Juli in Switzerland

Today was a real Swiss adventure, the kind where you use every kind of transport in one day. We started early in Obergösgen, took the bus to Olten, then a train to Arth-Goldau. From there we climbed onto a cogwheel train that pulled us slowly up the steep flank of the Rigi, the mountain they call the Queen of Mountains. The cooler air felt good after the warm valley.

At the top, the whole world opened up. We sat on a wooden terrace with mountain after mountain in front of us, some still wearing snow even in June. Everyone around us was busy with cameras and lunch, but for a moment I just looked out at the snowy peaks and felt very far from home, in a good way. Then came coffee and a slice of carrot cake with a little marzipan carrot on top, which made everyone smile.

Going down was just as fun as going up. We took a gondola down to Weggis by the lakeside, then boarded a boat across Lake Lucerne to the city itself. We walked around Lucerne, found the Lion Monument carved into the rock, that sad, sleeping stone lion, and then made the long journey back to Olten in the evening. A full day, tired legs, happy heart.

Today I finally rode up Rigi, and honestly it was one of those days I'll be telling you about for a long time. We started down in Luzern, then took a cog railway that climbs right up the mountainside. The old wooden carriage was beautiful, painted deep red with brass fittings, like something from a hundred years ago. As the train pulled higher, the lakes and green valleys just kept opening up below us.

At Rigi Kulm, the very top, I stepped out and the wind was cool and clean. In front of me were snow-capped Alps in one direction and a huge blue lake in the other. I stood at the railing for a long time, just breathing it in. It's strange to come from our warm Bali and stand somewhere so open and quiet, with mountains stretching as far as I could see.

We wandered along the ridge, found a survey marker plaque explaining that Rigi has been a measuring point for Swiss maps since the 1790s. Later we headed back down and spent the rest of the day in Luzern, walking by the water. A full, happy day - my legs are tired but my heart is very content.

Today started the way I like it now: I hopped on the white Stromer e-bike and rode from Obergösgen along the river into Olten. The motor gives just enough push that the morning feels easy, even with a slight breeze coming off the water. The path runs past green hedges and quiet roads, and by the time I reach the office my head is already awake. There is something honest about arriving at work having earned the warm cheeks and a little wind in your hair.

The office day was the usual rhythm of screens and small talk, but the window kept pulling my eyes outside. From where I sit I can see old red-tiled roofs, a church tower, and people sitting under the big trees by the square. It is not Bali green, but it is its own kind of pretty, and on a clear day like this the light makes everything look freshly washed.

Then came the part I was waiting for. At noon I went to one of the little restaurants in town and ordered a kebab so big it needed two hands and a stack of napkins. Crispy round bread, juicy meat, a mountain of salad, that creamy garlic-herb sauce dripping down the sides, and a few jalapeños hiding inside for a surprise. I ate slowly, happy and a little messy, the way good food should be eaten. A simple day, but a full one.

After a long day at work, nothing pulls me back home quite like the smell of nasi kuning. We set the table out on the terrace in Obergösgen, the granite top still warm from the afternoon sun, with the tall green hedge standing behind us like a wall of forest. The rice came out golden and shaped into neat little mounds on banana-leaf plates, and seeing it there in the cool Swiss evening made my heart do a small jump toward Bali.

We had everything spread out: roasted chicken, sambal goreng, the dark sweet beef, crispy kentang, two jars of sambal so red they almost glowed, and even coconut water to wash it all down. I couldn't help grinning while I held up my plate - rice this color, this far from home, feels like a small miracle. My host barely looked up from his phone; he was busy photographing the food, and honestly I understood completely. Some meals you just have to keep.

While we ate, a hot-air balloon drifted slowly across the blue sky above us, a black-and-red one with a big circle on its side. It floated by so quietly that we all stopped to watch it. A warm plate of nasi kuning in front of me and a balloon overhead - that was a good evening, the kind I'll remember when I'm back in Bali telling all of you about it.

