Xavier Mah
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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡 𝙖𝙨𝙠𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙩𝙤
I was not planning to visit St Moritz.
The trip to Switzerland came together quickly, with little time to prepare.
I arrived with a full heart and a tired mind.
But something shifted the moment I let go of the plan
and started to follow the feeling.
Travelling alone teaches you how to see.
You pay attention.
You ask.
You listen.
You walk slower, not because of fear, but wonder.
From Zermatt, I boarded the Glacier Express.
Eight hours of snow-covered silence,
mountains that moved something in me,
and a kind of stillness that you cannot carry in a suitcase.
And then I arrived.
St Moritz.
A town I did not expect to remember,
yet now feel deeply connected to.
I stayed at Soldanella —
a family-owned hotel since 1972,
where each hallway, each lift, each painting held quiet history.
It is not luxury.
It is memory.
The kind that hums softly beneath the walls
and makes you want to sit longer,
write slower,
and breathe deeper.
From my balcony, I watched Lake St Moritz—
frozen, silent, timeless.
Breakfast felt less like a meal,
and more like a moment you wanted to keep.
I wish I had stayed longer.
To walk without destination.
To feel the town without agenda.
To let beauty be a companion, not a checklist.
Maybe this is how we know a place holds frequency,
when it asks nothing from us,
and yet gives us everything we forgot we needed.
And you make a quiet promise to yourself:
One day, you will return.
Not to do anything.
Only to feel again.
.
