St. Moritz

St. Moritz is not just a holiday destination — it is a winter love story, stormy and horrendously expensive, that begins with the first breath of piercing, frozen alpine air that fills your lungs and makes your heart skip a beat. This Swiss lover, sitting at 1,800 metres in the Engadin valley, does not try to be modest or accessible — it wraps itself in a heavy fur coat, offers you champagne in crystal glasses on a frozen lake, and draws you into a game of seduction in which the absolute white of the snow and the deep blue of the sky combine in a way that makes everywhere else look bland. This love was born somewhere in the nineteenth century, when the town reinvented the very concept of the winter holiday, and ever since it has kept an aesthetic of eternal glamour and aristocratic elegance that is hard to resist: it begins in the morning on the snowy slopes of Corviglia under a warm, caressing sun, continues with a light lunch and thick hot chocolate at one of the historic luxury hotels like Badrutt’s Palace, and ends in a frozen night when the town lights reflect on the frozen lake like scattered diamonds. It is a sensual, uncompromising relationship between extreme cold and burning inner warmth — an experience in which you know the price is heavy and the show is over the top, but the moment the sleighs glide over the soft snow and the wind whistles through the pine trees, you simply surrender to the drama and understand that there is a kind of magic that cannot be explained, only experienced, breathless, before this alpine wonder.

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