Today was an ordinary Tuesday, the kind that fills most of my weeks here. Work from morning until late, my eyes tired from the screen, my mind chasing tasks that never quite finish. But even an ordinary day in Olten finds a way to be kind to you.

For lunch I escaped to a little Thai place near the office. I piled my plate high at the buffet: glass noodles, fried prawns in that orange sweet-and-sour sauce, vegetable fritters, minced pork with chili, broccoli and rice. It wasn't quite home, but the chili and the noodles brought me a little closer to Bali. For a few minutes the office felt far away.

When work finally let me go, the sky over the Aare was that deep evening blue I have come to love. I sat by the river with a beer, watching a lone white swan glide across the dark water as if the whole town belonged to it. Later I crossed the old wooden bridge, its beams worn smooth by centuries of feet, cantonal flags hanging quietly above me. A long day, but it ended gently. I thought of all of you back home.

Today was just a working Tuesday, nothing fancy on paper, but Olten has a way of slipping small gifts into an ordinary day. At lunch I went to the Thai restaurant near the office and loaded up a buffet plate. Glass noodles, broccoli, fried fish, minced pork with chili, a pool of sweet chili sauce on the side. It was the closest thing to home flavors I've had all week, and for a moment, sitting there with the rice and that bright orange sauce, I could have closed my eyes and been back in Bali.

I worked until late, the kind of long day where the office empties out around you. When I finally stepped outside, the light had turned that soft blue you only get in the evenings here. I treated myself to a beer and sat down by the river. People had pulled deck chairs right up to the water's edge, a whole row of them, and I joined the quiet crowd watching the Aare drift past. There was even a colorful waterslide on the far bank, closed for the night.

A white swan came gliding by, glowing against the dark water, completely unbothered by all of us. On the walk home I crossed the old covered wooden bridge, all beams and shadows, with the cantonal flags hanging down the middle and a single lamp lighting the way. An ordinary day, but a good one. I miss you all.

Today might be the best day I've had in Switzerland so far. We took a rubber boat down the Aare river, and honestly, I still can't get over the colour of the water. It's this soft turquoise-green, so clear you can see every stone on the riverbed. From the shade of the trees on the bank, the whole thing looked like a painting. I stood there a while just taking it in before we started.

We pumped up the boat, strapped on the life vests, and pushed off. The current does most of the work, so mostly you just steer a little and let the river carry you. Around us other people drifted along too, some on proper rafts, some just lying on pool floats with their feet in the sun. There was even a dog on the bank who came to say hello while we packed our things.

The best part came when we floated around the bend and saw Aarburg town: an old white church with twin towers and a big fortress sitting up on the rock above the houses. I kept paddling and looking up at it, cap on, life vest on, feeling completely happy. Cold clean water, warm sun, a castle on a hill. I really wish you could all have been in the boat with me.

This evening I walked up the hill just near the house and found something I did not expect at all: a real castle sitting quietly on top of a rocky spur. It is called Schloss Wartenfels, and in the soft light before sunset it looked like it had been waiting there for centuries. The white tower with its pointed roof caught the last blue of the sky, and the old stone walls felt cool and heavy under my hand.

When I climbed a little higher, the garden opened up in front of me and I just stopped and stared. Neat green lawns, trimmed hedges shaped like little balls, gravel paths, and then far below, the whole valley of houses and fields spreading out toward the hills. A little sundial sat in the middle of the garden. I stood there breathing the cool air, thinking how strange and lucky it is to have a place like this so close to where I sleep.

There were information boards telling the castle's long story, with drawings showing how it grew and changed over the centuries. One board explained the Alpengarten, a mountain flower garden, and the beds were full of pink and white blooms glowing in the evening. I did not go inside, I just wandered the paths and let the quiet settle in. Some evenings you do not need much - just a hill, an old castle, and a big view to make you feel small in a good way.

On the way south, before crossing into Italy, I stopped at Swiss Miniature in Melide, near Lugano. It's a park where the whole country has been shrunk down to knee height. Coming from Olten that morning, I suddenly found myself walking like a giant among castles, train stations and church towers, careful not to trip over a whole village.

