Switzerland really is quite quaint, with a lot of nooks and crannies to explore. Amid the rainy days flourishing the greens, I’d follow little paths through the woods and along undulating hillsides.
Behind the house I would curve around the road and veer off onto a track that bordered the town, leading to Schloss Sargans, the historic castle the overlooked the valley. The fresh scent was invigorating, rain drops magnified the veins in leaves, and sticks underfoot interrupted the chatter of my mind.
One day I choose the track that forked up, away from the castle. It came to a rustic road that carved through fields with farmers and cows. I stopped at the village that felt like it was on top of the world, because the path continued to snake up and up and up. I spied a wee house atop a rocky cliff face and wondered how the heck the occupants would get up there.
Another day I continued along the road behind the house and then turned left through a lush meadow. An old wooden shed stood stoic, with a turn-style for cows in the middle of the fence. Through the break in the pasture, grassy mounds revealed WWII bunkers, before winding around stone walls that housed family plots of garden vineyards. Some had pictures and captions of the varietals of grapes. It made me thirsty.
On one brisk jaunt, my host and I parked at the base of Pizol and went for a mini-schlep up into a forest. Not long in, the track spiralled around to meet some timber pews in a clearing. I looked up to see Jesus on a large cross, affront Mary housed inside a ligneous structure. It was an al fresco church sheltered under the protection of living giants; with sunlight dappling through the leaves, creating an ethereal feel. I was in awe of such an understated, yet beautiful concept.
When my host finally peeled me away, we wound back down the hill through two separate villages that consisted of three houses each. A cyclist pedalled past on the steepest of ascents, his calf muscles permanently taut. We finished on a street lined with classic homes that stood proudly with a fish scale armour of wooden shingles and adorned with pretty window boxes boasting bright coloured flowers.
The walks were enchanting and adorable, like traipsing through the pages of a heavenly retreat picture book; the pages coming alive with each inhalation of crisp alpine air. I can still feel it now, even though I am typing from a desk as the sun sets in the Southern hemisphere. There is something magical about that place, Switzerland. I fill you in on more adventures soon, until then X