Before leaving town, Gstaad deserves a moment. What looks like a village is, in truth, a carefully kept expression of alpine identity. Wooden chalets line the streets like proud storytellers, their carved balconies heavy with flowers and history. Behind the polished façades lies a deep-rooted farming culture that predates the luxury labels by centuries. In Gstaad, even a seven-figure bank balance doesn’t buy you a design shortcut. The Chalet has the final say.

Arriving at Lake Lauenen feels like stepping into a painting. Tucked into a high alpine bowl, its glassy surface mirrors the surrounding peaks with almost suspicious perfection. No engines. No rush. Just stillness, served fresh. It’s a place that gently recalibrates you, inviting you to pause, unpack a picnic, and linger a little longer. A hidden gem that feels far away from the rest of the world.

For centuries, the Gotthard massif stood as a formidable divider between north and south. Walking through the tunnel, that history feels unexpectedly close. You sense the patience it must have taken to find a way through, rather than over. The result? The longest railway tunnel in the world, carved straight through granite, stretching 57 kilometres beneath the Alps. As we move through the exhibition spaces, the story unfolds layer by layer: decades of planning, thousands of workers, and a level of precision that feels less industrial than quietly poetic.

For a country compact in size, Switzerland has always thought expansively. The zipper. Cellophane. The foundations of the World Wide Web. Velcro, inspired by burrs clinging to a jacket on an Alpine hike. Even the Swiss Army Knife began as a simple idea, refined into a global symbol of versatility. Different inventions, same mindset: observe carefully, solve elegantly, and build things meant to last. You feel that mindset here – carved into granite, and made to endure.

Nestled high in the Ursern Valley, Andermatt has long been a place of passage. Surrounded by Alpine peaks and anchored by the Gotthard Pass, it once guarded the north–south gateway through the Alps. Many of the gravel roads above the village were never designed for leisure. They were built for defence, supply and strategy – and today, they remain restricted. Travelling them requires both local knowledge and special permits. With our guide behind the wheel, the mountains begin to share their quieter stories.

The road over the Furka Pass knows exactly what it’s doing. Smooth hairpins, each one opening the view a little wider. Glaciers slide down dark rock, valleys fall away. You feel alert because every curve asks for attention and rewards it straight away. This road once hosted a certain secret agent in Goldfinger – though the real star has always been the setting. At the abandoned Belvédère Hotel, stopping feels inevitable as the Rhône Glacier fills the frame. Here, even spies took their foot off the pedal.

The farmer introduced the herd as if they were a cast of lovable eccentrics; he explained that each had a distinct personality and a clear opinion on personal space. He told us why llamas hum and insisted that they were far more dignified than their reputation suggested – well, most of the time. After he had given us a brief lesson in llama etiquette, we found ourselves holding leads attached to personalities wrapped in fleece. From there, we set out together.

The moment you reach for your camera, the llamas begin posing as if they’ve been waiting for their close-up all morning. Wide eyes, windswept fringes, slightly crooked smiles – they’re naturals. And yes, at least one llama will attempt to taste-test your camera lens. Consider it a compliment. Even the outtakes feel magical: a mix of Swiss scenery, fresh air and irresistible, mildly chaotic charm.

This class wasn’t just about baking – it was a peek into Swiss culture. Our culinary guide shared recipes guarded for generations, where spices like cinnamon and cloves were precious enough to save for December. You’ll meet the flourless Zimtstern, long ahead of any gluten-free trend, and the cheerful Grittibänz, a little bread man once baked to ward off bad spirits. These days he frightens no one… except the person trying to shape his legs evenly.

The moment the timer pinged, the room fell silent. Butter, almond, cocoa – the holy trinity of Christmas – scented the air. Fresh juice and warm laughter, as we savoured our own creations, made even novice bakers feel like seasoned chefs. We were sharing not only delicious recipes but also sweet memories, and a deeper connection to Swiss culture.

Before we set off, our guide opened with a thousand-year-old saga about a monk named Bernard de Menthon and his remote Alpine hospice in need of loyal guardians. From there, the legend practically wrote itself – colossal dogs with remarkable empathy, forming the earliest four-legged rescue team in Switzerland. And because Switzerland is Switzerland, their lineage was recorded with such devotion you’d think even the paperwork deserved a medal.

Have you ever wondered how heavy St. Bernards really are? Heavy enough to melt your heart. Patient, humorous and clearly devoted to his four-legged companions, our guide answered every question we threw his way. We even uncovered the truth about those iconic little brandy barrels – more legend than logistics, but still delightfully Swiss.

Hot-air ballooning begins long before lift-off. A colourful sweep of fabric lies across a field, guided by an experienced pilot and the shared hope that it will soon take shape. Everyone pitches in. I help steady the fabric as the balloon is unfurled, filled with cold air, and then – with a measured burst of heat – begins to rise. Stepping into the basket feels daring for about three seconds, until I realise it’s reassuringly solid, more stable than it looks from the ground.

Sunrise flights have their appeal – pink horizons and crisp morning light – yet the Jura is far from a one-hour wonder. Drift through midday warmth or glide beneath the golden glow of late afternoon, and the landscape is just as compelling. Without the chill of dawn, you can simply settle into scenery that seems perfectly at ease with time. And gliding silently with the wind, you may notice wildlife below carrying on as if you weren’t there at all.

Imagine a lake whose colour changes with the light, ranging from turquoise to emerald to a deep, mysterious blue. That’s Lake Sils in autumn. Hike to the tranquil Isola peninsula, then take Europe’s highest scheduled boat service back to Sils Maria. Before you leave, be sure to try a Silserkugel at Café Grond – a delicious blend of chocolate, meringue and local flavours.

As our instructor assembles his alphorn, we learn that he started to play 15 years ago but only recently took the leap to pursue his passion full-time. He patiently shows us what we to do, then hands the mouthpiece to the first volunteer. What follows is the sound of silence (that was me!) then something like an elephant trumpeting. Some of us are naturals at coaxing a tune from the didgeridoo of the Alps. He assures us that with more time, every one of us would manage at least a recognisable tone.

Over the years cheese production was moved down to the villages and the importance of the alphorn dwindled. Luckily, there were some people who helped keep this musical instrument alive and in the meantime it has become a symbol of Switzerland. Alphorn blowers are thriving in their homeland but also around the world.