Switzerland is beautiful.
I always assumed it would be, but I was unprepared for the sheer take-your-breath-away, bring-tears-to-your-eyes magnitude of the beauty. I no longer feel fit to call myself a writer, because I simply cannot find the words to describe my surroundings. Or rather, I can find the words, but I don’t know how to put them into an order that will suitably convey the… the… mountainous magnitude of mellow magnificence. You see?
Now that I’ve had a bit of practice in the Monster Truck, I’ve become confident enough to go out exploring by simply picking a random town or village and driving to it. Even the autoroutes (motorways) are beautiful! With tall, snow-capped mountains on one side of you, and pretty chalets and rambling vineyards on the other, and the bright Spring sunshine making the lake sparkle down below, you get an entirely new perspective in terms of motorway driving. The roads wind around mountains, through valleys, up hills. There are remote villages consisting of a dozen little red-roofed houses surrounded by green fields. There are gentle-looking cows with bells around their necks. There are vineyards stretching as far as the eye can see, both vertically and horizontally. There are castles randomly dotted across the landscape.
It doesn’t feel real. I know I’m the sort of person who lives in a fairytale most of the time, but now I really do feel as if I have been whisked off to some kind of romantic, make-believe, dreamlike land. Even the people don’t seem real. They are ridiculously friendly. Aside from the fact that I come over all funny when I hear a man speaking French, I feel pleasantly surprised by how nice it is to be smiled at in the street again, or to be served by a friendly cashier in the supermarket. Even the trolley busses had little signs saying Joyeuses Pâques (Happy Easter) over the weekend, and little old men doff their hats at me when I stop to let them cross the road – even though they have right of way! This is a far cry from Tallinn, where drivers rev agressively at pedestrians and pedestrians glare angrily at drivers. Here, even the smallest children smile and wave their thanks when you let them cross. It is strangely endearing, and awfully like stepping back in time to the days when horses and carts were the only traffic and everyone in the village knew each other by name.
No, it definitely doesn’t feel real. But that suits me right down to the ground, wouldn’t you say?