Passport to Happiness

I grin, unable to hide my happiness as I realise that my first few hours on this trip have already gained me more impromptu adventure than I’ve had in the last month. ‘Perfect.’

He dots out his cigarette. ‘I need to get back to work. Enjoy your river cruise, Everly. Pretty name by the way.’

‘Thanks. See you on Thursday.’ I brush a stand of hair away from my mouth and watch as he re-adjusts his blazer.

‘Adieu.’ And with a cheeky smile, he walks away with a swagger.

I turn back towards the river and sigh contently. Fine, he’s not marriage material – his charming, suave demeanour has told me everything it needed to – and I know I’d sworn off men – especially after Florian – but this is a holiday and soon my reality will be creeping back upon me. So why not make the most of it?

I re-adjust my bag and put on my sunglasses. I’m determined to make this trip the start of something new – a new me that is open to saying yes to adventure and finding ways to shift the doldrums. And it seems that the universe is already giving me a helping hand.

Chapter 3 (#u9e95656c-7e84-5ff9-b1b8-a08febe83069)

My toes are burning by the time I finally make it back to my hotel room. I can barely walk with the pain and as I put my key in the door, I’m relieved to see that my room looks just as cosy and comfortable by night, as it did by day. The cruise was amazing. I got to see a lot more than I’d bargained for – backdrops of snow-tinged mountains and lots more of the city architecture, tall church spires and pretty pastel-coloured buildings, as well as endless hills and greenery in every direction. I just wasn’t expecting to have gotten lost on the way back. Although on a positive note, it did mean I happened to stumble upon a charming tiny restaurant with wooden furniture and chequered tablecloths and people indulging in fondue delights. Now don’t get me wrong, it was a little embarrassing to sit there alone devouring the cheesy moitié-moitié deliciousness with bread and potatoes, but I did it – and it made me feel very happy indeed, if a little gluttonous too. My feet are paying the price now though and as I slip off my shoes, I sigh with relief. It’s been pretty much the perfect first day. More so than I could have imagined, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

At the thought of the early morning start, I mentally decide on suitable outfit choices in advance. I have no idea what to expect of Lugano and I wonder how I’ll fare with Frederick who is practically a stranger. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. Suddenly it doesn’t matter that it’s barely nine-thirty in the evening. I resign myself to the idea of an early night in an oversized squishy bed with amazing poufy pillows. Tomorrow is bound to be a long day, if not an interesting one.

It barely feels like a few hours later when I awaken to the sun streaming in through my hotel room window and with a horrified glance at the bedside clock, realise that it’s already late in the morning and nearly time to meet Frederick. ‘Shit,’ I mumble to myself, throwing back the covers and heading straight for the shower. How on earth I’ve managed to sleep a full interrupted twelve hours, I have no idea.

Fred is waiting for me by the cream stone wall of the neighbouring building when I exit the hotel. He’s looking exceptionally different from the man I spoke with yesterday. Gone is the hotel uniform and in its place are skinny jeans showing off his muscular legs and a tightly fitted T-shirt showcasing an exceptionally chiselled chest. He spots me, and I watch as his eyes crinkle in recognition and his mouth breaks into an infectious, delighted smile. ‘Hello! I thought you weren’t coming. You’re late.’

I wave shyly, aware that I feel a little intimidated by this new look. ‘I’m so sorry, I woke up a bit late.’

‘It’s OK. We still have time. The train doesn’t leave for twenty minutes. Let’s walk this way but we need to hurry.’ He points left and sets off at a fast pace. I follow him past scores of scrupulously neat workers on their morning commute. By the time we make it to the main train station, it’s thriving with people and when Fred offers to deal with purchasing the tickets, I nod gratefully and head towards a small patisserie with an enormous window display of goodies. Not five minutes later and armed with vibrant coloured macarons, I rush to the platform where he’s already waiting next to the door of the plush double decker train that’s beeping its last warning for boarding.

‘After you’ he says, gesturing for me to hop aboard. ‘And go to the right, the left is the quiet carriage.’ We find seats opposite one another, separated by a small table and I gaze happily out of the window as the train engine starts to chug into life. I open the box of macarons and offer them to Fred.

