The Tour des Muverans is a multi-stage hike that encircles the Grand Muveran massif. It’s in the French-speaking region of Switzerland, along the border of the cantons of Vaud and Valais. Once one of Switzerland’s lesser-known hut-to-hut routes, it’s gradually gaining popularity among Europeans (though it is still far quieter than famous trails like the Haute Route or the Tour du Mont Blanc). We met hikers from Belgium, the Netherlands, England, Germany, Spain and Poland, all doing slightly different variants.

Traditionally, this tour is done as a 4-day loop. But because there are several trailheads accessible by public transport - notably Derborence, Pont de Nant, and Ovronnaz - a wide range of accommodations along the way, and multiple trail variants, hikers can easily mix and match sections to create their own version of the trek. And that’s exactly what we did when we hiked the route in September: Four days, three nights, starting in Derborence and ending in the village of Gryon.

Now, you might already be asking: why not just do the traditional route? Well, a few reasons. First, there were a couple huts I was really keen to stay in for nights one and two: Cabane Rambert and Cabane Fenestral. But, because they’re relatively close to each other, that would have meant a very long hike on day three, with significant elevation gain and descent. Which leads me to my second reason: We weren’t looking to really push ourselves to the max, in the way we might have on past hikes. Raunaq was still rebuilding knee strength after his winter ACL tear, and overall, we both were happy with a slightly more “relaxed” adventure (mind you, still with 5+ hours of hiking per day). So, I routed a trail that didn’t fully complete the loop, and instead ended in an alternate village on our 4th day.

P.S. Want help planning something like this? I offer different hike planning services that can help!

Day 1: Derborence - Cabane Rambert

Our day started with a long day of travel - over four hours - which culminated with the locally famous and very thrilling PostBus from Sion to Derborence (a ride on a large bus on an impossibly narrow road carved right into the mountainside). If you’ve ridden it, you know how crazy it is! The bus dropped us right at the pretty Lac Derborence, and we got straight to hiking.

Today was all ascent - over 1,400 meters of it. But the best part about hut-to-hut hiking is that you can take all day if you want, and it was really enjoyable to not be in any sort of rush, and just have the time to take in all the landscapes. We first hiked up through the Derborence forests, and then along the grassy plateaus filled with cows still enjoying the last of summer and fat marmots bulking up for the winter. After a while, we passed the Gite de l'alpage de Dorbon, a small and cozy-looking refuge - one of the many places to eat or sleep that we would pass on our four days.

Eventually, the terrain grew stark and otherworldly, almost moon-like. We passed the Lac de la Forcle, and navigated a long boulder field (the most demanding section of the day) that led up to the Col Forcle. The clouds added a constant sense of drama, especially as we reached the mountain pass. Shifting and swirling, they would part just long enough to reveal a glimpse of Mont Blanc or the Grand Combin, only to sweep back in and obscure everything again.

Cabane Rambert is directly in front of the Grand Muveran, and has an incredible view of all the big big mountains of the Alps. The coolest part was spotting familiar landmarks from past hikes: Mont Blanc de Cheillon and the Corbassière Glacier from last year’s Alpine Passes Trail, and even the jagged Aiguilles, which we’d first seen on a trip to Chamonix a few years back. A family of chamois visited the hut in the evening, there was craft beer from local Valais breweries, the food was delicious, the staff was friendly - it was a great first day. We just won’t talk about the two snorers in the room (one being my husband).

Route

Day 2: Cabane Rambert - Cabane Fenestral

The day started with a sunrise ibex spotting, which to me, is always a sign from the hiking universe that it’s going to be a great day. Breakfast came with beautiful views from the dining room, and then we were off. It was only slightly less windy than the day before, but once we got down from the exposed pass, it became much more manageable. Incredible views of the Grand Combin opened up as we descended toward Jorasse. There’s a chairlift here that goes down to Ovronnaz, and a restaurant. We arrived at 10:30, but they don’t serve hot food until 11:30… so we settled in with a coffee and waited it out. I will always choose a hot meal over a hut-packed lunch if at all possible!

After lunch, we continued on. This is where we made our first unofficial Muverans variant. I really wanted to stay at Cabane Fenestral for one night: a hut famous for its big, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Mont Blanc. But I thought the direct path from Cabane Rambert to Cabane Fenestral was a bit short for a single stage. So we extended the route by adding in a long detour over the Tsantonnaire. Would I 1000% recommend this detour? Eh, probably not. It was nice to have a longer day of hiking, but it was my least favorite section overall. Cloudy weather hiding all the mountains didn’t help.

We arrived at Fenestral just as it started to rain. So much for enjoying those big windows (sigh). We actually didn’t get any views at all. But alas, what can you do! The hut itself has a cozy feel, though when we first arrived it was a bit… chaotic. It seemed to be run by a young group of volunteers, and at first we were more or less ignored - probably because we didn’t speak French. Then we were told we couldn’t get into our room for several hours, which is unusual for a hut. Meanwhile, the staff settled in for their own little apéro at a corner table. We weren’t entirely sure what was going on! But with the weather miserable outside, 3 hours until dinner, and no chance to change or settle in, we did what any reasonable person would do: split a bottle of a nice Valais red and waited it out.

But by dinnertime, they had turned things around. The hut was loud and crowded, the food was excellent, and we found ourselves chatting with a group of Belgians at our table who were hiking the Tour des Muverans in the opposite direction. And that night we shared a dorm with three hikers from Poland who were, without question, the quietest sleepers I’ve ever encountered. Not a peep, not a rustle, not a sigh. It was my best hut sleep in a long while.

Route

Day 3: Cabane Fenestral - Cabane La Tourche

The fog persisted into the morning of the third day. We hung around the hut a bit in the morning, taking our time in hopes that the clouds would burn off, but by 9am decided we just needed to get on with it. Luckily, the skies almost immediately began to clear up.

We left Cabane Fenestral and took a detour down to the Fully lakes, which turned out to be a highlight. The early September landscape was dazzling - the blueberry bushes had turned a vivid red, striking against the backdrop of the Grand Chavalard, with the Grand Combin rising further in the distance. From there, one long climb brought us up to the Col du Demècre and the secluded Cabane Demècre, though that wasn’t the hardest part of the day. What I had really been anticipating were the Bellacrete cliffs, a section of today’s trail I had read was spectacular but narrow and exposed.

And it lived up to everything I’d imagined. I’m so glad we took it on, though it’s definitely not for anyone uncomfortable with heights. There is a safer, lower route if needed, or if the weather turns (and I wouldn’t do this route if there was even a drop of rain in the forecast). The path clings to the cliffs in dramatic fashion, with big, sheer drop-offs and many stretches secured by cables. It goes on longer than you expect, but the reward is immense: an extraordinary traverse, breathtakingly beautiful and absolutely worth the effort.

At Rionda, the cliff section finally eased off, and from there it was a gentle walk to Cabane La Tourche. To our delight, this hut had showers! Cold ones for free, or “warm” ones (ie. lukewarm at best) for 5 CHF. After three days on the trail, Raunaq and I both opted for the cold version, and truly, what a simply luxury.

Route

Day 4: Cabane La Tourch - Gyron

Day 4 was our last day. Instead of “officially” finishing the loop, we decided to end the trail in Gryon (mainly because of public transit options). But I totally mis-routed us here. We ended up hiking down through muddy and unmaintained paths that I’m certain are only used by the cows to go up and down the mountain. It was my least favorite part of the entire four days, but I don’t really have anyone to blame but myself, ha. The route I linked below is a better suggestion.

Eventually, though, we emerged from the tangle of paths and descended into the charming village of Gryon, where we ate delicious burgers (why do the French do burgers so well?!) and caught our connections back to Zurich.

A muddy ending, perhaps, but still a fitting close to four unforgettable days in the mountains.

Route

All up, the Tour Muverans is a really beautiful hut-to-hut hike. It’s not the most famous or “epic” route in Switzerland, but for variety, flexibility, and breathtaking views, it’s a real gem. Let me know if you end up trying it!

[This is Part 2 of a two-part series. Click here for Part 1. Click here for our full Corsica itinerary]

Day 6: Beach and chill

In the morning, the sea at Santa Giulia was like glass. We took a long walk along the empty beach, watching the water shift in color as clouds passed overhead.

May 1st is Labor Day, a holiday that’s actually observed and celebrated in Europe. With most places closed, we leaned into the spirit of the day and took a well-earned break from the hard labor of holidaying. In the afternoon, the weather turned unpredictable. So, we read, napped, wandered down to the beach to jump in the water when the sun broke through, dashed back when the rain returned. 

Rain on vacation can be a bummer, but some days, there can be something lush and whimsical about it. Today, it added to the relaxation, creating a lazy, tropical atmosphere that just fit the mood perfectly. Consider Labor Day appropriately observed.

Day 7: Day trip to Bonifacio

There was no rain today, but the wind was incredibly strong, with sudden gusts that I felt would knock me over. Swimming was out of the question, so instead, we drove 45 minutes to visit a place that pictures simply don’t do justice: Bonifacio.

Bonifacio, a medieval citadel perched precipitously on crumbling limestone cliffs, is one of the most visually stunning towns I’ve ever seen. The location is remarkable, if not completely mind-boggling, built as if it was daring the elements to take it down. One has to wonder how this town, the oldest town in Corsica, has managed to last this long without tumbling into the sea. 

We parked a bit outside of town, and took the high coastal path that led above and along the cliffs. The wind whipped up whitecaps across the saturated blue water, adding even more intensity to the already dramatic landscape. The closer we got to Bonifacio, the more its dizzying perch came into focus. Erosion at the base of the cliffs gives the entire town a precarious, top-heavy appearance, with buildings that seem to hang over the ocean. Beautiful - if only slightly vertigo-inducing. I’ve really never seen anything quite like it.

Once inside the citadel walls, it’s the familiar Old Town maze of cobblestone alleyways and sunwashed piazzas. The old city walls softened some of the wind’s force, but I was still more than ready to get out of it for a while. We ducked into a small restaurant serving big platters of Corsican food. Raunaq ordered a whole grilled fish, while I got a plate with a melange of local specialities. The star of the show was the Corsican charcuterie. Their cured meat gets its unique taste from the wild boars on the island who forage for fallen chestnuts. Everything on my plate, though, was delicious. A real Corsican cornucopia.

Bonifacio for the win.

Day 8: Hiking the Aiguilles de Bavella

Corsica’s most famous hike is the G20, a long-distance trail known to be one of the most difficult in Europe. I had my mind set on hiking a loop trail that connected with one of its most famous stages (the section around the granite Aiguilles de Bavella mountains). Unfortunately, despite a promising weather forecast, it was raining when we got to the trail head, with even stronger gusts of wind than the day before. Raunaq and I sat in the car in the parking lot for about 30 minutes, hoping we could wait out the worst of it. The rain subsided - the wind did not. But, I had been looking forward to this hike the whole trip, so we decided to go for it anyway.

The first half was mainly a steep, rocky scramble. It gave me a whole new respect for G20 hikers - these trails are hard! We were doing fine until we reached a section I’d read about: a short stretch requiring you to haul yourself up (or down) chains bolted into a sheer rock face. But there, we hit a bit of a roadblock.

Two young French girls were ahead of us, and one had frozen in fear halfway down. Her friend did her best to coax her along, but she wouldn’t budge. A line began to form as more hikers arrived, all of us hunkered down against the wind and rain. It was tough to watch because 1.) I’ve been there, and know exactly how she was feeling at that moment, and 2.) there was a growing undercurrent of frustration from the waiting hikers, as we were all stuck not moving in the freezing cold. Eventually, a hiker coming from the opposite direction helped her back up the rock. After that, I was just so eager to move and warm up that I didn’t even really think about being scared, although it was a tough descent down the slab. Both the rock and chains were slick with rain, and it was hard to get a good grip to rappel down. 

It wasn’t until I looked back at the rock and saw how tiny the hikers looked clinging to it that it really hit me: Dang. I did that. You all know I’ve struggled with a fear of heights, and this felt like a genuine turning point. Go me! 

We had passed the most technical part of the trail, but the rest of it was no simple stroll, and the elements didn’t make things any easier. The wind was absolutely relentless, making us work extra hard for every step. Some gusts were so strong they would almost knock us off balance. Fog rolled in and out, and it would rain sporadically. But even so, it was beautiful. Every so often the clouds would part, and we would catch a glimpse of the ocean or the tops of the jagged peaks.

