Larissa's Travel Journal

London is a great place to live, but it’s also big, noisy and thus, every once in a while, it’s a place which needs to be escaped from. My aunt owns a small house in Switzerland on a mountain called Rigi. When invited to use the vacant home, and her insistence that the mountain is truly remarkable, my boyfriend and I jump at the chance. Arriving at Basel airport on a particularly chilly day in January, we catch the train to Lucerne, from which we take a boat to the small town of Weggis and finally a scenic, if slightly frightening, gondola ride to the top of the mountain.

It’s rare, but every now and then, you experience a place which allows you to feel grateful for your existence. Stepping off the gondola, I look down the face of the mountain and see the world as a bird must; cotton candy clouds floating gently and between them a glimpse into the world below: toy houses, tiny cars, and an adorable sail boat gliding through the glistening lake. Walking toward the holiday house, the crunching of snow under our feet gets us excited about skiing. I feel happy.

The next day, we rent gear and hit the slopes. I haven't skied since I was a kid, and it's my boyfriend's first time. We laugh as toddlers overtake us, zooming in complicated slalom, as we carefully maintain our 'pizza' shapes. In the evening we eat Rosti at a pub, a Swiss national dish made simply from grated potatoes and bacon. Though basic, it melts in my mouth like a gourmet meal.

When we step outside the pub, the sun has gone down. It's so eerily quiet, I sneeze and feel obnoxious. All I see is the fluorescent white of the freshly fallen snow and dim twinkle of stars. My life is in the city now, but my soul comes alive when surrounded by nature.

We leave a week later, and it feels surprisingly difficult to say goodbye. As the gondola descends, I look backward wistfully, the small village up top disappearing into a cloud. "I read this place is open for mountain biking in summer..." my boyfriend says. I smile. We'll be back.