Nancy’s Solo Travels and Discovery – Week 1: Zermatt, Switzerland (1989)
My journey into solo travel began from a place of both heartbreak and hope. In 1989, after calling off a wedding and realizing I needed a real reset—an escape from everything familiar—I booked a solitary flight to Europe. My chosen landing spot? Zermatt, Switzerland, a name that conjured images of snowy peaks, the legendary Matterhorn, and the gentle hush of mountain villages. This would become the first chapter in what would turn into a lifetime habit of discovering the world, one solo trip at a time.
I arrived in Zermatt very much the American: suitcase wheels clattering along cobbled snow-muffled streets, three bags bursting with enough outfits for a month, and—despite my later self-deprecating laughter—absolutely excellent ski gear. I had invested in top-notch equipment before leaving: sleek Volkl skis, a composite pole set, a warm GORE-TEX jacket in a bold ‘80s color scheme, and gloves that promised dry hands no matter how many times I tumbled into powder. I looked the part on the slopes—if only my technique could match those glossy boots and mirrored goggles.
There I was, alone but determined to embrace this adventure and leave my baggage (literal and figurative) behind. This was 1989: no cell phones, no GPS, only a battered Michelin Guide and city maps, and my own wits as navigation. Yet, beneath that nervousness, there was a flutter of genuine excitement—I was about to carve out my own story, without anyone else’s expectations.
The Zermatt Experience
Zermatt was everything I’d dreamed: a car-free haven nestled at the foot of the Matterhorn, its streets lined with flower-boxed chalets, the air crisp with the promise of snow and adventure. Each day I’d wake, suit up in my best gear, and slide into the bustling morning crowd, making my way to the Gornergrat railway, which slowly wound us up into a landscape so stunning it barely felt real.
My initial day was a mixture of awkward attempts at blending in and exhilarating freedom. I remember smiling at my own reflection in the gondola’s glass—gleaming jacket and all—and thinking, “You did it. You’re here.” Me in my orange shell, rainbow ribbon black ski pants and eager American grin, I was hard to miss.
Embracing Friendship on the Slopes
Though I set out alone, Zermatt had other plans. Over dinner the 2nd evening, I was sitting at a table completely bored in conversation with a member of a tour group, when a girl at the next table with 2 guys got up and asked if I'd like to join them. She was Belgian, friendly and intuitive, and she immediately noticed I looked like I needed saving and assumed I wasn't part of that group and was traveling solo. Instead of being self-conscious, I seized the moment and accepted her invitation to join her and her two friends. It was the turning point in my trip.
Their warmth was inviting, their laughter a constant companion, and conversation was invigorating. My ski gear, which I had once so proudly admired in solitude, now became my ticket into this lively group (apparently, she loved my ski pants) —each of us eager to outdo the other with stories of the day’s small victories on the moguls and a few spills. Whether we were navigating steep runs together or sharing fondue in the evenings, there was no hint of pity for my solo status; instead, they admired my bravery, and soon I was swept up in their circle, celebrating with them as if I’d known them my whole life.
Skiing Into Italy: Crossing Borders by Skis
Perhaps the most magical day came when we decided to ski across the border into Italy—a feat I hadn’t realized was possible until that week. We took the Klein Matterhorn cable car up, the world receding beneath us into a white quilt of peaks. At the top, we stood straddling an international border, skis ready at our feet. We swooped down into Cervinia, carving through open Italian terrain, our gear sparkling in the midday sun.
Lunch perched on the mountain top over Italy felt both earned and slightly surreal. The novelty of crossing an international boundary guided neither by cell phone nor tour group, just by map and friendship—was a personal victory.
Reflections on My First Escape
That first solo trip, intended as an escape, became something much deeper. I arrived in Zermatt with heavy bags and a heavier heart. But as the week unfolded, surrounded by new friends, awash in fresh air and confidence, I realized what I had gained: courage, joy, and the wisdom that comes from saying “yes” to the unknown.
Looking back now, I'm amazed at the transformation—in just one week, Zermatt taught me that travel, especially solo travel, unlocks doors you never knew existed. It showed me how the world meets you where you are, ready to welcome you in, and that the best souvenirs are sometimes new friendships and stories shared over a beer or two at the end of a long run. Zermatt didn’t just spark a love of travel—it showed me that sometimes, the best way to be found is to first be a little bit lost.
Stay tuned for next week’s entry as I continue this series: one journey, one discovery, one newfound piece of myself at a time.