That’s hiking in Corsica, though. Everything feels a bit more rugged and wild. It wasn’t until the last hour (of a six-hour hike) that we got the brilliant blue skies we were forecasted. 

Day 9: Beaches & Bastia Ferry

On our last day, the weather was perfect. Ten out of ten, no notes.

We had a midnight port call in Bastia for our overnight ferry, and the plan was to slowly make our way back up the western coast. First, a final morning walk on our local beach. Then, we headed to Palombaggia, a beach near Porto-Vecchio that might just be Corsica’s most postcard-perfect spot: stretches of soft white sand meet clear turquoise water, framed by clusters of granite rocks and scattered umbrella pines that lean toward the sea. It’s like a Caribbean dreamscape.

My favorite thing about these southern beaches is the long, shallow sandbars - you can wade far out into the water with the sea around your ankles. It makes it much harder for sharks to sneak up on you.

By sunset, and quite begrudgingly, we began the drive north. We reached Bastia and had a late dinner at a nice seafood restaurant, where I felt very underdressed in my Birkenstocks that exposed my sandy toes. At 11pm, we were back in line for the ferry, waiting for them to slap another Corsica Ferries ‘24 sticker on our car. 

For this ride, we splurged and booked a cabin. We saw plenty of people sleeping on chairs or the floor (some even came prepared with blow-up mattresses), but since we had a full day of driving ahead, we figured it was worth trying to get a decent night's sleep. The cabins aren’t exactly luxurious, but they’ve got everything you need for a six-hour crossing, including a shower with actual hot water. I was quite grateful for this, as getting into bed with dried salt and lingering sand on your skin is not ideal. Right before bed, I made the poorly timed mistake of joking to Raunaq about the Titanic. Naturally, once the lights were out, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that we were on a giant floating metal box filled with hundreds of cars, bobbing somewhere in the middle of the sea.

Day 10: Drive Home

I did manage to fall asleep - only to be jolted awake, bleary-eyed, by the ferry staff pounding on our door at 6 a.m. By 7, we’d deboarded in Savona and begun the long drive back to Zurich.

[This is Part 1 of a two-part series. Click here for Part 2. Click here for our full Corsica itinerary].

Day 1: Lucca, Pisa and Livorno

It’s a long distance from Zurich to Livorno, Italy (where we would catch the car ferry), so we broke up the drive with stops in Lucca and Pisa. Lucca is one of those classic Italian towns surrounded by medieval walls, full of churches, narrow alleyways and lively piazzas. We had a delicious lunch of perfectly chewy pasta and white wine, and Raunaq ordered a sweet vegetable tart for dessert (which sounds weird, but was actually pretty good!).

Lucca feels very quaint and lived-in, and is a great city for a wander. I was especially charmed by one canary yellow building that had a string of white underwear fluttering in the breeze. After walking around for a bit, we got gelato for dessert (naturally), picked up some fresh focaccia for the road (naturally!), and then headed to nearby Pisa in the afternoon.

Our stop here was quick, purely for the tower and the obligatory tower photo.

The center square is very crowded with tourists and peddlers (and apparently car thieves also lurk about, so be careful where you park, especially if you have luggage in the car). It is a place I wouldn’t go out of my way for, but truthfully, the Tower of Pisa is quite striking to see in person. It really does lean, and the angle is far more pronounced than it seems in photos.

Finally, we headed to Livorno, a port town on the Ligurian Sea. Our ferry departed early the following morning, and it was easiest to just stay near the port. There’s not too much going on here, especially in the shoulder season. The beach was cold and empty, the bars and restaurants shuttered. I did love this lone fisherman, with his chair turned toward the mountains instead of the ocean.

We had a very basic Italian dinner and slept in a somewhat shabby Livorno guesthouse. Nothing really recommendable, but it did the job.

Day 2: Ferry to Corsica and drive to Porto

Even though the departure time was 8am, we needed to arrive at the port before seven to get our tickets checked and to line up at the dock. The crew slapped a yellow “Corsica Ferries ‘24” bumper sticker on the back of our car, and as we waited to board, I started noticing all the other cars who had multiple ferry stickers, all from different years. So funny that people keep them on year over year. A bit like when you keep your luggage tag on your suitcase from a flight. I actually notice this all the time now in Switzerland - a car will pass us on the freeway or next to us in the parking lot, and one of us will go “Look, Corsica Ferries!” I’ll sure you’ll notice it now, too!

The ferry ride was 4 hours, and while I’ve read that experiences on Corsica Ferries can vary wildly, our trip was uneventful and we pulled into colorful port of Bastia right after noon. Let the Corsican road trip begin!

Bastia is in the northeast of the island, and our destination was Porto, in the central West. We chose the long, scenic route that would take us west through the hills and then south along the coast. The type of drive where you pull over often to stop whenever something catches your eye - the best kind of drives. We stopped for a late lunch at an unassuming roadside restaurant on the D81. I had an omelet with local sheep’s cheese, Raunaq had their homemade lasagna, and we both had the local beer that came in a mini 15ml size called a “Chjuca” (which our waiter told us was Corsican for “little”). Cute!

Then, we followed the northwestern coastline, passing through the bright seaside towns of Ile-Rouse and Calvi. I love how these pretty beachy towns have the ocean on one side, and the mountains on the other.

The last hour of this drive, as we passed from Haute-Corse to Corse-de-Sud and into the Gulf of Porto, was shockingly curvy and truly spectacular. Just as I was getting used to the narrow, constantly winding roller-coaster that is Corsican roads, this stretch took it to the extreme, with endless switchbacks clinging to the cliffs of the Scandola Peninsula. But the scenery was simply majestic. We took it slow, enjoying the view, and stopping every so often for a herd of goats to cross the road. It was quite an incredible welcome to Porto.

For our stay, we booked a small holiday apartment at Residence Capu Seninu, which was within walking distance to both the water and the small “downtown.” Dinner that night was a bit unexpected: Thai food! Raunaq found a tiny little spot (Toom Thai) that has a premade selection of curries and snacks, and you can either do takeaway, or have them heat it up and eat there. I did not plan to eat Asian food at all during this trip, and what do you know, it was some of the best green curry I’ve had in Europe!

Day 4: Capu d’Orto & Calanques de Piana

The main hike I had planned near Porto was the Capu d’Orto summit, a challenging hike to one of the most prominent peaks in the area. As a bonus, the drive from Porto to the trailhead winds through the Calanque de Piana, the famous rock formations of the region. They have a deep reddish tint that contrasts beautifully with the vegetation and water, and are quite spectacular to drive through.

Most of the trail to Capu d’Orto is steady uphill hiking through flowering shrubs and low-lying trees. Occasionally, we caught a whiff of the maquis plants, a distinctive herby scent that’s a mix of rosemary, thyme, and eucalyptus. In the last hour of the trail, the terrain gets more demanding, with a tough, seemingly never-ending scramble to the summit cross. The views at the top are absolutely beautiful, with the ocean to the west and the interior mountains to the east. It’s a great trail that showcases Corsica’s natural beauty, but I was grateful to do this hike in the spring - there’s almost no tree cover and I would absolutely overheat in the summer. 

After the hike, a swim was in order. We drove through the town of Piana to the prettiest little cove, the Plage de Ficaghjola. The drive down to this beach, though, took 10 years off my life. The roads in Corsica are no joke, but this one hit the terrifying-road-trifecta: narrow, and cliffside, and steep. Heart-attack-inducing drive aside, this beach was a gem. Even if the water was a little too cold to be enjoyed for more than a few minutes, jumping in a cold body of water after a sweaty hike is one of life’s best feelings. 

Driving back up from the beach was only slightly less hair-raising than the drive down. We drove back through the Calanques as the sun went down, marveling at how the warm light illuminated all the reds and ambers of the rock. After picking up local cheeses, meats and wine, we had dinner on our apartment’s balcony, looking out onto the mountains we climbed earlier in the day.

Day 4: Explore Porto & afternoon boat ride

The most popular thing to do in Porto is a boat tour, and we had one booked for the afternoon. Originally, I planned to squeeze in the Gorges de Spelunca hike beforehand, but because the weather was so nice, we instead decided to have a relaxed morning in town.

Porto’s marina is marked by a Genoese tower, perched on a rocky outcrop that juts out into the Tyrrhenian Sea. In fact the whole Corsican coastline is dotted with the ruins of these defensive fortresses, built by the Republic of Genoa in the 16th century to stave off attacks from Barbary pirates. Even though we couldn’t go inside the tower, it was nice to stroll around the base, before we plopped down on the beach to wait until our tour time.

There are lots of tour operators to choose from, and they all offer more or less the same agenda: visits to the Calanques, the Scandola nature reserve, and the coastal village of Girolata. We booked a half-day tour on a 12-person boat that supposedly had an English guide, but our driver (and everyone else on our boat) only spoke French. Well, c'est la vie. We were there for the scenery, anyway. And holy moly, the scenery!

I thought it might be a little tourist trappy, but the tour was beautiful and way more fun than expected! The boats are small enough to weave in and out of the coves, even squeezing into caves and gnarled, claw-like inlets. The coastline reminded me a bit of the Na Pali coast in Hawaii, only less lush and more rugged. It was fascinating to see the pinnacles of the Calanques from the water, especially after driving through them the day before. And the water was all different gradients of blue, from marine to turquoise to aquamarine. I had to keep taking off my sunglasses to see if the color was real.

Raunaq and I wore our bathing suits, hoping we would be able to swim at one of the stops, but even with the sunshine, it was still too cold and windy. We were also the only ones to bring bathing suits at all. Maybe that was part of the French information we didn’t receive. 

But the most unexpected part of the tour was this: the boat drivers go fast. Like, super fast. Literally flying over the waves. I had to tie my bags to the back of the seat in front of me, because it was about to fly over the edge. When the tour was over and we were heading back to Porto, all the boats raced each other back to Porto. 

Day 5: Drive over mountains via Corte to the southeast

Today we crossed the island, driving up over the mountains to Corsica’s eastern side. I loved this drive, watching the landscape transition through the window: coastal to mountains to gorges to marqui-covered hills. And yes, to be clear, this was from the passenger window. What, did you guys think I was white-knuckling these roads myself? No, thank you. The only thing crazier than Corsican roads are Corsican drivers. 

By midday, we reached Corte, a medieval town recognizable by the prominent citadel looming above it. This fortress presides over a tangle of cobbled alleys and slightly crumbling blue-shuttered buildings, winding down to the ravine below. We wandered around a bit before finding a restaurant for lunch, then after walking up to the citadel for a view of the city below.

If we had more time, I would have stayed in Corte for the night. There is one hike in the area, a trail through and above the Restonica Valley, that I would have loved to do, but unfortunately it was closed due to storm damage. 

And now, to the sea!

The eastern coastal road is surprisingly flat and straight, and even, dare I say - a little boring compared to the last three days. Ok, not boring, but it was just a road, you know? But that was short-lived. As we approached the southern peninsula, the coastline came alive with color. The southwest of Corsica may lack the rugged, striking drama of the eastern coast, but its Mediterranean beauty is undeniable. I let out a little shriek every time we passed one of the numerous small coves of electric blue water. 

We finally arrived in Santa Giulia with a few hours of sunlight left in the day. After checking into our little bungalow, we ran down to the beach of the same name (Plage de Santa Giulia). Being within walking distance of this beach was the main reason we decided to stay in this town. Plage de Santa Giulia is a sandy, half-moon bay, ringed by umbrella pines, with clearest, most vibrant water I’ve ever seen. 

It was a bit chilly at this point of the day, but neither of us could resist a swim. I’ll be honest - between the wind and the waves - it was less a peaceful float, and more chaotic splashing - but alas! There were more beach days to come.

Click here for Part 2: The Southeast.

To start, the landscapes are diverse and outrageously brilliant. From the layered blues of the Tyrrhenian Sea to the burnt red rocks of the Calanques to the muted greens and yellows of the shrubland, every area practically explodes with color. Then there is the hiking, which is rocky and rugged, and the very best way to explore the island’s slightly untamed beauty. The food? Earthy, hearty, full of flavor. Corsica is famous for its charcuterie, made from the wild boars that roam the island and forage for chestnuts. Which, unsurprisingly, pairs perfectly with Corsican cheese and Corsican wine. But perhaps the most vibrant aspect of Corsica is the identity of Corsica itself: While technically part of France, Corsicans are proudly distinct, with their own language, flag, and fiercely independent spirit.

