One of our guests sent us the following…and it really resonated. We feel this way too!
There’s a very particular feeling that hits me the moment the plane touches down in Geneva. It’s subtle, but unmistakable, a quiet, simple sense of relief and anticipation blending together. I grab my bags, step outside into the warm Swiss air, and instantly feel lighter. Work is officially in another country, as is the dripping bathroom tap I’ve been meaning to fix for a couple of months, and so are the rest of life’s everyday pressures, the deadlines, the mental load, the constant low‑level hum of responsibility. All of it stays back in the UK. This is the sort of holiday that makes me forget the day‑to‑day strife entirely, and quite honestly, forget what day it even is.
Leaving the airport, the scenery starts off gentle: soft hills, tidy villages, flashes of lake through the trees. It’s pleasant, calm, but I know it’s building to something very special. And then, almost without warning, the mountains begin to rise. One turn, then another, and suddenly the landscape starts opening up like a book I’ve read before but forgotten the best parts of.
Every few minutes the view shifts, a new ridge, a deeper valley, a sweep of green that looks too perfect to be real. I can’t help but lean forward in my seat, not to spot anything in particular, but simply in awe of how the scenery keeps unfolding. Part of me wants to take photos of every single view, to bottle it up so I can recreate the feeling when I’m back home, but I know no camera could ever do it justice. And honestly, I’m just glad I’m not the one driving, because I’d be stopping every five minutes. So I sit back, let my shoulders drop, and allow the mountains to do what they do best which is remind me how small my worries really are.
The closer I get to the chalet, the more the excitement builds. It’s impossible not to feel it — that slow realisation that the views are only going to get better from here. And they do. Every single time, every single year we return.
By the time I pull up at the chalet, the anticipation has turned into a grin I can’t quite hide. I step out of the car, look up at the Criou towering above me, and that’s it — the holiday has officially begun.
And after three stays, I’ve realised it’s not just the mountains or the food or the swimming or the sunshine, it’s the feeling and the family. There’s something about going away together, somewhere like this, that brings us closer. Everyone relaxes at the same pace, everyone softens a little, and I get to see everyone at their best, the version of themselves that only appears when the world finally stops tugging at us all. It reminds me that family really is the most important thing to embrace and hold tight. No one will ever love me quite like these people I call family. They’re my kind of strange, and that’s fine, because I’m theirs too. Our three holidays at the chalet have reminded me of that every single year. Although, unless you’re better at holding your tongue than we are, I’d still recommend avoiding the family Trivial Pursuit night.
What’s so special, you ask? It’s the way I don’t lie in bed in the morning because I don’t want to miss that first cup of tea on the balcony, book in hand, before anyone else is up — mainly so I can enjoy the moment later when they finally appear and I get to say, “What time do you call this? You’ve missed the best part of the day.” The way the afternoons seem to stretch out, unhurried and generous, and the warm evenings drift by as I sit outside watching the mountains change colour at sunset. It’s the sense of ease that settles into my bones and reminds me that this — this quiet, this beauty, this pause is life. This is how it should be.
Stop, watch, breathe, and let the world do its magical thing.
Every time I leave, I already can’t wait to return. The other fifty‑one weeks of daily work and life chaos make these seven days of downtime and bliss feel completely worth it, a reward I can feel in my bones. It is, without question, my favourite place in the world. And every time I arrive, it feels like I’m coming home.
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