The Travel Enthusiast

Wine, Wengen, and the Wild Ride that Was 2017

2017 was a big year. Jake and I had just gotten married, spent a week cruising the Mediterranean on our honeymoon (a story for another day), and capped off the year with what felt like the most ambitious idea yet — a family Christmas trip through Switzerland (pre-kiddos).

We laughed, we cried, we partied and died. We fell on our faces (multiple times), argued, shed light, and bonded dearly… with a lot of wine and even more fondue. Seven of us, one ambitious itinerary, and the kind of memories that still make us laugh years later.

Skip ahead…or continue reading below 🙂

PS. This is a 5-7 minute read, but you will be chuckling your way through the Swiss journey.

Day 1 – Christmas Eve in Montreux

We landed in Geneva and hopped straight onto a train for Montreux — a dreamy lakeside town known for its jazz festival and storybook charm. It only took ten minutes of cobblestone streets, lake views, and dragging our overstuffed bags to realize we were definitely in for something magical.

Our home for the night, Hotel Helvétie, felt like stepping into another century — aged wood floors, marble stairs, a tiny lift that fit exactly three people (if no one breathed), and a bathroom tub that might’ve belonged to an early 1900s duke. The kind of charmingly creaky that makes you instantly forgive the drafty windows.

Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any more storybook-perfect, the crowd suddenly gasped — and there he was: Papa Noël, zip-lining across Lake Geneva with twinkling lights trailing behind him. Everyone let out this collective “ooooh” — the kind of sound that makes you believe in magic again. I stood there grinning, clutching my glühwein, thankful for this core memory.

Day 2 — Rochers-de-Naye: When the Parents Stay Home, the Kids Play

Christmas morning started slow and snowy. My parents stayed behind to rest, which could only mean one thing: the kids would play.

After lingering over coffee and taking in the sweeping view of the mountains above the glistening lake from our bedroom window, we boarded the GoldenPass cogwheel train to Rochers-de-Naye — a scenic ride that winds straight up the mountain, past villages draped in snow and pine. The higher we climbed, the whiter the world became.

At the top, we were rewarded with a full 360° view of the Swiss Alps, glittering beneath the morning sun. It was breathtaking — and apparently not enough for us.

Because then… we got ambitious.

In what I can only describe as a questionable life choice, we decided to climb even higher — up what felt like an 85-degree slope covered in ice. None of us had proper hiking boots, obviously. Cynthia (my sister) slipped halfway up, screaming as George (my brother) lunged to catch her while the rest of us debated whether to laugh, help, or start praying. For a brief second, we all looked at each other like, “This is how it ends.”

Proof on this hilarious video of Cynthia climbing up the mountain top.

But somehow, we made it. At the summit, breathless and laughing, we stood there in absolute silence. The view was endless — snow-capped peaks stretching as far as we could see. It was the first time in my life I truly felt small in the best possible way. Standing there with my siblings and my husband, taking in the kind of beauty that stops you mid-thought — it was magic. We were so grateful, so alive, so cold.

The climb down, of course, was its own comedy — slipping, sliding, laughing, and pretending we were professionals when in reality, we were one wrong move away from sledding involuntarily to the bottom.

When we finally reached the base, we stumbled into a tiny wooden chalet — the kind that looks like it belongs in a snow globe — and ordered two things: beer and fondue.

As soon as we walked in, I got a whiff of what can only be described as rotten egg farts, which, in Switzerland, can only mean one thing — the cheese is going to be amazing.

We clinked glasses, devoured every gooey bite, and toasted to survival. Cheese and cheers — that’s how Christmas Day should end.

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Day 3 — Bern, Wilderswil, and a Lesson in Patience

After packing up and saying goodbye to Montreux, we boarded a train toward Wilderswil — a tiny Alpine village tucked between Interlaken and Lauterbrunnen to find base at our next destination. The train ride itself was worth the trip — weaving through valleys, tunnels, and snowy mountaintops, getting a small glimpse of the incredible Swiss countryside dressed in snow.

After dropping our bags at our cozy Airbnb (complete with wood stove, mountain views and a personal fondue hut), we headed for Bern.

The city was glowing with Christmas spirit — skaters looping around the rink in the main square, music playing, people drinking hot wine at outdoor stalls.

Naturally, we joined in — as we do every time we visit somewhere cold. It’s kind of my thing: finding an ice-skating rink wherever we go. I’ve skated in Salzburg, Boston, New York City, and one time in front of the UCF arena during the holidays (which was magical in its own way.)

Fun Fact: I spent four years skating as a kid — even won a gold medal at age eight — so stepping onto the ice always feels like second nature.

My sister and I fell right back into our old rhythm — graceful(ish) spins, a lot of laughter, and a shared confidence we hadn’t earned in years. Jake, on the other hand, was rediscovering gravity.

We skated, laughed, and drank more glühwein — and, surprise, got into a minor family argument about food. Not our first, not our last. But as the sun set behind the Alps, all was forgiven, as it always is.