If you can’t tell, our trip to Corsica last year was one of my favorites. 

We had been debating between Corsica and Sardinia for a spring holiday. I was personally leaning toward Sardinia, but Raunaq had been wanting to visit Corsica ever since he read about Asterix and Obelix’s adventures there as a kid, and who am I to deny a childhood dream? I relented, Corsica won out, and the rest, as they say, is history.

In fact, I loved this trip so much, I ended up writing an old-school, long-form narrative of our whole trip (click here for Part 1: The Central West, and here for Part 2: The Southeast). But if you’re just here for the bare bones itinerary, that’s ok! No hard feelings.

Itinerary

Here’s our day-by-day overview for 8 days in Corsica. We drove from Zurich and took a car ferry over (with Corsica Ferries), so our time on the island was bookended by two full travel days:

Day 1: Drive from Zurich to Italy, stopping in Lucca and Pisa along the way
Day 2: Morning ferry from Livorno to Bastia, then a scenic drive to Porto (via Île-Rousse and Calvi)
Day 3: Hike Capu d’Orto, beach near Piana, Calanques de Piana at sunset
Day 4: Explore Porto + afternoon boat ride
Day 5: Drive through the mountains via Corte to Santa Giulia
Day 6: Beach day at Santa Giulia
Day 7: Day trip to Bonifacio
Day 8: Hike Aiguilles de Bavella loop (G20 alpine variant)
Day 9: Morning at Palombaggia Beach, drive to Bastia for overnight ferry to Savona, Italy
Day 10: Drive back to Zurich via Genoa and Milan

We did this trip in late April and early May. The crowds were minimal, which was amazing, but the tradeoff was slightly unpredictable weather. The sea was still pretty cold, the wind could make things feel chillier than expected, and we had a few rainy days. That said, I’ve heard Corsica gets very congested in the high season. Plus, I think I would burst into flames if I tried to do some of the more exposed hikes in the summer sun. So, all in all, I thought this was a great time to go.

Route Organization

I warn you: if your time is limited, it is hard to decide where to go. First: Because every region of Corsica looks amazing, and it’s a bit overwhelming to plan. And second: Because it takes a while to get around. While the island may not seem that big, because many of the roads are very narrow and very windy, the driving times are long. I personally didn’t want to spend hours in the car driving every day (even though the drives are incredibly scenic!), so we focused on two main regions: the central west and the southeast. In each region, I picked a base city: Porto in the West, and Santa Giulia in the South. And then, with those as bases, I organized each day’s activities in terms of driving times (low, medium, high), so that we weren’t doing 4-5 hours of heavy driving every single day. I think it worked out pretty well, if I do say so myself.

So that’s the overview - and if you're planning a trip yourself, I hope it gives you a helpful starting point. Corsica is one of those places that manages to feel both wildly dramatic and deeply relaxing. We barely scratched the surface, but even in just over a week, the island left a big impression.

And remember, if you are hungry for more Corsica content, I’ve written up full, detailed posts on both halves of our trip: the Central West and the South East. They’re longer, journal-style pieces, full of the small moments, beautiful views, and unexpected turns that make trips memorable.

Champex-Lac

Champex-Lac, in the mountains above Orsières, is one of those rare Swiss villages that is busier in the summer than in the winter. It’s a major stop on two internationally famous hiking trails - the Haute Route and the Tour du Mont Blanc - meaning it’s filled with hikers and mountaineers in the summer months. In late January, though, it felt far off the touristic track. It was quiet, maybe even a little sleepy - which, in my opinion, was all the better to enjoy it’s quaintness.

We stayed at the charming Hotel Mont Lac, which had nice rooms with balconies overlooking the lake, a great restaurant, and a very kind owner. Activity-wise, there is a lot to do in Champex itself. There’s cross-country (with routes that cross the lake once it’s fully frozen), ice-skating, winter hiking, snowshoeing, sledding, downhill skiing - you can even go on a walk with the St. Bernard dogs. Because yes, if you were wondering, the legendary St. Bernard avalanche rescue dogs originated (and are still bred) in this region, at the Hospice St. Bernard. Cute!

Unfortunately, when we were there the frozen lake wasn’t stable enough for cross-country or skating, and the overall snow conditions were a bit drab and icy. So, we pivoted plans, and decided to use our time to explore the rest of the Pays du St-Bernard.

Vichères-Liddes

First up: snowshoeing. For this, we headed to the Vichères-Liddes region, and I must say, I chose a truly epic tour (pats herself on back). This was an incredible hike from start to finish, but the standout moment was when we reached the top of the Tsamonay plateau, and found ourselves surrounded by 4,000-meter peaks. The Aiguille d’Argentiere on one side, the Grand Combin on the other. The Valais Alps, truly, are unmatched.

The only (slight) downside was that because the trail ends at a small ski resort of Vichères, it gets a little busy with skiers at the end. There are also a few ski piste crossings, which is never my favorite thing to do on snowshoes (insert mental image of me awkwardly trying to sprint across a steep slope without getting run over by a child speeding down the mountain). But for these views, I was willing to forgive that!

Verbier

Second: Winter hiking. For this, we headed to Verbier. Yes, yes, I know, Verbier is a ski resort (and a pretty famous one at that), but at this point in 2024 we hadn’t started our downhill skiing journey. So, winter hiking it was!

We took the gondola from the village up to Les Ruinettes, and hiked to the perfectly situated Cabane Mont Fort. It’s officially a snowshoe trail, but half of the trail is completely groomed and in the end we didn’t need snowshoes at all (we strapped them to our backpacks to carry them, ugh). There are gorgeous views the entire way, and Cabane Mont Fort has a fantastic sun terrace to go with it’s fantastic Swiss-French kitchen. It was a bluebird Saturday, and hut was bumping. We sat in the sun for lunch alongside all the bougie French skiers, and I was truly in awe of the amount of fondue and wine being consumed - how do people make it down the mountain after all that?!

After lunch (and absolutely stuffed), we strolled back down to the gondola using the same path. It’s a panoramic trail the entire way, and the mountain and valley views are really stunning. A fairly low effort trail for an incredibly high reward, and a great option for non-skiers.

P.S. I don’t think Verbier is technically in Pays du St. Bernard, but it’s close!

La Fouly

For our third day, it was time for some cross-country skiing. La Fouly, at the very end of Val Ferret, is another small alpine village that is surrounded by some of Valais’ biggest mountains. Here, we found one of the prettiest cross-country trails to date: a long, meandering trail that wound through forests and along the river. It was the best types of trail - one that becomes an almost mediative experience, where I’m able to lose myself in the beauty and solitude of the surroundings. That is, when I’m not struggling to climb a hill (going uphill on cross-country skis is work, let me tell you).

Each of these villages has so much to offer. We could do this exact itinerary again, and have a completely different experience: cross-country in Verbier, snowshoe in La Fouly, ice-skate in Champex, ski in Vichères. In fact…maybe we’ll do that next year!

But here we are anyway!

It’s almost unbelievable that this is my sixth “year end” installment (here’s all the posts starting from 2019). Last year’s was a bit unorthodox, as I included non-Swiss experiences, but for this post, I’m going back to the original format: Ten of my favorite Swiss experiences of 2024. It’s a long one, but half of the length is pictures (and two videos!), so I have faith that you can get through it all.

1. Winter Hut Life

I know and love summer hut life, but this year, I was introduced to its seasonal counterpart: winter hut life. Winter hut life is more or less the same as summer hut life, with the fun addition of snow, which of course, makes everything different. Same same, but different.

For my friend Hannah’s birthday, a big group of us spent a night at the Lidernenhütte in Uri. It had dumped snow in the days before, and conditions that weekend were perfect (even though the mountain road was sehr icy and it was a bit of an adventure to get everyone to the starting point). Our group was a mix of ski tourers and snowshoers, and we all made our way up from the valley to the hut in a long, winding line.

After we reached the hut, a few of the skiers snuck in a sunset tour, while the rest of the group had a late rösti lunch and hung out in the main room, sketching, writing, and chatting. All twelve of us bunked in the same room like we were having one big sleepover, and the next day, after a spectacular sunrise, we trekked up to a neighboring peak, the Hagelstock. The views of the Uri Alps from the summit were incredible, and it was so fun to experience as a group.

A night at a mountain hut is always a memorable experience, but staying at one in the winter feels extra extra special. After the freezing night sets in, no one ventures outside, and the hut becomes a snug little refuge, bustling and lively, but also somehow intimate and calm. It’s such a wintry, cozy atmosphere. Summer huts have their charm, but winter huts? Especially winter huts covered in snow with candy-cane striped shutters? Pretty magical.

(However, if you do stay at a mountain hut in winter, mentally prepare yourself for beyond icy bathroom trips. Hut bathrooms are generally in a non-heated basement, and can be frigid on a summer night, so you can imagine how a 2am pee feels in mid-January. I had to keep reminding myself “a toilet in the mountains is a luxury, a toilet in the mountains a luxury'“).

2. Anniversary weekend in Champex-Lac

Before we moved to Switzerland, Raunaq and I did not self-identify as winter people. But alas, we got married in January and then almost immediately moved to the middle of Europe - and thus have celebrated every wedding anniversary in or around the snow. We now self-identify as winter people. Or, at least Raunaq does. I’m still winter-tolerating at best.

This year, we celebrated our sixth anniversary with a weekend in the Pays du Saint-Bernard region of Valais. Our base was Champex-Lac, a picturesque village of wooden chalets all surrounding a beautiful alpine lake. Champex is an important stop on two famous long-distance treks (the Haute Route and Tour de Mont Blanc), so I think it’s one of those rare Swiss resort towns that is busier in the summer than winter. It definitely didn’t feel crowded in late January, just quaint and a little sleepy, which is always a nice atmosphere for a romantic weekend away. We stayed at the very charming Hotel Mont Lac and had such a nice time!

Originally, we planned to stay in Champex the entire weekend. There’s cross-country (with routes that cross the frozen lake), ice-skating, snowshoeing, sledding - more than enough to keep us busy. Unfortunately, snow conditions weren’t great in the village itself, so we ventured out to explore other towns in the region: Vichères, Verbier and La Fouley.

We found an amazing snowshoe trail in Vichères that ended at a wide open plateau with views of all the surrounding 4,000-meter peaks, like the Aiguille d’Argentiere and Grand Combin. In Verbier, we took the gondola to Les Ruinettes and then hiked up to Cabane Mont Fort to have lunch alongside all the bougie French skiers. I was truly in awe of the amount of fondue and wine being consumed - how do people make it down the mountain after all that?! And in La Fouley, we found one of the prettiest cross-country trails to date.

This was our first time to this part of Valais, and (with Verbier as the outlier), it all felt very low-key and local. I don’t even remember how we discovered it ourselves - I think Raunaq had a random “go to Champex” note on his phone, so someone at some point must have suggested it to us. Whoever you were, thank you! I loved it.

By the way: If you were wondering, the legendary St. Bernard avalanche rescue dogs originated (and are still bred) in this region, at the Hospice St. Bernard. And yes, apparently you can arrange to go on hikes with them!

3. May in the Shire (Ticino)

Spring in Switzerland has a truly absurd number of bank holidays. In the span of eight-ish weeks, we’ve got Good Friday, Easter Monday, Labor Day, Ascension Day, and Pentecost Monday, along with a sprinkling of regional holidays (like Sechseläuten, everyone’s favorite snowman-exploding festival). Basically, there isn’t a complete work week for about two months straight, which makes it a great time to plan some long hiking weekends.

But May is a complicated month for hiking in Switzerland - with one big exception: Ticino. Ah yes, Ticino, the Italian-speaking canton, the land of perpetual sunshine and holiday escapism, the place where spring arrives reliably early while the rest of Switzerland is shaking off winter. So to Ticino we went!

We confidently booked a few nights at the Basodino hut in the Ticinese Alps in early May - and realized about a week before our trip that the hut, and the surrounding mountains, were still covered in snow. Oops. Snowshoeing was simply out of the question (not in May, no thank you), so my friend and I scrambled to find another option. And somehow, we found the sweetest, most hidden gem of a spot, so perfect that it is hard to believe that this was the alternative plan: Agri Scinghiöra, an agriturismo tucked deep in the Valle Maggia.

I had to include a video here, even though it barely does it justice:

Now, if you are thinking, “Come on Alex, that’s not Switzerland, that’s the Shire,” then you are correct. I am certainly guilty of over-comparing different parts of this country to Middle Earth, but with no exaggeration, Agri Scinghiöra really did feel like something straight out of Lord of the Rings.

