And Outside The Rain Fell...

There was a strange music to this day. To the sound of snow crunching underneath my feet. The sound of the dog growling at the sight of an outsider trespassing its farm. The sound of turquoise-blue water lapping the shore. Of ducks paddling. Of a strange man whistling. Of the occasional camera clicking timed self-portraits. Of the swish of a para-glider landing. And the chirp of a lone bird looking at the onset of winter. The vibration of an unanswered phone call. To even hear the wisp of a cloud passing over my head. And the music of silence itself.

Today was a day I felt perfect staying in silence. A repelling thought to most people i know ("itna chup rahungi toh peth dukhega"), today, silence seemed more beautiful than anything else. I was in love. More with myself than anything else.

It was just one of those days.

Interlaken had left me speechless. For no reason in particular, really. It was a feeling of being at home, amongst the water, the mountains, the cold and the snow.

I cannot think of a more perfect way to end my Eurotrip. Interlaken was dressed, and dressed well in everything that was Christmas. Santa's peeked out from the rooftops. MLTR and George Michael's music filled the streets. There was snow. And Christmas trees. Stockings and bells, glittering balls and stars. Streets were lined with makeshift stalls, selling traditional Swiss handcrafted trinkets (and vegetable samosas) and Swiss hot beer. There was a certain joy in the faces of the people here, one that said Christmas is here. I couldn't have chosen a better time for this little visit.

We stopped over on our way back at the little village of Breinz. Completely nestled in a small valley, it had the lake flanking it on one side. The sun shone through the mountain peaks on the lake, and it glimmered, like a spotless blue mirror. Eyes that never tired gazing at the turquoise colour of the water. This was as little a Swiss village as there could possibly be. Tiny, one storeyed wooden houses, cow bells hanging on the window sills. Roofs completely covered in last night's snow. And even a black steed galloping across on the snow. The roads narrowed as I moved inwards from the station, with almost no person visible for stretches, only the occasional car drifting by breaking the silence of the day. The jagged peaks rising above far above the valley, with the sun shining down on the village only for a couple of hours around noon. Winter had blanketed this place in snow. All the way downhill to Luzern, I gaped in awe at feet of snow lying in the very same field that was a vivid green the last time I did this journey. The Golden Panorama. There was a time when I did not know what NOT to photograph. And that's when I stopped. And let my eyes capture what was to come. It was enchanting. In every sense of the word.

Switzerland.