The question begged to be asked. Here we were, walking through the Lauterbrunnen Valley, passing a trailer campground, and seeing a trailer with . . . a New Mexico license plate in its window. I'm fairly certain the guy outside it didn't drive that airstream across the Pond. So I do something unusual for me but increasingly common in travel. I ask him.
“Oh, we got that on our trip to the American West! We were so happy to be there!” The jovial older French man ushers us over to his “home,” the trailer he and his wife spend their summers in. Between his straggling English and my struggling French, we swap travel stories over his photo album of America.
He hops around on one foot, imitating the war whoop and dance he says he had seen “your Indians” do in New Mexico. Never mind that they aren't my Indians, nor that politically correct Americans would never say such a thing. His enthusiasm matters more than his phraseology.
An unplanned walk, an unexpected encounter, a completely entertaining evening. Plus, a moonlit walk back to our Lauterbrunnen hostel. A good way to end a day in the Alps.