Still buzzing from the day, we weren’t quite ready to call it a night. On our way back to Wilderswil, we stopped at a local Coop and went on a mission to find anything that could resemble a s’mores dessert — something sweet to cap off an already perfect day. We struck gold (or, technically, pastel) with a bag of colorful Swiss marshmallows.

Back at our chalet, we built a makeshift fireplace, roasted our neon marshmallows over the flickering flame, and toasted to another epic day in our very own winter wonderland.

Day 4 — Human MarioKart in the Alpine Village of Wengen

If I had to choose one day that summed up this entire trip, it would be this one.

We woke up to to a snow storm, but braced the cold, bundled up, and made our way toward the train — destination: Wengen, a car-free ski village perched high above Lauterbrunnen.

Getting there felt like traveling straight into a snow globe. The train wound through white valleys and tiny chalet-lined villages until suddenly, we were suspended among the clouds, surrounded by peaks that looked too perfect to be real.

The plan? Sledding.

The reality? Absolute chaos.

None of us had ever sledded on an actual mountain before, but that didn’t stop us. We rented our wooden sleds, hopped on, and started our descent down the winding trails. It was equal parts thrilling and terrifying — sharp turns, sheer drops, snow flying in every direction.

At one point, a helicopter landed nearby, sending a blizzard of powder straight into our faces. We were screaming, laughing, and hanging on for dear life, looking like a family of cartoon characters caught in a snowstorm.

As we continued down the mountain, my brother and sister had a full-on Mario Kart collision — sleds flying, snow everywhere, laughter echoing down the slope. Halfway down, we stopped at an open clearing to catch our breath (and our dignity). My brother was covered head to toe in snow, my sister’s hair had frozen solid, and I couldn’t feel my legs. But I remember thinking, this is pure childhood joy.

By the time we reached the bottom, we were soaked, bruised, and couldn’t stop smiling. My pants were completely drenched — I’d definitely worn the wrong material — and every step squished like a soaked sponge. But honestly, that’s part of what made it unforgettable.

We ended the day at Café restaurant Waldschluecht, a cozy chalet tucked into the hillside, downing some incredible Goulash and Shnitzel by the fire while snowflakes drifted past the windows. It was one of those moments that feels suspended in time — the laughter, the warmth, the creak in the floors as you walk to your table and ache in your legs reminding you that you really lived that day.

Day 5 — Interlaken, Thun, and the Lakeside Castles

By the next morning, the bruises had set in, but so had the wanderlust. We were determined to see more — so we set out to explore the lakeside towns of Interlaken, Thun, and Oberhofen. We started our morning in Interlaken, bundled in scarves and beanies, watching the town slowly wake under a soft dusting of snow. Breakfast was simple — a bowl of soup and warm bread at a little café tucked off the main street — before catching the train for a full day of lakeside exploring.

Our first stop was the St. Beatus Caves, which, as it turns out, are closed for the season — something we only discovered once we got there (classic us). But honestly, it didn’t matter. The short hike up to the entrance was stunning, and the waterfalls surrounding the cliffside were still flowing, framed by icicles and quiet snow. We took in the view, laughed at our bad timing, and decided it was the perfect unplanned detour.

From there, we followed the lake’s edge to Oberhofen Castle, its pointed turret and lakeside perch looking straight out of a storybook. Even from the outside, it was mesmerizing — the kind of place that makes you whisper “wow” without meaning to.

By that point, though, fatigue had set in. Everyone was dragging their feet, moving at half-speed, while my internal clock was screaming that we were going to miss the sunset at Thun Castle — the view I’d been dreaming about for weeks. My frustration (and admittedly my Type A energy) kicked in, and I stormed ahead, practically power-walking up the hill while everyone else trailed behind, wondering why I’d gone full tour guide mode.

Naturally, they weren’t thrilled about it. I huffed, they grumbled, and it turned into one of those classic “we’re all tired but don’t want to say it” travel moments. Looking back now, I laugh — mostly because I’ve learned a little more patience since then (emphasis on a little).

By the time everyone caught up, the sun had started to dip behind the mountains, and we made it just in time to watch the last bit of light spill across the rooftops and the Aare River below. The sky turned to watercolor — pinks, golds, and the soft blue of dusk. I stood there quietly, realizing I probably should’ve waited, but also that sometimes, those stubborn moments come from love — wanting to see it all, do it all, feel it all.

As night fell, we wandered through a small Christmas market near the river, sipping glühwein under twinkle lights and breathing in the scent of roasted nuts and cinnamon. It was one of those perfect travel evenings — the kind that smooths out the rough edges of the day.

We had dinner in Thun, lingering over wine and laughter, before catching a late train back to Wilderswil. It was past midnight by the time we got home, tired but happy, our cheeks still flushed from the cold and the kind of joy that lingers long after a day like that.

Day 6 — Grindelwald: Calf Cramps and Après-Ski Dreams

“Ski day.” Everyone besides mom were all in, ready to take on the slopes of Grindelwald.

I’ve tried skiing more than once — enough to know that my calves and those boots have irreconcilable differences. Within ten minutes of trying to buckle in, and one round of the bunny slope, my legs started cramping like they were filing a formal protest. So I decided to skip the slopes and embrace what we like to call the true Swiss art form: après-ski.

