Andermatt

49. Back to Bella Suiza
Luzern – Andermatt – Luzern

With barely any sleep, exhausted but back on home turf. Jonas took us in, giving us a much-needed shelter to crash in before the madness began.

The next days blurred into an endless cycle of hauling furniture, shifting boxes, and assembling what felt like a million pieces of our life. It was backbreaking work. Max, though, was an absolute beast—he dismantled and reassembled most of the cupboards like a pro. My hero. Meanwhile, I ran on fumes, my muscles screaming in protest, but there was no time to slow down. Between moving into the new apartment, unpacking, cleaning, and getting things in order, sleep became a distant memory.

Still, we carved out one Sunday for a proper escape—skiing in Andermatt, so Max wouldn’t only see the inside of a cardboard box. The views were breathtaking, but the skiing? North America had spoiled me. The snow back there was lighter, drier, and somehow just... better. Plus, I had gotten way too used to my lightweight ski touring setup—switching back to heavy skis felt like learning all over again. Clumsy, awkward. I missed the effortless glide of my touring skis; they’re practically an extension of my feet.

Once Theo was back at work, I soldiered on alone—moving the last boxes, wrangling things with the Hausverwaltung (cleaning, painters, repairs), hunting down the missing pieces for the apartment, and, oh yeah, squeezing in job interviews on top of it all. I was running on empty, completely kaputt, but there was no pause button. No time yet to sit, breathe, and feel at home. I suppose that part will come… eventually.

But it didn’t.
One box after the other—unpacking, sorting into cupboards, reshuffling, more unpacking. On repeat. All week long. The only silver lining was Bernd’s 50th birthday party, which whisked us away to the literal end of the world: somewhere near Schaffhausen. It felt good to be around people again, to laugh, to celebrate something that wasn’t just “we found the cutlery drawer!”

Craving more social contact and a bit of mental oxygen, we fled to the mountains again the following weekend—back to Andermatt. One day skiing with Walter, the next ski touring with him and Häfeli. The route: Gemsstock – Glockentürmli – Monte Prosa – Hosten Tal (Bedretto Tal had too little snow). It was one of those brilliant Swiss winter days—sunny and windy. Not exactly ideal touring conditions, with a crusty, icy surface that tested every edge of our skis. But the scenery made up for it. Stark, vast, humbling.

After the tour, I was ravenous—so hungry I nearly inhaled two pizzas at the Spycher restaurant in town. I don’t even remember chewing. Just warmth, cheese, and life slowly returning to my limbs.

We returned tired yet again, launching into a new week that offered no room to breathe. I kept hoping I could finally finish unpacking, sorting, and settling in—just to have a clean slate for job hunting. But the next celebration was already on the horizon: Walter’s birthday party is next Saturday, and apparently we’re celebrating that too.

There’s still no time to feel fully arrived, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe life, like a good ski tour, is best lived one summit at a time—breathing heavy, legs burning, and smiling at the wind.Les mer