It’s in the Val Lavizzara, a remote side valley of the larger Valle Maggia. Accessible only by foot, it takes over four hours by train and bus to reach the tiny village of Brontallo, and then another steep one-hour hike from the village up to the alp. The agriturismo itself is a collection of typical Ticinese stone houses perched on the side of the mountain, with small farms scattered throughout.

It was so charming and so quaint and simply so unexpected. We were all absolutely beside ourselves with joy when we arrived, especially when we discovered we would be staying in one of those little stone houses, and especially when we met Egon, the manager of Agri Scinghiöra. He runs most of the operation himself, and he cooked us the most incredible meals during our stay. We had dinners in the rustic farmhouse kitchen, and breakfasts out on the terrace. All the food was local from the co-op farms around Brontallo, and everything was homemade and impossibly fresh. I’m talking polenta cooked over the open fire, cheese made from that morning’s goat milk, just-baked bread, etc. I’d go back again just for the meals.

But of course, there was more than just great food. The location itself was stunning. The view from our little house, layer upon layer of forested mountains backed by snow-capped peaks, was enough to knock us off our feet. And that was just the beginning. Each day, we hiked back down to Brontallo and explored different corners of the valley. This part of Switzerland is so remote that day trips are nearly impossible, and it was a real treat to get to visit the more secluded spots that we wouldn’t normal access. We hiked to the Lago Sambuco above the hamlet of Fusio, and took very icy swims in the waterfalls pools of the Valle Prato. The weekend was so perfect, we even forgave ourselves for sleeping through the northern lights (remember when that happened?!).

Ticino always feels a bit like a fever dream, so verdant and warm and bright when the rest of the country is still gray. This little spot was like stepping into a fantasy world, and it completely stole my heart.

P.S. I don’t often gate-keep, but I was hesitant about sharing the exact location of this place. If you do get lucky enough to stay here, please treat it like the very special place it is!

4. New (Bionic!) Eyes

I got glasses in 4th grade, and switched to contact lenses the moment my parents allowed me to at 13. By 20, my prescription was so strong I was considered legally blind. I debated getting Lasik in my mid-twenties but I wasn’t a good candidate, and honestly I assumed I’d be able to rely on contacts forever (ah, the naïveté of youth). And I had a good, long run. But after 25 years of daily wear, my eyes had enough. In fall 2023, my ophthalmologist told me contact lenses were no longer an option. My choices: switch to full-time glasses, or undergo an ICL procedure.

For the uninitiated, ICL is when a surgeon makes a tiny incision into your eye, and implants an artificial lens between your natural lens and your iris. Essentially: permanent contact lenses. I know that this sounds crazy. I thought it was crazy. I’d never heard of this procedure before (even though it’s actually quite common), and I couldn’t fathom voluntarily signing up to have my eyeballs sliced open. But I also didn’t want to be tied to glasses forever. So after months of research and second opinions, I decided to go for it. I had the surgery in June of this year. I’ll save all the gory details of the procedure and recovery for another day, but it went smoothly and wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it’d be, given the eyeball slicing and all.

This wasn’t the kind of surgery where you leave the room with perfect vision—it takes a few days to settle. The moment it really hit me, though, was on third night post-op. I was in bed, about to go to sleep, when I thought, ugh, I forgot to take out my contacts, and dragged myself to the bathroom. It was such an ingrained habit that I didn’t remember until I looked at myself in the mirror: I wasn’t wearing contacts. I could simply…see.

It’s really extraordinary. Being unencumbered by glasses or contacts for the first time in decades is freeing in way that I can’t really describe, but I know that everyone with poor vision will understand. Flying, traveling, hiking, camping, staying in huts, driving, just day to day life…it’s all so much easier. Raunaq started calling them my bionic eyes, and that’s really what it feels like. The miracle of modern medicine! 

This might not sound like a Swiss experience, but, it was a life-changing experience in Switzerland, so it counts! And even though I’m familiar with the healthcare setup here, it’s still a complicated process with its own set of Swiss intricacies. Navigating the system is an achievement in of itself.

Actually, wait - there was one aspect of all this that felt distinctly Swiss: In my pre-surgery documents, there was a paragraph about how after the operation, I would be able to relax in the waiting room with a coffee and a gipfeli (croissant). Indeed, when I was done, I was handed, along with an assortment of medicated eye drops and protective sunglasses, a coffee and a gipfel.

I also still use those post-op sunglasses they gave me! 

5. The Montreux Jazz Festival

This has been on Raunaq’s Swiss bucket list for years and - even though I have a well-documented aversion to (certain types of) jazz music - it’s been on my list, too. I mean, come on, I’m not a monster. The Montreux Jazz Festival is famous! Renowned! In the most beautiful music festival location in the world! And it’s not even that jazzy, as far as jazz festivals go! 

We went on Friday, opening day. Trombone Shorty and Jon Batiste were the headlining acts. It was a warm summer evening, with the main stage set on the shore of Lac Léman, framed by the Swiss-French Alps in the background. You really can’t dream up a better setting.

Both performances were absolutely amazing. Trombone Shorty played an incredible, energetic set as the sun went down, and Jon Batiste was completely electric. Raunaq and I were drenched in sweat after dancing our hearts out for four hours straight.

The best part came at the end of each set, when both bands paraded through the crowd with their big brass instruments N'awlins style, stopping to dance and riff off one another. Jon Batiste was literally right next to us! It was so much fun and solidified New Orleans as one of the top U.S. cities I want to visit.

(Necessary sidebar: One of the reasons we were dancing so hard is because we were doing our best to make up for the rest of the audience. The audience was, to put it nicely… dull. DULL with a capital D. Very little energy, hardly any dancing. I don’t really know how you can hear music this dynamic and not move your body. It takes more effort to stand still. It was so bad that five minutes into his set - and in the middle of his banger of a song “Freedom” - Jon Batiste stopped the music to tell the crowd that they needed to show some more energy. Yikes).

THAT SAID - all in all, it’s a great festival. There are smaller stages that ring the lake promenade, and it’s all good vibes. It’s also worth staying the night in the area, because the headlining artists often will wander around the town and do spontaneous performances on the streets or in small bars. I’d absolutely go again.

6. Moving Apartments

Our apartment on Bellariastrasse will always have a special place in my heart (here's my goodbye post), but after six years in the same flat, both Raunaq and I were ready for a change. It was a long, rough search with many rejected applications (the apartment hunt in Zurich is not for the weak), but we finally found an apartment that checked all of our boxes. Even, it turned out, the boxes that we didn’t know we had, like an en-suite bathroom with a Japanese-style toilet, and a kitchen equipped with a wine fridge.

I resisted the concept of living in a “modern” apartment for a long time. I love the personality of older places, the charm that’s found in all the different nooks and crannies. Newer buildings, especially in Switzerland, always struck me as flat and lifeless. “I just don't want to live in a box,” I would say to Raunaq. But alas, even the most fervent believer can be swayed. And yes, now we live in a modern apartment, and yes, it’s a box, and yes, I’m still very happy about it. We just had to bring the personality with us.

It took a few weeks and a few IKEA trips to get settled, but now, this new place feels like home.

Moving within Switzerland is, as to be expected, a completely different experience from moving within U.S. And perhaps what was most Swiss about this experience was managing the “pre-move” purge. In California, I’d just pack up my car and drop everything - literally everything - at a Goodwill. I’m not saying this is as a positive, but in America, convenience is king, and it is extremely easy to get rid of things.

Here, it is…well. A little more complicated. While there are thrift stores in Zurich, they’re notoriously selective about what they’ll accept. Donation centers, like Salvation Army, also have fairly stringent standards. I quickly learned that getting rid of unwanted items involves sorting everything by category and taking it to different places around the city. Spreadsheets were involved.

For example, old electronics can be dropped off at the closest E-tram station once a month. What’s the E-tram? It’s an old tram that runs on the same tracks as the normal city trams, but instead of picking up people, it picks up old toasters and keyboards and hairdryers. Bulky items, like small pieces of furniture? Good news, there is also a cargo tram. Bigger items that aren’t accepted by the cargo tram can be dropped off, for a fee, at a recycling center on the outskirts of the city. They charge you by the weight of the items, and guess how they weigh everything? They weigh your car when you drive into the center, and again when you drive out, then calculate the difference! Clothes and shoes can be put in the public textile donation bins that are in every neighborhood. And so on, and so on. Got it?

It became a bit of a game for me. How well I could match up our unwanted items with the appropriate collection center? I was fairly successful, although I did have to resort to leaving some items on the curb (the classic “gratis” box). But I could only do so in the middle of the night, dressed in all black and under the cover of darkness, because oh, the shame.

The final step of moving is enduring the infamous apartment handover process, another Swiss rite of passage. This is when the landlord inspects every centimeter of your flat to ensure it is pristine condition for the text tenant (some literally put on white gloves to check the cleanliness😱). I have heard many horror stories about this and was dreading it, although we got through relatively unscathed. But let’s just say I’ll be fine with not moving for another six years.

7. Our own little mountain getaway

On a bit of a whim, we decided to share a sublet on a holiday apartment in the Davos area. Starting in June, we had the apartment every other week. I was a little unsure at first—I’ve always enjoyed exploring different parts of Switzerland, and wondered how I’d feel spending so much time in the same place. But it turned out to be the best little getaway.

The location was a gateway to Eastern Switzerland, and we took full advantage of this opportunity to explore the region. In the summer, we hiked throughout Graubünden, using our apartment as a jumping off point to get deeper into the canton, to the Lower Engadine, Upper Engadine, Parc Ela, and all the way to the border of Italy. In the fall, I fully immersed myself in larch season, spending as much time with my beloved trees as I could ever have wanted. And winter has only just begun, but I’ll say it’s looking good so far.

And the apartment itself? It’s nothing fancy - it’s small, rustic, and up a big hill that our car can’t drive up. But it’s a sweet little place that has everything we need. There are cows and chickens outside our window in the summer, along with a gaggle of turkeys that enjoy terrorizing me (Raunaq insists that they are just trying to be friendly, but I have serious doubts). In the winter, we sled down the long driveway because it’s the fastest way down. We buy our eggs and milk and cheese from the local farmers. Naturally, we became regulars at the local sauna. And I remembered that while there’s so much excitement in exploring new places, there’s also the quiet joy in watching something new grow into something familiar.

8. A Swiss-only summer

Raunaq and I did less international travel this year than any other in Switzerland. Which isn’t to say we didn’t travel at all. I went on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Japan with six of my college best friends to celebrate 20 years of friendship. Raunaq and I spent spring break in Corsica, and we also did weekend trips to Berlin, London, and Copenhagen. The Copenhagen trip was particularly significant because our first date was on June 10, 2014 at a Mikkeller bar in San Francisco. So, we had a beer on June 10, 2024 at the original Mikkeller brewery in Copenhagen to toast the first decade of our relationship (cute, right?).

But for most of the year, we stayed put. Notably, Raunaq and I did not leave Switzerland for three straight months: July, August, and September. It was an anomaly, to be sure.

But it was an anomaly by design. Health-wise, I had a rough spring, and I needed time to let myself recover. Second, as #6 and #7 on this list show, we had a new apartment and a new mountain home to enjoy. Raunaq was coming off a hectic few months filled with work travel. And both of us were happy to simply slow our lives down a bit.

We did all of our favorite Zuri summer activities, like outdoor movies and morning badi trips and Street Parade (even if we only lasted an hour among the youths). We spent a lot of time hiking. We stayed at some incredible huts. We did lots of lake swimming, and I got more use out of my paddleboard than the previous summers combined. I savored the quiet pleasure of routine, and sank into the rhythm of daily life. It was so nice to just enjoy being in Switzerland, which, as I’ve stated previously, is Europe’s best summer secret. I even completely forgot where my passport was (but don’t worry, it was found!).

But most of all, this became a season of grounding. It didn’t take long for me to realize that what I truly needed wasn’t just physical recharge, but also a mental and emotional one. The first six months of the year were tough. A cascade of different things - my health, my work, homesickness for family and friends, a full-blown identity crisis - had collided in a way that made me question whether Switzerland was still the right place for me. I felt unmoored, like somewhere along my way I had missed a turn and was now lost. It was confusing and unsettling.

