IMPRESSED BY THE 'WRONG' ALPS

If there is one thing Japanese people know about Switzerland, it is this: Mountains. Alps. Snow. Yodelling, possibly while skiing downhill.

As soon as they find out I’m Swiss, the conversation inevitably drifts upwards. Literally.

'You must have grown up surrounded by mountains.'

'You probably went hiking every weekend.'

I usually nod politely, because explaining reality takes longer than smiling.

The truth is this: yes, Switzerland has the Alps. They’re magnificent. World-class. Postcard-perfect. But they were also about a two-hour drive from where I grew up. Which, in Swiss terms, is practically another country. Close enough to visit, far enough not to define your entire childhood.

And yet, somehow, the assumption persists that all Swiss children are raised halfway up a mountain, strapped to skis before they can walk, happily hiking alpine trails while whistling folk songs.

I was not one of those children.

Every summer, my parents would drag us up into the mountains for hiking. I say 'drag' because that’s how it felt to me at the time. Back then, hiking wasn’t a mindful activity or a chance to reconnect with nature. It was walking. Uphill. For hours. For no obvious reason. Usually in uncomfortable shoes, while being told to 'enjoy the view'.

As for skiing – as I alluded to in a recent blog post – I did what was expected of me. After all, as a Swiss, you have a certain reputation to uphold. I skied competently enough to avoid national embarrassment. No more than that.

What I really wanted was something Switzerland couldn’t offer.

The ocean.

Switzerland is famously landlocked. Lots of lakes, yes. Beautiful ones. But lakes are polite. Calm. Predictable. They don’t smell of salt or suggest escape. As a teenager, the idea that some people could just… go to the sea felt wildly unfair.

While everyone else romanticised the mountains, I was drawn to the horizon. To the idea of standing somewhere flat, looking out at something endless.

When my wife and I first came to Japan, I thought my dreams had finally materialised. After all, Japan is surrounded by ocean.

Except – we lived in Nagano. If Japan had a Swiss impersonation department, Nagano would be in charge of it. It’s landlocked. It’s mountainous. Winters are cold. Very cold.

In many ways, it felt strangely familiar. Except for one important detail: Swiss houses are warm. Like, properly warm. In traditional Japanese houses it can feel as cold inside as it does outside, just with better lighting.

Still, mountains everywhere. Slopes. Snow. The whole package. And once again, I remained politely unimpressed. I had already done mountains. I was done with mountains.

Eventually, we moved closer to the ocean. For the last 15 years, we’ve lived within half an hour’s drive of the sea. The very thing I had longed for as a child was suddenly… right there.

And here’s the irony: we hardly ever go.

Life gets busy. Weekends disappear. 'Let’s go next time' becomes a lifestyle. The ocean waits patiently, as oceans tend to do.

Instead, something unexpected happened.

Whenever we go back to Nagano for holidays, I find myself staring at the mountains in absolute awe. Proper awe. The kind where you stop mid-sentence and just look. The kind that makes you quietly admit, 'Okay… this is impressive.'

These mountains – the so-called Southern Japanese Alps – suddenly leave me genuinely moved.

When I mentioned this to my mother-in-law the other day, she remarked. 'But they're not the real Alps. The real ones are in Switzerland.'

She was slightly puzzled by my enthusiasm. After all, if you come from the Alps, why be so impressed by the budget version?

And yet, here I am, a Swiss man in Japan. I didn't grow up in the Alps. I hated hiking and skied out of obligation. I dreamt of the ocean and now barely visit it. And standing here in Nagano, I'm staring at mountains and can't get enough of the majestic view.

Just don’t tell the Japanese Alps they’re not the real thing. They’re doing a pretty good job.