with the currents.
As we passed several milestone bridges, Andrew's confidence grows and he proceeds to 'go out into the center of the lake' because he thought 'it would be cool'. Foolishly, I follow.
As we go around a corner, all of a sudden the speed of the water intensifies several times, and we find ourselves being swept ever more quickly towards our disembarking point which was to be after a particular bridge. At this point, we decide to try and make our way to the side of the river and try to latch on to the railings. As Andrew pedals towards the railings with great aptitude, being a qualified lifesaver, I find my own efforts rather insignificant in making much headway sideways, as the current is too powerful.
Suddenly, I notice some bubbles emerging from the water proof bag which contained our towels and clothes and the buoyancy force of the bag is immediately changed into a 15kg anchor as the towels absorb more and more of the lake water.
Andrew is almost at the railing when he hears me shout in a not too distressed but significantly nervous voice 'I think I need help!'. At first he thinks I am joking, however, once I repeat this statement with greater conviction he realises that I am in trouble.
At this point, I think it is important to point out that your author's hands are shacking even as I type, reliving the rush of adrenalin through my veins.
As I fight to stay afloat with the cursed 'waterproof bag' dragging me towards the bottom of the lake, Andrew starts to make his way towards me, calmly instructing me to swim on my back and paddle with my hands.
Finally, and what seemed to be the longest 3 minutes of my life, Andrew reaches me grabs onto the bag. At this point I calm but only to a heart rate of maybe 190 beats per minute. Knowing not to lunge at lifesavers, I try to aid his lifesaving effort by aiding Andrew the full support of my side paddling hands and kicking feet.
After struggling for another 5 minutes, Andrew tries to calm me down by telling me that in fact there is no hydroelectric plant at the end of the river, and that we will not end our lives in a miserable bloody clog within the Bern hydroelectric generator. But not exactly in those words.
As we have floated substantially past any designated disembarkment railings, I tell Andrew that we should try to latch on to some branches of trees that kindly offered their hands to us. At this point I also swallow a worrying amount of water, which disorientates me ever so slightly. However, it is at this exact moment that my hand manages to grab onto a branch which snaps with the force. I lunge at a thicker branch which mercifully holds out for enough time for me to gain a hold over myself and balance myself on a precarious rock.
After hanging onto both the rock and the branch for about a minute regaining some of the effort exhausted in fighting the raging current, we make our way to a clearing in the trees to withdraw our utterly exhausted and shattered bodies from the wretched Aare.
As I emerge out of the water, my hand which was carrying the bag feels the full extent of the weight of the yellow leather death pouch for which I ended up paying five franks.
We shiver in the cold wind for five minutes as the adrenalin rush subsides and the endorphans are released. As we make our hour long trek home, we are strangely happy as we discuss ways in which to tell the story. I suggest that if we tell the story to girls, Andrew should play the role of the drowning maiden in distress and I be the brave lifesaver.