This three-month pause gave me some space. Space to breath, reflect, recalibrate, and ultimately, to sit with those difficult questions and do some soul-searching. Staying put turned out to be its own kind of adventure, one where the destination wasn’t a place but a state of mind: one of contentment, clarity and reconnection. This pause helped affirm that yes, even though I wanted to make some changes, that this is where I want to be.

9. The alpine passes of Valais

In September, Raunaq and I hiked five stages of the Alpine Passes Trail. Five days of high-alpine hiking, four nights in remote mountain huts, and some of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen. This was my first big hut-to-hut tour in Switzerland, and let’s just say that it set the bar extremely high for any trek that follows. I already wrote extensively about the whole hike here, so I’ll just share some of my favorite photo highlights:

Beyond the scenery, what made this hike really special was how quiet everything was. I had only ever stayed in huts on weekends, when they’re bustling with activity and packed to capacity. Saturday nights are lively, sociable, and fun, but staying on a weekday—especially in September—offered a completely different experience. On our first night at Cabane des Dix, there were only six of us in a hut built to sleep 90. This pattern repeated over the next three nights, creating a relaxed and intimate atmosphere that made it easier to connect with the surroundings. AND - it also meant that Raunaq and I got our own rooms every night, which is such a luxury. I actually was able to get pretty decent sleep!

10. Fear and what comes after

I hope you made it all the way to this last one, because this was my most important experience at all.

For years, I battled a fear of heights. And this was the year that I finally, finally, faced it. There were lots of little victories along the way, and one big, notable breakthrough. It was completing my first T4 alpine trail, a type of trail that I had previously been too nervous to try. This one was even more exposed than I anticipated. But I felt strong and confident, and yes, a little scared, but I didn’t let it rattle me and most importantly, I didn’t let it stop me. I even, dare I say, had fun with it. At the top, I felt like a freaking superhero.

But it was more than just an endorphin rush. That moment was transformative for me, not just as a hiker, but as a person. Because on that mountain, something in my mind unlocked. I did the thing that scared me the most, and I survived it. So… what else can I do? What else can I do? Anything.

The shift felt instantaneous, magical, almost too easy - although I knew it was anything but. It was the result of so much effort and work leading up to this moment. This moment when the door to the cage I had locked myself in, the cage built from my own limiting beliefs and anxieties and fears, swung open. And all of a sudden, I was free.

I know that sounds a bit dramatic. Probably very dramatic. But honestly, I don’t know how else to say it, because truly, it felt dramatic. No - it felt seismic. And you know what? I don’t care if it comes off as cringey, self-helpy, or completely over-the-top. I don’t care because I want to shout it from the rooftops: I’m free. I’m free from the cage of being afraid, and I refuse to go back. It’s an entirely new world

A friend of mine recently mentioned a concept from a book called Hidden Potential that feels relevant. The idea is that stepping away from a challenge to do something entirely different can help you return to the original task with renewed focus and energy. For example, a basketball player might climb Kilimanjaro and come back more inspired and determined in their sport. Though my experience isn’t quite the same, the underlying principle resonates. Sometimes, it’s the act of confronting something unexpected that gives us the clarity and courage to redefine who we are.

Just days after completing that hike, I sent out my first inquiries for a project idea that had been bubbling in my mind. It’s a big, exciting, and admittedly daunting endeavor—one that combines my interests here in Switzerland with issues I’m deeply passionate about. It’s a project that I thought would be too difficult to make a reality. And it might be. But in this new world of mine, I have the confidence to find out.

2025 might be the year that big ideas come to life (Or hey, it could be the year that I fail most spectacularly. We’ll find out). But 2024? 2024 was the year I stopped being afraid to try. And that’s pretty cool.

Honorable mentions (aka my loophole to add in more little things I loved about this year):

• Everything about our two days on the Greina Plateau.

• Hitching a ride down a mountain with a farmer and his pregnant cow.

• Celebrating my first Thanksgiving in seven (!) years, and my first “expat” Thanksgiving ever. And let me tell you, the flavors of the food were so nostalgic, it made me cry.

• Lead climbing! I took a course in February, bought myself a rope, and now voluntarily (and enjoyably) hang off 17-meter high walls.

• The most iconic start to the holiday season, when the first snow coincided with the opening of the Christmas markets.

• Hosting our first party in our new apartment (without getting the cops called on us!).

This post is always my most intimidating to write. 

I know it’s going to be hard to narrow down to ten experiences (an arbitrary number I decided on six years ago, and now feel like I can’t change, for sake of tradition). I know that it’s going to take a long time to write (every January, I tell myself that I’m going to write this bit by bit throughout the year, and every December, I find myself staring at a blank page). And I know that it’s going to involve a lot of self-reflection (which, though a valuable practice, can always bring up some tough emotions). 

But it’s also my favorite post to write. 

I love having each year of my Swiss life catalogued (365 days neatly encapsulated into ten distinct vignettes). I love the process of writing it out (and stitching together all the Frankenstein bits and pieces into one coherent story). And mostly, I love what I learn (both about myself and my personal journey, as well as the broader lessons about values, people, and the world around me).

Thanks for sticking with me so far, and I hope you’ll stick around to see what’s next. Happy new year!

Or at least, I think that’s what I should call it. I use the term fear of heights loosely because it doesn’t quite capture the specifics of what I feel. It’s not a universal fear—I’m fine climbing a ladder or standing on a high balcony. Maybe it’s more of a “fear of falling,” one that mainly manifests when I’m out hiking. But even that doesn’t fully explain it. It’s not just the thought of falling—it’s the exposure, the loss of control, the very acute awareness of my own mortality. Whatever the right label is, it’s there, and it’s powerful enough to make me freeze in situations I once handled without a second thought. But for ease, let’s call it a fear of heights.

I didn’t always have this fear. I’ve never been one to stand on the edge of a cliff just for the thrill of it, but for most of my life, I had a normal relationship with heights—cautious but not anxious.

I can’t put my finger on when that started to change, but there was a marked shift during our second year in Switzerland. That summer, while Raunaq and I were on a hike, I found myself completely rattled in the middle of crossing a particularly narrow pass. It was the first time I remember experiencing what would become an all-too familiar sensation: physically tensing up, fighting the urge to cry, and just feeling overwhelmed with the fact that I was absolutely, certainly, definitely going to fall and die. 

Even though I was able to pull myself together and finish that hike, the damage was done. What had once been a vague, quiet anxiety crystallized into a full-fledged fear. And just like that, a piece of my hiking identity shifted. I was scared of heights.

This may be surprising to some readers. How can someone who hikes as much as I do be scared of something so fundamental to the experience? And truly, it was just as baffling to me. I felt like a living paradox: with every passing season, I grew physically stronger - my legs more powerful, my stamina better than ever - but mentally, I was somehow getting weaker. I would find myself unraveling more and more quickly, getting panicky even in relatively harmless situations.

Slowly, my world of possibilities in the mountains began to shrink. I started avoiding ridge hikes I deemed too exposed, stopped attempting more challenging alpine trails, even found myself triggered at the mere mention of the word cliff. I very quickly learned the term schwindelfrei (which literally translates to “free from giddiness,” but means having a “head for heights”), and any trail that required schwindelfreiheit was met with an immediate nope. And while all this was happening, I was also internally reassuring myself that this was temporary. “It’s OK.” I’d think. “This is just a phase. One day, this won’t bother me anymore.”

I told myself I was simply accepting the situation, but in truth, I was reinforcing the limits my fear had created. Worse, this anxiety began creeping into other parts of my life, shaping how I approached challenges overall. To put it bluntly: it sucked.

I knew it was finally time to do something about it. What I did isn’t revolutionary, but I’ve always found value in learning from others’ experiences. Here’s what worked for me.

Stop Letting It Fester

I realized that if I ever wanted to move past this fear, I had to make the conscious decision to confront it. It sounds simple, almost too simple, but in practice, it was a profound and powerful act. For years, I had convinced myself that I was “working on” my fear, but in reality, all I was doing was acknowledging its existence and waiting for it to disappear on its own. It never did. Instead, I was just letting it sit there, festering, like wound left untreated. Recognizing that the fear wasn’t going to be magically cured—and accepting that I would need to actively and intentionally work through it—marked a pivotal turning point.

If I could give anyone struggling with a similar fear one piece of advice, it would be this: make the decision to stop letting it fester. Do it today. Say it out loud. I literally looked at myself in the mirror one day and said “I’m done being afraid.” Confronting your fear doesn’t mean it will disappear overnight, but making the choice to face it is the first, and most crucial, step. This single decision shifted my perspective and set the wheels of change in motion. Pretty powerful stuff.

Do It Scared (Exposure Therapy)

I decided that my new motto was: “If you can’t fight the fear - do it scared.” Essentially, exposure therapy: a classic strategy of tackling fears by breaking the cycle of avoidance through repeated exposure. When people say they are working through their fear of something, it is usually through this method. It’s an inescapable part of the process (insert scared monkey emoji here).

For me, this basically meant I had to start saying yes to all those “scary” trails I’d been avoiding for the past two years. Fun.

I started small. My fear wasn’t completely crippling, so I began by doing things I knew hadn’t scared me in the past: walking across long suspension bridges that stretched high above gorges (and eventually forcing myself to stop in the middle and look down - ugh), repeating ridge hikes I knew weren’t overly treacherous, and the like. Bit by bit, I moved my way up to more challenging hikes. With all of them, I tried to deliberately pause and acknowledge the uneasy feelings that arose, and then move forward anyway. None of these activities made the fear vanish. I was still scared—sometimes very scared. But something small and significant began to happen: teeny-tiny seeds of courage were planted, shifting from the definitive “I won’t” and “I can’t” to “I did.” And sometimes, even, “I did, I didn’t die, and it was actually kinda fun.” It’s a rewiring of the brain.

Let me be clear: this process is deeply, deeply uncomfortable. But courage, friends, isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the decision to move forward in spite of it. And each time I couldn’t fight the fear but still did it scared, I was reclaiming a little bit of my confidence. One step, one bridge, one cliffside at a time.

Try Rock Climbing

This is a fairly specific form of exposure therapy, but one I am convinced is very effective.

I’ll admit, I had a bit of a head start here. Before moving to Switzerland, I had a background in rock climbing—I bouldered and top-roped fairly regularly. But when I moved here, I stopped climbing altogether, and in hindsight, I wonder if that gap contributed to my growing fear. By stepping away from the practice, I inadvertently lost a key tool that had helped me build confidence and manage my relationship with heights.

About a year and a half ago, I decided to revisit climbing and joined a local gym. I started with bouldering, easing back into the motions and regaining some familiarity with the sport. Before long, I transitioned to top-rope climbing, and eventually, I challenged myself with a lead climbing course. Each step pushed me a little further outside my comfort zone, but it also helped me rebuild the trust I had lost.

And that’s where I believe the true power of rock climbing lies: in the cultivation of trust. It help me rebuild confidence in myself—trusting that I tied in correctly, that I had the skills to climb, and that I could stay calm under pressure. I’ve always seen climbing as a practice in mindfulness, because in order to be focused on the task at hand (i.e. getting up the wall), you can’t let yourself be distracted by anything else. But it’s also a practice in trusting yourself. Without realizing it, I was shifting my relationship with heights to a sense of capability, and after a while, enjoyment.

I genuinely believe that indoor rock climbing is one of the best ways to expose yourself to heights in a safe and controlled environment. Top-rope climbing, in particular, is incredibly secure and is really helpful at “desensitizing” your mind to being off the ground. Give it a try. If you live in Zürich, I’ll take you!

Figure Out Your Coping Mechanisms

(For when you start freaking out, which you inevitably will at some point).

Personally, I have two: deep breathing and singing.

First, breathing. Again, nothing revolutionary here, but focused breathing really works when I need to calm myself down. Four deep breathes in, four deep breathes out, repeat. It’s especially helpful when I feel panic creeping in but still need to stay focused to navigate a situation safely.

Singing, well, this is my own fun trick. Sometimes when I’m nervous, I’ll sing or hum a song to myself. Just whatever happens to be stuck in my head at the moment. Normally, it’s just a few bars that I’ll repeat over and over - I find the repetitiveness helps, too. I don’t know why this works, but it does. Maybe because it’s not too distracting, but just distracting enough? When I told a friend that I did this, he told me that in the brain, the chemical that produces anxiety is the same chemical that produces excitement. Singing can help shift the body’s perception—turning that anxious energy into a sense of excitement instead. I’m not sure if that is true or not, but it feels true, and that’s good enough for me.

