07 August 2014
Hallstatt, Austria (0 miles; Total = 526 miles)

Today’s blog is dedicated to our good friend Nancy, with whom I share a special bond: Claustrophobia.

He’s grabbing my jacket in the pitch dark, calling me Papa, Papa. He’s only grabbing me because as soon as the lights went out, I wasn’t able to grab him first and call Gina, Gina. My new little 6-year-old friend and I are at the very back of the tour group, ahead of Papa by just a few inches, only now that I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, who knows where Papa has gone. We are on a guided tour of the Dachstein Ice Caves with about 80 other people and a guide keen on saving electricity who thinks we’re all already down that flight of stairs when in fact there are a handful of us left behind, the group being so large that we can’t all cluster together in any of these god-forsaken underground chambers all at once. The good news is that Papa is a mountaineering man, pulling a flashlight out of his backpack and lighting the way for us stragglers to rejoin the main group, which, if you were wondering, is where Gina is located.

So I’ve blogged before about my disdain for caves. It’s truly surprising I made it into this one at all. Upon seeing the hordes of people on our tour, I insisted to Gina that we be the last ones to go in – it’s a proven fact that caves feel bigger when you’re not also being crowded. But being last into anything – an airplane, a bus, a cable car – goes against Gina’s nature, so we agreed that she could go in front but I would definitely be bringing up the rear. This plan worked out well until I rounded the first bend, saw the sea of heads in front of me, the narrowing of the passageway, and the fact that the door behind me was still open. Bolting for it, I lost my senses for a minute and stopped (mistake mistake mistake) to ask the guide if the cave was narrow. He assured me I would be fine before he slammed shut the door, making my choice for me. I guess I should have also asked him if he planned on leaving me behind in the dark.

The tour underway, I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other, following the horde down into the bowels of the mountain. It’s freezing down here – literally – but duh, it’s an ice cave, so cold is a requirement. Admittedly, the passages are pretty big and by keeping more heads in front of me than behind, I can concentrate on breathing instead of completely freaking out. I miss the entire English part of the tour and most of the German bits as well, being so far back in the line of people. But that’s okay because the faster he talks, the sooner I’ll be out of here. When I see that shaft of daylight around the last bend, I say a little Thank You, dance my jig in the imaginary rain, and board that, what else, claustrophobic cable car.