Zermatt, Switzerland

If what you seek is a mosh pit of gyrating bodies, loud music, and mind-altering substances, if you desire waking up naked beside someone who resembles one of the extras from Thriller and an alarming rash forming on your left cheek, Zermatt is not the place for you. Okay, I suppose I'm being a bit unfair. For those of you who seek such experiences, I doubt the lack of local facilities would deter you in your quest. There are a few places here that might sate your party-goer's appetite (some even boasting closing hours of 4 am!) but this was not my experience.

After arriving on the train with my family in the small Swiss village, we dropped off our effects at the hotel, and stepped out onto a cobbled street with not a soul to be seen. Beckoned forth by my uncompromising stomach, I led the way in search of a place where my loved ones and I might find some form of sustenance. But as the search for dinner continued on without success, I began to feel a cold-sweat of panic stippling across my skin. I had just begun to decide which family member I would miss least if forced to turn to cannibalism when the mystical sound of music and soft chatter met our ears, leading us skipping and dancing towards its source like the children after the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Savory smells of cooking food soon joined the assault on our senses and before we knew it we were standing in the middle of a proper little diner! It was all I could do not to drop down to my knees in prayer, hands clasped, shaking above my head, and body aquiver with jubilation.

We were led to a table by a pleasant middle-aged woman—who made up for her lack of English, and our lack of German, with wide smiles and welcoming hand gestures—and collapsed into our chairs, forks poised over our empty plates like Fred Flintstone awaiting his supper. Let me now take the time to address you with the food of Zermatt, Switzerland. I personally found much success with my ordering choices, sticking closely to various pastas, but I fear I cannot say the same for the other members of my family, my brother in particular. Intrigued by the words "Wiener Schnitzel" he decided to be adventurous with his meal—a heretofore unprecedented event—and ordered the Wiener Schnitzel salad. This, however, turned out to be a monumental error in judgment for a starving boy to make. Whilst I basked in the creamy-goodness of my four cheese macaroni, he was left prodding his fork experimentally at the bowl of green leaves accompanied by thinly sliced hotdogs. Now as some of you may know, Wiener Schnitzel is meat that is breaded and fried, usually veal. Not hotdogs. I do not know why the meal was so falsely advertised, but perhaps we should count it as one of God's small blessings—no doubt my finicky brother would have been overcome with the vapors should he have been presented with veal amongst his lettuce leaves.

The next day we set out to experience all that Zermatt had to offer. As mentioned before, Zermatt is a small town that boasts a population of a whopping 6,000 local residents. Combustion-engine cars are forbidden in the village and only electric cars or those that are battery operated are permitted. This is done to prevent air-pollution so as not to disturb the crisp alpine air circulating throughout the village. The main road in town cuts its way through the quaint, brightly-shuttered buildings and ends at a path leading to the hallmark of Zermatt. The Matterhorn. This, in my opinion, is the prime reason for coming to Zermatt. With its peak jutting majestically out of the earth at approximately 13,000 feet above sea level, I couldn't take my eyes away from it. The sight of the mountain filled me with such a humbling sense of insignificance as I stood in its shadows that I demanded to my family we go for a hike.

It didn't take long to discover that we were not the only people embarking upon such a trying physical experience, however, and were often passed by hikers of such physical prowess as to put Bear Grylls to shame. My family and I had started out the cool summer day wearing jeans, sneakers, and long sleeved shirts, but as we continued our ascent it became imperative to turn said jeans into capris, and long sleeved shirts into tees. I do not mean to mislead you into thinking we had hiked anything that resembled a respectable distance, but it was a strenuous trek for amateurs such as ourselves nevertheless. I am convinced that if not for the bubbling enthusiasm the mountain inspired within me, I would have found myself squatting at the side of the road panting like a black dog in summer with just a touch of asthma.

Along the way we saw things of such natural beauty as to stop us in our tracks. Green grass rose up all around us, dotted with small yellow and white flowers, all waving back and forth in the wind as if to lure us into its depths. To our right, thin white waterfalls carved their way down the rock face where sheep gathered like specks of cotton against the dark gray slate. The way up was never-ending, as if every step we took was bringing us nowhere. I remember closing my eyes and breathing in the clean, crisp air of the mountain, listening to the roaring speech of the river as it followed us from its position deep within the gorge to our left. We paused here for a moment, peering precariously over the edge of the cliff and down into the frothing white of the churning waters. It was at this rather significant moment during our nature excursion that my brother took it upon himself to pretend as though he were going to push my mother over the edge of the cliff. Both parents responded to this unfortunate lapse in intelligence with a fierce alacrity that could have subdued a grizzly bear. They regarded him with identical looks of profound disillusion and pummeled him with rhetorical questions that all centralized around his lack of mental capacity. I, meanwhile, watched the exchange from a safe distance away and continued to stare placidly around my surrounds until they had finished.

We traveled on for a bit longer, me leading the pack with my brother bringing up the rear, tale tucked between his legs. The wind was light, rustling around us, and the sky a clear, forget-me-not blue. A forested area had just begun taking form to our right when my mom plopped herself down upon a rock at the side of the path, my dad coming to stand beside her in silent camaraderie. Mood lightened considerably by the discovery of an interesting stone, my brother too came to a pause beside my parents, forcing me to stop my ascent with marked impatience. After a few moments rest it was brought to my attention that though everyone found the Matterhorn as equally awe-inspiring as I, they had no desire to reach its summit, and certainly not before lunch. So, wheezing and red-faced, we all turned around and began to make our way back down to the foot of the mountain. It seemed to take much less time to get down than it had going up—funny how that happens.

We only stayed in Zermatt for two days before continuing on our journey by train. It is a lovely little town and the view alone is worth the visit, but there really isn't much to do there unless you are an avid hiker or skier. If outdoor sports are your calling then this is the place for you. And for the rest of us, like I said, it is definitely worth the trip.

Bonjour, Guten tag, Hola, Buongiorno, and Hello!

Why do we travel? Some people travel to relax, retiring on a tropical beach where they collapse in the sand like a fish cast up from the sea. Others seek the rush of adventure, of putting themselves in situations that would render most of us paralyzed with terror. Then there are those who relish in the exploration of a different culture, of trying something new and unfamiliar. And those who love all three.

Every Sunday I will discuss a different city from somewhere in the world and invite you to share your own experiences as I regale you with the tales of my own travels--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Follow me each week and sate your wanderlust!