Rational vs. Irrational

This, for me, is one of the most important concepts: differentiating a rational fear from an irrational one. But it’s easier said than done. In the mountains, there are definitely situations where fear is a healthy and necessary response—where conditions are genuinely dangerous, and turning back is the smartest choice. In these moments, listening to fear is not only justified, but essential for safety. This, in itself, is an incredibly important outdoor skill.

However, the reality is that most of the time, my fear isn’t rooted in actual danger. Instead, it’s a reaction to a challenging situation—one I have the strength and skills to navigate, even if it feels overwhelming in the moment. The problem is that the physical sensations to fear, both real and imagined, can feel the same - and it’s tough to distinguish between the two. How do you tell if you’re turning back because it’s truly dangerous, or just because you’re afraid?

Figuring this out is deeply personal. It requires a strong sense of self-awareness—you need to intimately understand your fears, your abilities, and your limits. At the same time, it demands a willingness to pause in the moment and assess the situation objectively. I rationalize with myself, asking questions like: Am I reacting to an immediate, tangible danger, or am I just feeing overwhelmed? Is this situation really unsafe, or is my mind exaggerating the challenge in front of me? Realistically, even if I slip, am I really going to fall off the edge, or would it take a cartoonishly clumsy trip for that to happen? This thought process doesn’t always go smoothly. Sometimes my “rational” evaluation is more along the lines of: “OK, worst-case scenario—do I die, or just end up breaking a few bones?” But over time, I’ve gotten better at recognizing when my fear is protecting me versus when it’s just holding me back.

Be Proud of Yourself

It’s almost impossible to convey to someone without this fear just how difficult it is to get over. You brain is sounding off every alarm bell, screaming at you: “You are unsafe! Something bad is going to happen! You are going to DIE.” When I say something like “just do it scared,” trust that I’m not saying it flippantly: I know how terrifying it can be.

So celebrate the victories, big and small. You are doing a really hard thing, and some days will be harder than others. Progress is never linear—there will always be setbacks and moments of doubt—but every step forward, no matter how tiny, is making a difference. At the risk of sounding insanely cheesy, there will come a moment when you’ll look back and truly see how far you’ve come. And you’ll feel really, really proud of yourself.

As for me, I had lots of tiny victories this year, but also two big notable breakthroughs. The first was completing my first T4 alpine trail, a type of trail that I had previously been too nervous to try. This one was even more exposed than I anticipated. But I felt strong and confident, and yes, a little scared, but I didn’t let it rattle me and most importantly, I didn’t let it stop me. I even, dare I say, had fun with it. At the top, I felt like a freaking superhero, with an endorphin high that literally lasted for days.

The second was in September. Raunaq and I were on a section of a trail that was a very narrow traverse along the mountainside, with a steep drop to one side. I remember waiting for the fear to hit - and then, realizing that it wouldn’t. I wasn’t afraid. Raunaq even commented how surprised he was, that he was even a little nervous himself. “You’re back to your old self,” he said.

I may not be entirely back to my old self yet, but I’ve reclaimed a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time. It’s as if a whole world has opened up, and honestly, I kind of feel like I can do anything. Confronting this specific fear reminded me that I’m capable of tackling all kinds of challenges that once felt insurmountable. Just as my fear of heights once seeped into other parts of my life, this newfound confidence has started to inspire me to take bold steps in other areas, too. It was the catalyst I needed.

And this—this is really why I hike. For moments like this. For the chance to push myself, to grow, and to experience the profound sense of accomplishment that comes with confronting my limits. It’s not just about the stunning views or the physical exercise, though those are certainly part of it. It’s about the emotional victories, the mental breakthroughs, and the reminder of what I’m capable of when I don’t let fear hold me back. Turns out, it’s quite a lot.

I’m talking, of course, about larch season.

Before moving to Switzerland, I had no knowledge of the golden larch, and thus, no idea what I was missing. But now that I know about their existence, I’ve become a woman obsessed. The golden larch is one of the rare deciduous conifers, whose green needles turn a distinctive golden-yellow every autumn before falling. They are absolutely brilliant. And as it turns out, southern Switzerland is full of larch forests that put on a huge splashy show every October. Every fall, I go on a pilgrimage to try to see these extraordinary trees at least once. It’s my favorite time of year.
⁣⁣⁣
Why am I so obsessed with the larches? For many reasons. If you’ll allow me to wax poetically for a moment: I love that some of them are so bright, they look electric. I love that they grow at high altitudes, in places drenched in sunshine. I love that you can feel that sunshine radiating from the branches, like each delicate, feathery needle has absorbed an individual beam of light. I love that they grow among evergreen firs, and how next to them the larches are like Christmas trees dipped in gold.⁣⁣

But I love most of all that they are fleeting. Larch season is glorious and intoxicating, but it is also short-lived. It’s easy to miss. It’s not a guarantee. And if I am lucky enough to experience a day in their few golden weeks, I am always struck by the brilliance, the fragility, the transience of it all. I love that above all, these larches remind me to revel in the moment.⁣⁣

If you think I’m a little crazy and over the top, I get it. Honestly, every October I wonder if I’m making too big a deal about larch season. And then I see them and fall in love all over again. So, let this be the sign from the universe to go and see the spectacle for yourself.

When to Go

The hardest part is the timing. Golden larch season is somewhat variable, depending on the weather. In my experience, the larches here start turning in mid-October, and peak in color around the 3rd or 4th week of the month. But this is not an exact science. In 2023, we had a warmer season, and some larches remained green until the end of the month. This year (2024), there was an early frost, and I spotted some trees in Graubünden starting to turn on September 28. There are various “larch trackers” online, but the best bet is to try to find individual webcams in the region you are hoping to visit. I also search for recent pictures on Instagram.

And even when they start turning, the colors will differ depending on the stage. Larch colors can range from buttery yellow to bright orange to rich copper. They are all beautiful, but for me, the sweet spot is right in-between that yellow and orange stage.

Where to Go

Larches are found in dry high valleys and at high altitudes. Graubünden (the Engadin area in particular) and Valais are the two cantons most famous for their larch forests, although they are found in other areas of Switzerland. I’ve listed some of my favorite regions below. If I have a specific hike that I love in that region, it is linked. Often, I try to find more challenging trails that start in larch forests and then end at some higher point above the treeline - but all of the areas below have easier forest walks as well.

Graubünden

Upper Engadin

St. Moritz, and the surrounding areas, are probably the most popular place to go for larches. It’s not hard to see why. The larch forests here are expansive, and surrounded by turquoise lakes and snowy mountains. But expect lots of crowds, especially on the weekends, with busy trains and busier buses.

• Morteratsch (Pontresina)

• Val da Camp (Poschiavo)

• Val Bever

• Cavalgia & Alp Grüm (Poschiavo)

• Silsersee & Silvaplana (Lej Tscheppa is a great hike)

Lower Engadin

While hordes of people flock to the Upper Engadin, the Lower Engadin remains delightfully calm (at least, for now). The tiny villages of Zernez, Guarda, Lavin, Tarasp and Scoul are not only incredibly quaint, but also surrounded by beautiful larch forests. I think that this hike may still be considered a hidden gem, if only because you really have to work for it.

Davos Klosters

I rarely see the Davos Klosters region on any “larch spots” list, and I don’t really know why. This region has huge larch forests. The roundtrip hike up to the Seehorn, above Davosersee, is a short but tough hike with larch forests and a birds-eye view of the area. The valleys of Sertig Dörfli and Flüela Pass are also stunning.

Valais

Upper Valais

The Upper Valais is the German-speaking area of Valais, and another quite famous place for larches. Big standouts here include the Aletsch Glacier, the largest glacier in the Alps, and Zermatt, home of the Matterhorn. But my favorite is the so-called “magic valley” of the Lötschental.

• Lötschental (*Note: In summer 2025, a devasting avalanche + landslide destroyed the village Blatten in the Lötschental. Due to this, most trails in this valley are closed, and it is unclear when it will be open again)

• Aletsch Arena

• Zermatt

Central/Lower Valais

Central and Lower Valais are the French-speaking areas of Valais. The Lac Bleu is quite popular, but anywhere in the Val d’Herens is a sure bet for gorgeous larch forests.

• Lac Bleu & Aiguilles Rouge (Val d’ Herens)

• Balavaux (Haute-Nendaz)

Ticino

I’ve yet to explore the Ticinese larch forests, but I’ve seen photos and it looks stunning.

• Rossa - Capanna Buffalora

• Airolo - Lago di Ravina

Raunaq and I had arrived in Zürich three weeks prior, and we weren’t having any luck finding an apartment. We viewed 10 apartments together in person, and applied for all of them. Didn’t get one. With our temporary housing about to run out, I went to the 11th apartment viewing. I went alone because the appointment was during the workday, and neither of us were feeling optimistic about this particular apartment - partially because of the string of rejections, but mainly because the apartment didn’t seem that great from the online posting. It was in a neighborhood called Wollishofen that seemed “too far” from the city center, it was in an older building, and the pictures were mainly of the exterior (which is never a good sign). But we were getting desperate at this point, so I went to take a look anyway. Needless to say, my expectations were low.

I met the landlord, squeezed into the impossibly tiny elevator, rode to the third floor, opened the front door. And, quite literally, walked into the light.

If you’ve ever been to our apartment, the first thing you’ll notice is the light. Something about the way the light reflects across the white-tiled foyer brightens up the entire space. It creates this calming, peaceful sensation the second you walk in the door.

It took me by surprise, that light. And then, when I saw that all that sunlight came from the five large lake-facing windows in the living room, I knew that this was it. This was the apartment.

I immediately texted Raunaq, and we applied on the spot.

Within an hour of our application, I got a call from the landlord with an offer and rental contract. Raunaq never even got to see the place before we signed. But when you know, you know, right? It was meant to be. We ordered 700 kilos worth of apartment furniture from IKEA, and at the end of July, moved into our very own Swiss apartment.

We were there for six years, the longest either of us has ever stayed in the same place. And in those six years, there was so much I came to love about our little 3.5 room flat.

I loved its charm, that it wasn’t a modern apartment with a boxy modular design, but instead filled with personality, with rounded archways, crown molding, and parquet floors. I loved that there were shelves in every room, a place to put all our knickknacks and tchotchkes and random Lego figurines. I loved that the bathroom was split, San Francisco-style, because it reminded me of home (and also because it made sharing a single bathroom with guests so much more bearable!). I loved all of my different reading and writing nooks, rearranging the furniture and creating a new space for myself every few years. I loved that we could see both the sunrise and the moonrise from the living room couch.

I loved that we called the low-ceiling storage cellar in our bedroom the “Hobbity Hole.” I loved the sunny mornings when our living room was flooded with warm orange light. I loved the huge tree outside our front window (and was devastated when we lost it during a massive blizzard, although I must admit our lake view improved tremendously). I loved that there was a working fireplace, even though we never used it because we put our TV there “just for the summer” and then never ended up moving it. I loved watching the sailing classes in the mornings, and the night ferries in the evening (that I called party ferries because of their neon lighting). I loved hearing the next-door neighbor come out every evening to call his outdoor cat, Wilson, to dinner (“Vilson! Vvviiiiilsonnnnnn!”).

I loved that it was perfectly positioned between Lake Zurich and Uetliberg, and while that location may not be responsible for my hiking obsession, it is certainly responsible for my lake life obsession. I loved walking to Landiweise and Saffa Insel, our own little island. I loved the neighborhood water fountain, built in 1906, where I would stop for a quick drink after late nights out. I loved that our local tramline was the 7, a tramline that is surprisingly connected to the rest of the city, and also one of the last to still use the old-fashioned cars (which yes, are very inconvenient for luggage and trolleys but still - the charm!). I loved that our local bus line was the 72, a bus with truly insane drivers that took us to our favorite spots in Kreis 4 and Kreis 5. I loved that Raunaq loved the neighborhood so much, he custom-made an “8038” hat to represent.

I loved that our 3rd floor neighbors became our friends, and that another set of friends moved to the neighborhood (to the same street, in fact!). I loved that when we lost the tree in front of the building, someone put a bouquet of flowers on the stump. I loved when I would run out onto the balcony to catch a vibrant sunset or rainbow, and see others on their balconies doing the same. I loved that we were able to host both sets of parents, my sisters, my 2-month old niece, and so many friends here (and am a little bit sad about those who never got the chance). I even loved all of the random sounds coming from upstairs, like the sound of a million marbles dropping on the floor, which would happen like clockwork every evening.

