I’ve undertaken several fruitless attempts to describe my church tower adventure as a travel story. Now I’m at the point of giving up. Nonetheless, I want to share my little excursion in which I persuaded my American friend to join me in climbing the 500-year-old steeple of the Swiss Catholic church in my home village. As you may know from reading my profile, I grew up in Switzerland. The village church in our 900-soul community called Henau is our landmark. The church happens to feature the highest steeple in Eastern Switzerland. You can imagine how proud we “Henauers” (the term to describe people from Henau) are.

The last time my Nashville friend traveled with me back home to Switzerland, I went to the Saxon and asked whether he could unlock the small wooden door leading up the worn stone steps into the tower. “No problem,” he answered and even offered to be our tour guide, which I gratefully accepted.

The only time that I had ever been in the tower was as an elementary student. Even though I always was above average in height, the Wendeltreppe leading to the first floor in the tower seemed to be never-ending as a child. Now, that same passage seemed to be too narrow for my six-foot, overweight frame. I couldn’t even fit my size 11 feet on the steps. Nonetheless, I managed and was rewarded with a surprise. After the stone steps were safely behind us, we reached a wooden platform. The room we entered escaping the narrow rocky staircase seemed rather spacious and was filled with little awkward artworks.

“It’s a modern museum, not exactly to my taste,” explained the Saxon. It turns out that when the church was renovated in the early 1990s, the historian Pius J. Rimensberger decided to donate some artifacts to the parish and exhibit them in the tower. The most memorable subject was a stuffed black bird – a Dole, to be exact – the last of this rare species, which used to nest high up in the steeple half a century ago. We soon had satisfied our curiosity about this exhibit and went on to climb the comfortably wide steps of a wooden staircase to the next platform. Here we encountered a more interesting historical remnant – the steeple’s old mechanical clockwork. I was in awe. The tower also exhibits the former clock weights, which must weigh close to a ton (according to my unscientific estimates).

The view through the old, gothic shafts, which serve as windows, was magnificent at this height. Before we climbed further, we squeezed through a small door that led into the attic of the actual church. Knowing how high above my head the ceiling was when I attended mass with my mother each Sunday, I was now careful not to step anywhere I could possibly fall through the attic floor and end up 30 or 40 feet below on a church bench. My height estimate may be a little off at this point. Even though I knew on a rational level that this roof would hold me, on an emotional level, I didn’t want to take a chance. Thus, I quickly crawled back into the tower and climbed the next set of stairs.

Now we really started to gain height. “You want to climb up further and see the clock work?” the Saxon asked us, pointing to a shaky-looking, wooden staircase leaning against a wall. Of course, we didn’t want to give up now and were rewarded with the view of five church bells, each a different size. One of the smaller bells, which likely still weighed close to a ton, welcomed us when the Saxon decided to turn it on. The bells were officially welcomed in Henau in 1923 and each has its own name: Sebastiansglocke, Wetterglocke, Betglocke, Gallusglocke, and Armenseelenglocke. The bell of Sebastian – which is named after the patron saint of the church; the Weather bell; the Prayer bell; the bell of Gallus – which was the monk who founded the Abbey of Saint Gall; and the Poor Souls’ bell. The biggest of them weighs two and a half tons, the smallest 300 kilograms (660 pounds). The bells are in the room that marks the end of the rock walls. Here the wooden shingled roof of the steeple starts. However, our climb was not over yet.

The Saxon pointed to the next steps. Unfortunately, it was a wooden ladder. Since both of us, my friend probably even worse than I, are afraid of heights, we just stared at the ladder. “We can do this,” I said, and so we climbed on. The view from this height was magnificent! Here under the wooden shingles the space was still wide. In the middle of the room, we discovered the tallest ladder I have ever seen. “Let’s go on,” the Saxon announced. - “Oh, no!” we responded. I had never seen such a tall, wooden ladder. It seemed to lead directly into heaven. Was it time for me yet, to knock on that door?  Would this ladder hold my weight? Would it sway back and forth, making my knees jitter? On the other hand, this was a unique chance – an adventure we were unlikely to repeat soon. Together we determined that this climb was a must. As I inched my way upwards, I clung to each wooden slat, climbing slowly. After an eternity, I proudly pulled myself through the opening onto a wooden floor. The space here was significantly smaller. A peep hole, however, offered breathtaking views. To my horror, I discovered another ladder. We decided that we had conquered enough challenges, especially since we still faced the climb down that monstrous ladder.

The climb down the tall ladder was cruel. I don’t think I ever held on to anything as closely. My sweater pulled upward because I would not allow my upper torso to move an inch away from the wooden slats I was clinging to with all my might. Finally, I reached safe ground. We were still hundreds of feet up in this 500-year-old tower, but the platform I stood on was as steady as could be under these circumstances. I said three Hail Mary’s under my breath, astonished that I remembered this Catholic prayer so well. Upon our return to the church bells, the largest of them “belched” right into my ear – which made me jump. The Saxon grinned widely at my shock, which he had caused by turning on a big hammer that tapped the bell once. “Boom,” it made again, and I wondered what the villagers would be thinking about this unusual concert ringing over their rooftops.

On our way down the different levels, we stopped once more to enjoy the spectacular views across Henau and into the surrounding fields. I pointed to my Mom’s house, which was barely visible behind other rooftops on the closest hill, which we call Oberberg (upper mountain). The deep blue sky was littered with fluffy clouds inviting me to take plenty of pictures of this homey landscape. Yes, this was my home - still is my home, etched into my heart, my soul, my mind. Here at the foot of this tower, on the east side lies the graveyard, the resting place of my father, my grandmother and my grandfather. My roots would remain here forever, no matter how far I chose to venture into the world.

Returning to the small chapel through which we had entered the tower more than an hour earlier, we both were happy and pleased with our little adventure. Dusty, thirsty and tired, we sat down and discussed our bravery in conquering our fear of heights. I can only recommend each visitor to stop in a small village with a high steeple and ask the Saxon of the church to unlock the door to the tower. The climb is worth it. You will not find Rapunzel – I assure you, but you will find more than a simple, historic structure. With each higher platform you reach, you will feel a little more elevated on your way to heaven.