Welcome to Wander We Go. I’m Alex.
I write about life in Zürich, travels throughout Europe, and musings on both.
Summer afternoons, it seems the shades of blue are undecided, too lovely for nature to choose just one. The sky and the sun compromise, picking a new blue each day: turquoise, robin’s egg, canary, the deepest of navy, the lightest of aquamarine, sometimes a solid hue, mostly blended, always radiant. It shimmers and it beckons. Coyly, almost suggestively.
The first class was rough. Actually, rough is putting it lightly. The first class was a train-wreck. Even though I’d been in Zurich for six months - and I’m embarrassed to admit this - I hadn’t picked up any bit of the language at all. Not Swiss German, and definitely not hochdeutsch.
We are peeling back the layers of this city, debunking myth after Swiss myth. One of the greatest discoveries? Zurich, this big little buttoned-up city, has more than meets the eye. In fact, it is pretty cool!
It’s easy to get caught up in Zermatt’s appeal, from the Matterhorn to the world-class skiing to the wintry charm of the village itself.
It was not just fun, but incredibly insightful, to have a weekly meeting with a group of women, none American other than myself, to talk and share our collective experiences living in Zurich.
But then, on the first Thursday night of the year, I came across something that seemed too unique to pass up - ice-skating on Oeschinensee. That is, ice-skating on deep-blue-turned-black-ice frozen lake nestled high up in the Bernese Oberland mountain range. And the closing argument: ice-skating on a frozen lake up in the mountains that’s only possible when weather conditions are exactly right. Cold enough to fully freeze the water, but without snowfall to cover the lake’s surface. It could last a few days, a few weeks, or simply never freeze over for nearly two decades. The magic only lasts as long as the snow doesn’t fall and the ice doesn’t melt. And right now, Lake Oeschinensee was the ultimate natural ice skating rink for just a few more days, until the forecasted big snowfall on the upcoming Sunday. Doubt of winter sports be damned, we were going ice skating.
Moving to a new country is a bit like living in Newton’s Third Law - for every small victory there is an equal and opposite faux pas. I’m remembering to celebrate even the smallest of wins, and laugh off the mistakes as expat rites of passage.