And most of all, I loved the feeling I got when I walked in the front door. That light never, ever got old.

Of course, there were lots of things I did not love about the apartment - we did ultimately decide to move, after all. The “charm” part of the charming older apartment began to fade, leaving space for the “old” bits to come into focus. Things started to break more often. The landlords drove me crazy. I became convinced that the upstairs neighbors were running an illegal laundry ring given how often they were using the shared machine. And eventually, we knew it was time for a change.

But this is my love letter, my goodbye. And when you say goodbye, you don’t remember the bad times. You remember the good. And there was so much good.

A few months after we moved in, I wrote one of my favorite blog posts of all time: The Surprising World of Swiss Apartment Life. It’s about all the curious quirks of Swiss apartment living, but moreover, about how where you live becomes more than just four walls. It captures a moment in time. And this apartment, like all my apartments did before it, is now a snapshot capturing six years of life.

When we moved here, I had no idea what our new Swiss life would look like. I had no idea I’d go back to school. I had no idea we’d quarantine here during a global pandemic.  I had no idea that I would make friends that feel like family. I truly had no idea that mountains would become such a big part of our lives. I had no idea if we would even like it here. I had absolutely no idea that we would stay this long - not just in this apartment, but on this side of the world. I had no idea what we would experience, but we experienced it all here:  in Switzerland, in Zürich, in Wollishofen, but most of all, on Bellariastrasse.

It’s a big chapter to close.

On the final day, I took a last walk through the empty apartment, marveling that it looked just as it did that first day, as though no time had passed at all. I laid my key next to the unused fireplace, and thought, “this was a good apartment.”

Goodbye, Bellariastrasse. You were a good apartment.

And now, a collection of some of my favorite apartment memories:

• By December 2018, Raunaq and I agreed that we had made the critical mass of friends to host our very own Christmas party. Which, by the way, was not only the first holiday party we had hosted together, it was the first holiday party I’d ever hosted. It was a blast!

  It was only months later, when I came home to a curious smell in our apartment. It smelled like - to put it nicely - someone had been farting up a storm. “What is that smell?!” I asked Raunaq, who was snacking on something. “Oh, it’s these Indian snacks,” he said. “You’ve had them, remember? You call them the ‘toots masala’ snacks.” Ah, yes. This snack in particular was dried lentils covered in chaat masala, a very delicious but very smelly spice blend. And then, it hit me: we definitely served these snacks at our party. And that means that our lovely Christmas party definitely reeked of flatulence the whole time. BAHHHHHH.

  So, I’m taking the chance now to - pardon the pun - clear the air. If you are reading this and were an attendee at that Christmas party, and you remember it smelling slightly tooty…PLEASE KNOW THAT IT WASN’T US, IT WAS THE SNACKS!

• The house across the street from us was a co-living space, and would often have lots of raging parties (that we never were invited to, rude). I happened to look out the window one night during one of these ragers, and saw this guy walk out the front door, pee in the bushes, and then walk right back in.

• Ever since we discovered that absinthe originated in Switzerland (in Môtiers, to be exact), Raunaq has become a bit of an absinthe connoisseur. His favorite party trick is breaking out our special absinthe water carafe (which is topped with a green fairy, naturally), and making everyone a proper absinthe drink. One of the best times was when we had a few friends over for a low-key Sunday brunch, and it turned into an absinthe-fueled, Boiler Room dance party.

• A pipe burst in the apartment above us, and our kitchen was flooded. It took a month to repair the damage, with our walls ripped open and a huge dehumidifier running day and night for weeks straight. But that’s not the story I want to remember.

  The story I want to remember is the day the plumber came to assess the leak. The three of us were inside, discussing the repairs, when Kusi, the neighbor from upstairs, came down. Kusi had lots of cats, at least three, though honestly there could have been more. She had left her front door open, and while we were all inside talking in our foyer, one of her cats decided to make a run for it. The cat ran down the stairs and darted into our apartment in a black blur of fur. “Misty!” Kusi cried. She tried to catch Misty, but the cat was literally bouncing off the walls, running into all the rooms before barricading itself under the couch. Kusi then barricaded herself in our living room to try to trap the cat, all while yelling “Misty! Misty, no! Mistyyyyy!” The mental image of Kusi chasing her cat throughout the apartment while Raunaq, the plumber and I burst out laughing honestly made the whole water damage experience worth it (almost).

• One Friday night, Raunaq locked me inside the apartment. He had already left, and I didn’t realize it until I was trying to leave to meet my friend. He was oddly flustered that evening, after his first day back to work from a 3-month sabbatical (the so-called ‘summer of Raunaq’). And so, he had locked the door from the outside while I was still home (mistake 1), and then accidentally taken both sets of keys with him (mistake 2). Needless to say, I was late for drinks. Don’t worry, he didn’t leave me there all night - he jumped in a cab and came home to release me. When I tell people this story, every person’s first response is always “What if there was a fire?!

• For Raunaq’s 40th birthday, we had a big lakeside picnic party at Landiwiese. In classic Raunaq-and-Alex party fashion, we ordered 50 samosas from Aggarwal, the Indian grocery store in Kreis 4, and nothing else (planning drinks for parties is our specialty; food…not so much).

  The thing about parties at the lake is that it is all fun and games until the sun sets, and then it is pitch black, which is a problem if you wait to pack everything up until then.  I was, somehow, the most sober of our friends left standing at 11pm, and tried my very best to 1.) make sure nothing important was left behind in the darkness while simultaneously 2.) herd my very drunk friends back home. Not an easy feat, I tell you. The next morning, I went back to search for a set of keys left behind, only to find a trail of samosas leading, one by one, all the way back to the lake.

I completely skipped blogging about summer 2023 hikes. Which is a shame, since it was a great season! I swear I’ll get to those eventually. But to avoid getting backed up even further, I’m starting my 2024 post. Here’s hoping I will get back on schedule soon.

Alas - summer 2024, weather-wise, is not off to a great start. Climate change + the absolutely unforgivable decision to cancel the Böögg burning for the first time in Zürich’s history (sure, burning it in a violent wind storm would have been a literal fire hazard…but, look at the cost we have paid!) has created rainy, stormy, and sometimes scary mountain conditions this year. But nevertheless, we persist.

As always, I’ll be adding to this post as I go.

Greina Plateau: Graübunden and Ticino

The Greina Plateau is a spectacular high-altitude tundra that lies between cantons Graubünden and Ticino. It’s hard to perceive it’s vastness through photos - you really need to see it for yourself. The Greina itself is definitely the most anticipated highlight, but the entire trail is beautifully varied. There were many, many highlights over the course of two days (note: while it’s possible as a very long day hike, I think it’s best experienced with a hut overnight).

• Start: Vrin, vtig

• End: Campo Blenio

• Day 1; Day 2

Chüebodensee and Wildmaad: Glarus (Elm)

The circular hike from Ampachli to Chüebodensee is a gem. It’s a short yet sporty climb, but once you reach the lake, nestled in its little mountain basin, surrounded by green slopes and jagged peaks, all the sweat is (mostly) forgotten. For extra points, and even more views of all the Glarus Alps, add the detour up to Wildmaad plateau and the Wildmaadfurggeli viewpoint.

• Start/End: Elm (Ampachli mountain station)

• Basic Route: Ampachli - Chüeboden - Chüebodensee - Wildmaadfurggeli - Ampachli

• 10.5 km, 865m ascent/descent, T2

Capanna del Forno: Graubünden

The Capanna del Forno is perched above a stunning glacier, right on the Italian border. It’s epic location and fun trail make it one of my favorite hut weekends to date! There are two main approaches to Capanna del Forno - a high trail and a valley trail - that can be combined into a loop. Both trails are quite different in terms of view and terrain, so you really get a feel for the whole area. And no matter which way you choose, you’ll pass the pretty Lägh da Cavloc, which has a restaurant that makes a perfect lunch stop on your second day.

Klontarlersee to Gumensattel: Glarus

I’m not going to sugarcoat it: this one will make you suffer.

Klöntalersee is easily, easily, one of the most beautiful lakes in Switzerland. Seeing it from above, a fjord-like turquoise lake surrounded by sheer mountains, is an absolute treat. Getting there, unfortunately, is not a treat. When I read about this trail, it was referred to as an “insider tip,” because you’ll likely see few other hikers. Now I know the real reason: it’s a sufferfest. But a beautiful one!

• Start/End: Rhodannenberg

• Basic Route: Rhodannenberg - Auerenalp - Gumensattel - Dejen - Rhodannenberg

• 11km, 1330m ascent/descent. T2/T3

Ducantal/Walserweg: Graubünden

This hike was the perfect season-opener: a nice climb through meadows and forests full of wildflowers to a high mountain plateau, a descent down through the long Ducantal, and ending strong with a massive three-tiered waterfall.

• Start: Davos Monstein

• End: Sertig Dörfli

• Basic Route: Monstein - Fanezmeder - Fanezfurgga - Ducantal - Wasserfall - Sertig Dörfli

• 15km, 1284m ascent/768m descent, T2

Chamanna Jenatsch: Graubünden

One of the most unique hikes I’ve done in Switzerland! Expect an explosion of color: from the rocks, the mountains, the lakes, the rivers, the valleys - everything is vibrant in one way or another. This hike is long and beautifully varied, with the landscapes changing drastically throughout the 22 kilometers. The halfway point is the charming Chamanna Jenatsch, the highest SAC hut in Graubunden.

• Start: Julier Pass (La Veduta)

• End: Spinas

• Basic Route: Julier Pass - Fuorcla d'Agnel - Jenatschütte - Tegia d'Val - Spinas

• 22km, 985m ascent/1400m descent, T3 (approach)/T2 (descent)

Gelmersee and Gelmerhütte: Berner Oberland

Switzerland has no shortage of turquoise alpine lakes, but the Gelmersee might be a new favorite. This is a popular area, namely because of the Insta-famous Gelmerbahn (the “Swiss roller coaster”), but you don’t need the funicular to get to this seriously stunning lake. There is a fun trail from the valley up to Gelmersee, that then continues up to the Gelmer Hut. Bonus points if you are brave enough for an icy cold swim on your way back down.

• Start/End: Handegg, Kunzentännlein

• Basic Route: Kunzentännlein - Gelmersee - Gelmerhutte - Gelmersee - Kunzentännlein

• 11km, 940m ascent/descent, 5 hours, T2/T3

Leistchamm: St. Gallen

The Leistchamm hike is a classic hike, with a challenging yet rewarding ascent to the highest peak in the Amden region. The final ridge requires sure-footedness but leads to spectacular summit views of Lake Walensee and the surrounding Alps.

• Start/End: Arvenbüel

• Basic Route: Arvenbüel - Alp Looch - First - Leistchamm - Vorder Höhi - Arvenbüel

• 12km, 900m ascent/descent. T2

The canton of St.Gallen offers some spectular hikes. It's home to one of my favorite Swiss lakes, the Walensee, as well as a waterfall arena that looks straight out of Iceland. The hikes in this canton won't have the tallest mountains you've ever seen, but can't be beat in their proximity to Zürich. It's also one of my favorite regions for late spring hiking.

• Speer

• Alp Tschingla

• Federispitz

• Leistchamm

• Mattstock [coming soon]

• Flumserberg 7-peaks

• Batoni Waterfalls

• Pizol 5-Lakes

• Murgseen [coming soon]

• Seerenbachfälle [coming soon]

• Sardonahütte (2-day hike) [coming soon]

If you want big big mountains without traveling too far from Zürich, Glarus is the place to go. This might be one of the most underrated cantons in all of Switzerland. The hikes here are stunning, the cable cars are affordable, and the whole area has a very local vibe.

• Leglerhütte

• Weisstannen to Pizolhütte

• Chüebodensee and Wildmaad

• Klontarlersee to Gumensattel

• Hirzli Rundweg [coming soon]

• Butzi Alp [coming soon]

• Oberblegisee [coming soon]

The canton of many names - Graubuden, Grisons, Grigioni - because it's the only canton with three officially languages - German, Romansch, Italian. Out of all the cantons, I think this one displays Switzerland's natural and cultural diversity. Glitzy St. Mortiz, the tiny Romansch towns of the Upper Engadin, the barren Sardona Tectonic Arena, the spectacular Bernina Pass, the remote Parc Ela - there is so much here. You really get a little bit of everything.

