Zermatt, a painstakingly gorgeous Swiss valley town, where medieval hay barns preserved complete with hay do battle with watch stores, designer ski wear outlets and pounding aprés-ski for the village’s soul, is one of Switzerland’s adventure capitals. The climbers’ graveyard, by the tranquil church above the river, pays tribute to some of the 500-or-so alpinists who died attempting—or returning from—the Matterhorn, which towers proud, high above the town.

A jagged triangular shard thrusting skywards above glaciers and valleys like a shattered antler, frosted with snow even in the midsummer heat, the Matterhorn is the most alpine of Alps, the most mountainous of mountains. Which isn’t to say it’s especially tall. At just 4,478 metres, or under 15,000 feet, it’s only the sixth highest peak in the Alps and doesn’t break Europe’s top ten. But what it lacks in height it makes up for in looks—and lethality.

We looked out at the mountain every morning and every evening from our beautiful chalet apartment, watching the clouds roll around it, the snowstorms blow in, the alpenglow chase the setting sun. We sipped hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows by an igloo looking up at the Matterhorn, and we skied in its shadow, including one of Europe’s best intermediate ski routes.

For, thanks to the genius of Swiss engineering, you can ride a series of gondolas and cable cars up from Zermatt to the Little Matterhorn, home of a ski and play area branded Matterhorn Glacier Paradise, at 3,883 metres (12,739 feet). From there, when the glacier crossing is open, follow the Reine Blanche (White Queen) ski route almost 20 kilometers (12 miles), descending 2,300 metres (7,545 feet), across the invisible border into the softer, rolling valleys of Italy’s Cervinia, skis hissing on groomed piste and mountain landscapes opening below you.

Paired with a lunch of ragu, polenta and homemade pasta in the spring sun at the Foyer des Guides restaurant beside the piste, it’s hard to think of a more magical way to spend the day. And I’m still amazed that, only two months ago, this was so easy. It feels, now, like an artefact from a vanished time.

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Our first encounter with it? This little beauty, Thun. Set at the head of a 10-mile mountain lake, with medieval sluices, a turreted Gothic castle, adorable cobbled streets and a splendid 16th-century town hall. And, of course, the essential elements of any Swiss retreat: cheese-based cuisine, charming boutiques and eye-bleedingly expensive watch shops. I recommend it.

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