Grindelwald, Switzerland

Staring at this mountain, taking it all in. My story begins here, at least part of my story. My great-grandfather’s father came from this place, this most-beautiful-spot-in-the-world place, Grindelwald, Switzerland. Back then, only the eldest son inherited the land, so my great-great-grandfather had to leave to make his own way. The first son and sisters stayed and built hotels.

All my siblings visited our family there—but not me. Finally, it was my turn. As we came into the Swiss village, I felt a deep connection. My roots were anchored here. My sister and I gazed from a gondola at milking cows grazing the hillsides, catching the lovely ringing of their bells as we passed. We meandered through endless gravestones in the church yard, looking to find the family name and listening to church bells ring out loud and clear in the village there. We ate every meal at the Derby, the hotel my grandfather's cousin, Peter, had owned, and his maternal grandfather built in 1892. We shared cheese fondue and wine there with Peter and Christiana, our Swiss cousins. They welcomed us into their home, a chalet looking straight-on at the Eiger. The family name, GSteiger, means mountain-climber, and Peter and his mother had done just that— climbed the Eiger. 

I left Grindelwald ever so reluctantly. My grandfather, a world traveler, frequently found his way back. I felt him near me while there. I can only hope that I too will find my way back again and again to this place, this family place. I am always urging others to visit this most-beautiful-spot-in-the-world.