• Val Frisal [coming soon]

• Joriseen

• Crap Puter

• Lej Tscheppa

• Fuela Schwarzhorn & Grietalschütte [coming soon]

• Chamanna Jenatsch

• Alp Mora

• Val da Camp

• Morterasch [coming soon]

• Cassongrat

• Heizenberg Gratweg

• Ringlespitz

• Ducantal/Walserweg

• Kesch Trek (three-day tour)

• Prättigauer Höhenweg/ Carschinahütte [coming soon]

Hiking through Appenzellerland feels about as traditionally Swiss as you can get: storybook villages, rolling green pastures, turqouise lakes, spiky mountain peaks, alpine herdsmen and - the very best rösti in the whole of the country. The Alpstein mountain range, in particular, is unforgettable.

• 3 Lakes of the Alpstein

• Wasseraun to Ebenalp via Mesmer

• Saxer Lücke

• Zwinglipass

But, I also know that the whole process can feel intimidating if it’s your first time. So here’s a primer, with everything I know about staying at a Swiss mountain hut.

P.S. If this is your first time doing any type of hiking in Switzerland, start here. And if you would like help in planning your next hike, check out this page.

About Swiss huts

Swiss huts are essentially alpine hostels for hikers and mountaineers, and yes, it’s just as amazing as it sounds (for anyone who likes hiking or mountaineering, at the very least!). For a relatively reasonable price, at a mountain hut you get a dorm bed, dinner, breakfast, and best of all - sunsets and sunrises over the Alps. Or ok, maybe the best part is that you get all the benefits of staying in the mountains without having to lug any of the heavy camping gear.

There are literally huts throughout the entirety of the Swiss Alps, some easy to reach and some in unimaginably remote spots. It’s a truly incredible system, and a really special way to experience the mountains.

The Swiss Alpine Club (SAC) manages most of the huts, although there are privately owned huts as well. You can find information about each SAC hut and various approach routes on their website. Reservations are necessary, and you’ll need to book months in advance for Saturday night stays during peak season. Lots of huts also have their own websites, which are useful to check out before you go. In general, it costs between 70-90 CHF per night to stay, which includes half-board (dinner and breakfast) and a dorm bed.

About the experience

Swiss huts are very social and communal. I find that everyone is cheery and in good-spirits, with that slight touch of red-cheeked delirium you get from spending a long active day outside.

Once you arrive, you leave your hiking boots in the mud room, and slip into some house shoes (usually Crocs!). From late afternoon onward, people begin to congregate in the common areas, or the terrace if it’s warm. Drinks like beer, wine, tea and coffee are available for purchase. Dinner is at a set time, and is generally served family-style. You’ll get a hearty three-course meal, designed to refuel you after a long day in the mountains: a starter (soup or salad), a main (they can accommodate different dietary restrictions if requested in advance), and a dessert. If there are leftovers, the staff will come around and offer seconds. I’ve never gone hungry. Sure, some hut food is better than others, but I’ve found that I’m so ravenous after a day of hiking that everything tastes good. And it really feels luxurious to have a warm, home-cooked meal!

After dinner, people normally hang out in the common area to chat or play card games. Sometimes you get extra-lucky with an extraordinary sunset or a herd of visiting ibex, and on a clear night, once it gets dark you can see the Milky Way. It’s lights out by 10pm, but if I’m being honest, I’m normally reading in bed way before then.

For sleeping, the hut provides blankets and pillows, and you bring your own sleeping bag liner that serves as a sheet. Dorm styles can vary a lot. The classic dormitories are essentially one large mattress, with pillows at the head and folded blankets at the foot of each marked sleeping spot, capable of sleeping 6, 8, 12, or even more people. Others are bunk-style, or have partitions in between each space. But no matter the set-up, prepare to get quite cozy with your neighbors. I never get the best sleep, but it’s all part of the experience!

Bathrooms will also vary, but all huts will at least have clean, simple shared facilities: toilets and sinks with cold running water. I’ve never showered at a hut, even if they provide one (for a fee).

Breakfast is early, around 7:00 or 7:30am, and is very simple: bread, cheese, jam, muesli, coffee, tea. One hut served eggs, and I was so excited! But that’s definitely the exception, not the rule. And then everyone is packed and back out on the trail by about 9am.

P.S. All of the above refers to serviced or guarded huts, meaning they have a warden and staff on site. There are also “un-guarded” huts, which are self-service.

Packing List

Here’s what I pack. It’s everything I would normally bring for a day mountain hike, and:

• Cash

• Sleeping bag liner (I also like to bring a small pillowcase)

• Pajamas

• Fresh underwear, socks, shirt, and sports bra for the next day

• Basic toiletries (including body wipes so I can give myself a faux shower)

• Small camping/microfiber towel (not necessary, but I like to have one)

• Ear plugs and eye mask

• Headlamp

• External battery

• Kindle

• Extra water bottle if you want “marching tea”(kind of like a warm punch)

Hut Roundup

Now comes the hardest part - narrowing down what hut to go to!

To find a hut, the easiest way is to use the “Hut Finder” section of the SAC website to find a hut in your desired area, and use information from SAC + the hut website to plan your approach and descent. I’d also suggest mapping your route in the SwissTopo app as well.

Here is a sampling of the huts I’ve stayed in over the years - the ones I’ve like the most are starred. My favorite type of hut hikes go via a mountain pass, where you start in one valley, stay in a hut near the top of the pass, and then hike down the other side.

Capanna Cristallina* - Ticino

Capanna Christiallina, a hut high in the Ticino Alps, links stage 2 and stage 3 of the Sentiero Cristallina. The first day leads from up from the Val Bavona valley to the Robiei reservoir (you can take the gondola to skip this ascent if you’d like), then further up to the Passeo di Cristallina, passing alpine lakes and - if you are lucky - herds of ibex or chamois! The descent feels completely different. The route leads down the stony mountain slopes into larches and meadows.

The hut itself is spacious and very modern, with a huge sun terrace overlooking Lago Sfundau and glaciers. The food was served single-plated, instead of the usual family style (although that might have been a COVID precaution), but it was hearty and delicious. And, in true Italian form, you can get local wine and Aperol Spritz’s from the bar, too!

Approach / Descent

Terrihütte* - Graubunden

The Greina Plateau hike, straddling the cantons of Graubünden and Ticino, offers stunning high-altitude landscapes and a diverse trail experience. Spanning two days, hikers start in Vrin and ascend to the Terrihutte, a beautifully situated mountain hut perfect for an overnight stay. The second day showcases the expansive Greina Plateau, featuring glacial rivers and dramatic scenery before descending through breathtaking waterfalls into Val Camadra. This hike is ideal for those looking for an unforgettable adventure with both challenging terrain and rewarding views.

For more details, check out the full post here.

Approach / Descent

Geltenhütte* - Bernese Oberland

The Geltenhütte hike, set in a waterfall-strewn corner of the Bernese Oberland, is a two-day adventure filled with alpine drama and charm. Day one begins at Lauenensee, climbing just two hours through meadows and cliffs to reach the Geltenhütte, perched above the thundering Geltenschuss and surrounded by a stunning arena of waterfalls. On day two, the trail traverses mountain slopes with sweeping valley views, detours to the Wildhorn Hut for a bubbling käseschnitten, and culminates with a refreshing swim in the turquoise Iffigsee before descending into the pastoral meadows of Iffigenalp.

For more details, check out the full post here.

Rugghubelhütte - Obwalden

Rugghubelhütte is a great all-around hut: It’s big, family-friendly, and is perfectly situated among the mountains above the Engelberg Valley. There’s a huge, wrap-around sun terrace that’s perfect for late-afternoon post-hike beers, along with lounge chairs, and it’s located on a bit plateau so there’s lots of space walk around. It’s a good choice for families or first-timers, as there is an easy (1.5hr) approach from the Ristis mountain station. But, there are harder access options, too. Our approach route was a 6 hour trek from St.Jakob via the Rotgrätli, and it was stunning the whole way.

Approach / Descent

Chamona de Cavardiras* - Uri/Graubünden

The Cavardiras Hut is on the border of the two best hiking regions in Switzerland, so you know it’s going to be a good one. It’s a really classic Swiss hut - one where everyone (like, 30 people) all sleep in one big dormitory. In fact, they are renovating it in the summer of 2026, so summer 2025 will be your last chance to experience that before it gets a modern update!

There are a few different ways to reach this hut. I’d recommend the long approach from Bristen that goes through the stunning (STUNNING) Maderanertal valley. For the descent, I think the alpine path that leads over the glacier and Brunni Pass is spectacular, but should only be undertaken by experienced hikers. Otherwise, the descent via Val Russein is a great alternative.

For more details, check out the post here.

Approach / Descent

Capanna Alzasca* - Ticino

This is one of the sweetest huts I’ve stayed, and proof that great things come in tiny packages. Capanna Alzasca is a small Ticinese stone hut that only sleeps 20 people. The kitchen and dining room are in the same space, so you can watch (and smell!) dinner being prepared. We had hiked the entire day in the cold and rain, and Alzasca was just so cozy and warm and inviting. This hut also had INCREDIBLE food, including a meat-and-cheese apero they served before the meal. The sleeping quarters are basic - just mattress on the floor - but comfortable.

It’s an experience you’ll work for. Alzasca is located high above the Maggia valley, and every approach is at least 1200m (or more) of steep ascent. That’s Ticino for you. But trust me, when you see those blue-and-white shutters, it will all be worth it.

Approach / Descent

Capanna del Forno*: Graubünden

The Capanna del Forno hike offers an incredible adventure along two contrasting trails: a scenic high path with stunning views of the Forno Glacier and a valley trail that descends into lush landscapes. Starting from Maloja, hikers ascend 11 km to the hut, navigating boulder fields and taking in breathtaking mountain vistas. The second day involves a 14 km descent through Val Forno, revealing a different perspective of the area’s beauty. The route includes a delightful lunch stop at Lägh da Cavloc, making it a memorable weekend getaway.

For more details, visit the full post here.

Salbihütte - Uri

Salbithütte isn't just a mountain hut, it's a basecamp for epic climbing adventures. Located in a prime area known for challenging routes around the spiky granite peaks of the Salbitschijen massif, this hut definitely caters to the climbing crowd. As an aspiring outdoor climber myself, it was very fun to hear everyone’s stories of the day and the ascent plans for the morning.

The one negative thing I’ll stay about this hut is that it does feel a bit crowded when at capacity. It sleeps 58 people, and on a busy Saturday night, that felt like too many people, especially with only 2 toilets for everyone. As for the hike itself, we approached from Wassen via the Rohr and Bandelucke (this was a top hike of the season, highly recommend!), and then descended the next day to Göschenen (RIP knees, so steep!).

Approach / Descent

Chamanna da Grialetsch - Graubünden

The area between Davos and Unter Engadin has spectacularly dramatic Alpine scenery. I love this part of Switzerland, and Chammana Grialetsch is nestled right in the heart of it. It part of the popular three-day Kesch-Trek, a route that connects the Flüela Pass with the Albula Pass. The hut itself seemed recently refurbished.

Approach / Descent

Sardonahütte - Glarus

Sardonahütte is a very “locals” hut. It’s mainly frequented by other Swiss hikers and doesn’t get many tourists. The hut wardens are so nice, and some of the staff’s children run around and “help” out. It’s super cute, and makes the entire stay feel very homey. At night, herds of ibex are known to come down from the mountain and graze near the hut, too!

The hike is one of the best in the area, too. The approach goes via the incredible Batoni waterfall arena (with three huge waterfalls), and the descent ends at the fjord-like Gigerwaldsee.

Approach / Descent

Carschinahütte - Graubünden (closed for 2025 season)

The Carschinahütte is in the Rätikon mountain range, at the base of the Sulzfluh, with surrounding meadows full of wildflowers and marmots. It’s a common stop on the multi-stage Prättigauer Höhenweg, but it’s also great hut for families, first-timers, and groups. The young staff is so friendly, and the food is delicious (we had lasagna for dinner, and EGGS!!! for breakfast).

There’s an easy direct route from St. Antönien Platz that goes over Alp Carshina, but I’d recommend the variant that passes by the turquoise Partnunsee.

Approach / Descent

Multi-Day Hut Hikes

There’s no single resource to planning a hut-to-hut hike, so be prepared to invest some time researching. It is worth it, I promise! If you are uncomfortable mapping out your own trail, look into different stages of official long distance trails. Here are a few that we’ve done:

• The Alpine Passes Trek

• Kesch Trek

• Val d’Anniviers Trek