Breathing Slowly Between Snow Mountains and Lakes
Some places need no words.
Interlaken is such a place—between two lakes, embraced by mountains, like a deliberate blank left by nature, allowing people to let go of speed and thought, approaching slowly with only sight and breath.
I arrived at the tail end of early summer. The morning air was slightly cool, clouds rising slowly from the hillsides, wandering between eaves and pine forests. Everything was just right, like an unfinished painting that preserved the perfect amount of white space.
Walking along the small path between Lake Thun and Lake Brienz, the water was so clear it didn’t seem real, as if the sky had been directly spread out. The distant snow mountains seemed folded behind the landscape, yet felt close at hand. It was hard to judge distance, because this landscape had no boundaries—it simply gathered inward slowly until it surrounded all your senses.
I didn’t rush to climb mountains, nor did I deliberately plan routes. I just walked slowly, sat down beside grasslands, lingered on wooden bridges, watching mountains, water, clouds, and the occasional passing train with its mountain echoes. The world seemed to become simple, leaving only nature and yourself, and this is exactly what makes Interlaken most moving: it doesn’t try to please you, it simply exists, letting you become quiet.
The afternoon sunlight was gentle as I took the cogwheel train up higher into the snow mountains. With each rise in elevation, the view became clearer by another layer. Standing in that place where white snow and rocks intertwined, the wind was so strong it felt unreal. You couldn’t speak, could only gaze into the distance, letting thoughts sink down with the valley. Time seemed not to flow—it just lay there slowly, moving alongside you.
After descending, I walked back to the lakeside as the sky turned slightly yellow. A group of ducks glided out from the reeds, the ripples on the water surface slow and even, like the rhythm of the entire day. No ups and downs, no ending, just gently wrapping you up, then quietly letting go.
Interlaken has no story—it itself is a letter written to quiet living. You don’t need to respond, nor explain. Just being here makes time different.