We wrapped our scarves tight, found some lounge chairs in the snow in front of the bunny slopes, and plopped down right there in the cold — no cozy fire, no fancy lounge, just us and our warm mulled bear claw wine. From our little perch, we watched the skiers glide, tumble, and zoom past like tiny action figures. Every time someone wiped out, we gasped, then laughed, then took another sip – while the rest of the crew flew (rather tumbling) down black diamond mountans in The Alps (!!!). A true “pinch me” moment.

When the sun dipped behind the peaks, we headed back to Wilderswil, stopping by the local Coop for dinner supplies. Our Airbnb had a fondue pot practically begging to be used, so we grabbed some gruyère, a loaf of bread, and a few extras.

That night, we made a homemade fondue feast in our little chalet — windows fogged, snow falling outside, laughter echoing through the kitchen. It was the perfect ending to our time in the Interlaken region — simple, cozy, and exactly what Switzerland should feel like.

Days 7–9 — Lucerne, Zürich & The Grand New Year’s Finale

After nearly a week in the mountains, we packed up our bags and boarded the train toward Lucerne — one of those cities that feels like it was designed to be on a postcard. The ride itself was pure storybook: snow-blanketed valleys, church steeples poking through the fog, and villages that looked hand-painted against the hills.

When we arrived, we crossed the first bridge into Old Town, right across from the famous Chapel Bridge (Kapellbrücke) — Lucerne’s iconic covered bridge — and, naturally, paused for photos. Cynthia, ever the adventurer, decided to perch on the edge of the lake for the perfect shot.

And then it happened.

One second she was posing, the next — splash. Straight into the crystal-clear, freezing waters of Lake Lucerne.

For a moment, we froze too — before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. The scene was straight out of a comedy movie: Cynthia soaking wet, screaming from the cold, us doubled over on the bridge trying not to fall in after her. Once we finally pulled ourselves together, we rushed her across the street to the nearest shop and launched into an impromptu “Swiss makeover” — new pants, sweater, socks, and a scarf. She took it like a champ.

After the excitement, we decided to slow down with a scenic (FREE) ferry ride across Lake Lucerne, wine in hand, the mountains glowing pink as the sun dipped low. It turned into one of those rare quiet moments — peaceful, still, and so beautiful that we forgot how cold our feet were.

From Lucerne, we made our way to Zürich, our final stop — and unknowingly, the stage for the most chaotic and hilarious finale imaginable.

Zürich was alive. The city shimmered with New Year’s energy — lights strung over cobblestone streets, music echoing along the river, and vendors serving hot drinks and confetti horns. We spent the afternoon exploring Old Town, grabbing sushi and prosecco (because even after a week in Switzerland, there is such a thing as too much cheese).

As the night went on, Zürich transformed into one massive block party — crowds gathering by Lake Zürich, dancing, singing, and counting down together.

And just as we shouted “5, 4, 3, 2, 1 — Happy New Year!” my mom fell.

Again.

Right on her face.

Poor thing. She was fine, thankfully, and we were crying from laughing so hard. It was the most fitting ending to a trip full of tumbles and triumphs.

Luggage, Hangovers, and a 5:30 a.m. Train

We hobbled our way back to the Airbnb around 2 a.m., cheeks numb from the cold and sides sore from laughter, before remembering we had to leave for the airport at 5:30. We packed in a daze, slept for maybe three hours, and woke up in a full-blown panic.

My sister bolted upright still half-drunk, her husband refused to get up, and after a dramatic round of “we’re going to miss the train!” she ran with Jake and me through the snow — dragging suitcases down icy streets. Just when we reached the station, here comes Hernaldo — somehow already there, glaring but triumphant.

We made it to the airport just in time and, in a delirious haze of exhaustion and relief, decided to splurge on a business-class upgrade. Three hundred dollars never felt so worth it. We clinked glasses of champagne somewhere over the Atlantic, finally exhaling.

We’d made it. Barely. But beautifully.

Lessons Learned (The Hard but Honest Way)

Looking back, that trip taught me more than I could’ve imagined — not just about travel, but about patience, planning, and family dynamics.

Lesson one: make sure everyone’s on the same page about budget and expectations. I was a newbie planner back then — optimistic, excited, and flying blind. Everyone seemed happy to trust me… until we got there. Suddenly, every plan was up for debate. I learned that every trip needs one leader — someone to organize, make the calls, and steer the ship (or train). But that leader also needs a crew that communicates what they want beforehand — not mid-itinerary.

Lesson two: give yourself grace. Traveling with a big group, especially family, means embracing imperfection. People will get tired, hangry, or lost. Someone will fall (maybe twice). And someone will inevitably storm ahead chasing the sunset.

But that’s what makes it real — the laughter, the chaos, the beautiful mess of it all. Because when you look back, those imperfect moments are always the ones you remember most.

If travel teaches you anything, it’s that perfection is overrated — laughter, chaos, and cheese are not.

Watch this story highlighted on Instagram and relive these hilarious moments in time.