FOUR OCEANS, NO COASTLINE

As a Swiss person living in Japan, I’m occasionally reminded that my homeland is famous for two things: mountains and not having a coastline.

Ah, and chocolate and cheese. So, four things.

And neutrality. Five.

But definitely not beaches.

Japan, meanwhile, is basically all coastline. Fish is fresh. Sea breezes are real. Children grow up knowing which direction the ocean is.

In Switzerland, we grow up knowing which direction the nearest tunnel is.

We are landlocked. Firmly. Impressively. Almost stubbornly landlocked.

And yet – Switzerland is connected to four oceans.

This sounds like something the Swiss tourism board would invent after a particularly creative strategy meeting. Or after a night out boozing.

But it’s simply geography.

A single drop of rain falling in the Swiss Alps can eventually end up in one of four different seas: the North Sea, the Mediterranean, the Adriatic, or the Black Sea.

The Alps form one of Europe’s great watersheds. From certain ridges, water has to make a life decision. It can flow north via the Rhine to the North Sea. Or west via the Rhône to the Mediterranean. Or south through the Ticino and Po to the Adriatic. Or east via the Inn and Danube all the way to the Black Sea.

Swiss water is surprisingly well-travelled. It sees more of Europe than most Swiss teenagers on their gap year.

As a child, nobody told me this. We learned about rock formations and heroic medieval battles. Nobody mentioned that our rain had international ambitions.

Since the 19th century, Switzerland has been called the 'water castle of Europe.' Not because we hoard it, but because so many major European rivers originate there.

It also rains. A lot. Clouds hit the Alps, give up, and unload.

All that water matters.

Almost 60% of Swiss electricity comes from hydropower. Those serene mountain lakes aren’t just postcard material; they are batteries with excellent scenery. Quiet lakes. International consequences.

Of course, even water castles develop cracks.

Glaciers have been shrinking for decades. In 2025, part of a glacier collapsed above a mountain village, a reminder that even in Switzerland – where we like to think nature follows regulations – it does not.

All of which is very impressive.

But.

Earlier this month we went to Kamakura beach.

Actual beach. Actual sand. Actual Pacific Ocean.

Surfers were balancing heroically (or trying to). A few determined bathers braved the still-chilly waves. The smell of salt hung in the air. I stood there, gazing out at the horizon, and felt that old, familiar pull – this is what had always quietly fascinated me.

Living in Japan – an island nation defined by the sea – I sometimes find it amusing that Switzerland, the famously landlocked country, is hydrologically connected to more oceans than we ever physically touch. And how a drop that falls on an Alpine glacier might one day reach salt water – just not this salt water.

Switzerland doesn't have beaches.

But its rain does.

And somewhere far away, a drop that once fell on a Swiss glacier might eventually mix with salt water under a completely different sky.

Not bad for a country without a coastline.