The details caught me off guard. Tiny cars, red as chili, parked outside the Wilhelm Tell tower in Altdorf. A little train pulling into Sion station, real tracks, real signals, everything humming and moving. I leaned in close and felt like I could just reach out and pick up a house.

My favourite was the Château de Chillon sitting in its own small lake, with even the tour boats floating nearby. And behind it, the real mountains of Ticino rose up green and huge, as if the park needed no fake background at all. The Palais des Nations from Geneva stood proud on its lawn, the same one where big meetings happen, now small enough to photograph in a single frame.

By afternoon the sun over Lugano was warm and southern, already tasting of Italy. A perfect last stop on Swiss soil before the border.

This morning I woke up in Olten still half asleep, then took the train south, and somewhere along the way the language on the signs changed and the air got warmer. My first time in Italy! I kept telling myself that on the train, like I couldn't quite believe it. By the time I reached Milan the sun was already strong, and I hopped onto one of those old wooden trams with the polished benches that squeak when you sit down. The window said 'Non appoggiare le mani' — don't lean your hands on it — so of course I leaned my head against the glass instead and watched the city roll by.

And then the Duomo. Family, I don't have the right words. You come out of a normal busy street and suddenly this enormous white marble cathedral opens up in front of you, covered in spikes and statues, hundreds of them, like a whole mountain carved by hand. Pigeons everywhere, tourists everywhere, and me standing in the middle of the square in my shorts and striped socks, grinning like a kid. I just stood there a long time looking up.

Inside the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele next door, the ceiling is all glass and iron, and the golden walls with painted murals glow when the light comes through. It felt like walking inside a jewellery box. I didn't buy anything — everything there costs more than my whole trip — but looking is free, and I looked a lot.

Walking back through the side streets, the cathedral kept appearing between the buildings from new angles, tall and pale against the blue sky. A very good first day in a new country. Bali, I wish you could smell this warm stone with me.

I woke up early and checked the sky before anything else. Not a single grey patch — just deep blue, the kind of clear day people here wait weeks for. So I dropped everything and went up to Grindelwald and Lauterbrunnen. On the train the mountains kept growing until the Eiger filled the whole window, its face still streaked with snow even in July.

In Grindelwald I sat by the stone that just says EIGER with the little Swiss cross. I leaned my head on my hand and just stared up at that wall of rock. It's the kind of size that makes you go quiet. Behind the hotels with their flower boxes, a glacier still clings to the cliffs — snow and ice hanging over a summer village. It felt unreal to stand there in a t-shirt.

Then down to Lauterbrunnen, the valley of waterfalls. The Staubbach falls drops straight off a cliff so high the water turns to mist halfway down, drifting like smoke in the sun. I sat on the wooden 'Lauterbrunnen Tourismus' rail and watched it, then walked the little main street with its wooden chalets and the falls looming right behind the shops.

Juli's note for today is short: best view in Switzerland. I think for once I'm not exaggerating. Wish you all could have felt this air with me.

Today was my birthday, and I don't think I'll ever forget it. We spent the whole day at Europa-Park, right in the corner of Germany near the French and Swiss borders. It's not just one park, it's like walking through a dozen little European countries in a single afternoon: Scandinavia with wooden houses and a giant shark hanging off a wall, a Russian space station, a Croatian power plant. I kept turning corners and finding something new to gawk at.

And then there was Voltron. This was my very first roller coaster ever, and I decided to jump straight into the deep end. People here say it's the hardest one, and I believe them: difficulty ten out of ten, I promise. My heart was somewhere near my throat the whole time, but the moment it ended I just wanted to do it again. I've never screamed and laughed at the same time like that.

We also rode Wodan, the big wooden coaster that rumbles and creaks like it might fall apart (it doesn't, don't worry). And to finish the day off gently, we watched a 4D coaster film where the seats move with the screen. After all that screaming, sitting still while the movie did the flying felt like a treat. Honestly, family, I couldn't have asked for a better way to turn a year older.