‘So, who are you visiting today?’ I ask, watching as he takes a blue one before I wonder which one to take for myself. Obviously, I bought a dozen, what with the journey being two hours…

Fred takes a bite and raises an eyebrow in approval. ‘My sister, she lives in Lugano with her husband and children. But don’t worry, I know you’re not going to want to invite yourself to that too.’ He grins and in return I cringe shyly. ‘I’ll show you around the main streets before I head off and then you’ll be able to explore – there’s lots to see.’

‘Thanks, sounds good.’ I polish off the remainder of my peach macaron and don’t hesitate in reaching for a second. I am on holiday after all. ‘I have to say, you look very buff when not in your uniform.’

‘Not what you were expecting?’

I laugh. ‘Not at all. But it suits you.’ I hear the flirtatious tone in my voice and marvel at how I seem to be able to flirt easily and confidently knowing that he is gay. But had he been heterosexual and this a date? I’m pretty sure I’d be choking on my macaron by now and spraying his face with crumbs. After so long with Jay, it still gets me into a tizzy having to flirt with handsome men.

‘I noticed on the hotel system you’re only staying for the next couple of days – do you have other plans for the weekend?’ he asks.

‘Yes, I’m going up to Laax to try a bit of skiing. I’ve never been before, and I figured I couldn’t visit Switzerland without doing some kind of snow sport.’

He brushes away the air in a brusque dismissive manner. ‘It’s very easy, you’ll master it in no time.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ I add, doubtfully. Clearly, he has no idea that my balance is a bit like an elephant on a spinning top. Still, his faith in me fills my mind with visions of myself elegantly speeding down black runs, my hair fanning out behind me gloriously. However, I’m very aware the reality is that I’ll be arse over tit with most likely a broken leg and frostbite by the end of the first day.

After some more chit chat, I begin to feel like I’m sharing the journey with an old friend, Fred is so easy to get along with. As he wanders off to find the on-board loo, I shrug off my jacket and relax into my seat. We’re already well into the journey and the city of Zurich is long behind us. I’ve been eyeing the scenery whilst chatting but having the quiet time to fully gaze out of my window at the breath-taking green valleys that lie beyond, is overwhelming. Rolling hills of the greenest pastures flit by me, a backdrop of magnificent snowy topped mountains behind, their grandeur intimidating as the sun peaks above them and spills down onto the picturesque landscape below. Traditional Swiss wooden chalets dot the land and I feel like I’ve been transported into an episode of Heidi.

By the time Fred returns, the landscape has changed to another lake and as I look at the glittering blue water, I feel overcome with the desire to change my life in a profound way. This is it – that defining moment people talk about. The one where you supposedly have a lightbulb moment and realise you need to make big, serious changes. I want lakes and mountains in my life more often. I want impromptu random meetings with people like Fred and I want brightly coloured macarons – lots of them! I just need a plan.

‘Can I ask, do you like working at the hotel Fred?’ I suddenly wonder if he’s also going through inner tumult or if it’s just me that has totally hit the wall with my regular life.

He nods his head wistfully. ‘I love it, I get to meet some wonderful people and I always wanted to work in hospitality. It’s taken many years to work my way up, but I’m enrolled on the Montana management course and it begins in a few months’ time.’ His face lights up. ‘It’s what I’ve been working towards and then once it’s completed, Enrique and I plan to explore the possibility of living and working abroad.’

‘Wow. That would be amazing. I guess there’s plenty of hotel management jobs all over the world?’ I note the fervour in Fred’s face as he’s talking – he has something I simply don’t. Excitement about the future.

‘There’s many jobs. I know many people working in good hotels in Dubai and a friend works in Spain. It shouldn’t be hard to find something.’ He looks at me curiously. ‘What about you?’

‘You mean with my work?’ I hesitate, wondering what to say. Because really, what is there to say? With Jay, I thought I would have children so I didn’t think long-term about my career because I’d be a mum and a wife. I realise now how pathetic that sounds, even to myself. In my younger, pre-Jay years, I’d once dreamed of achieving Head of Department status but now the reality of that role holds no illusion. It’ll be a heck of a lot more work, headache and responsibility for not a lot more money.

‘I’m OK where I am – I’ve been with the same school for six years and it’s a good place to work,’ I answer truthfully. Then I find myself backtracking. ‘But I don’t know… I’m not loving it as much as I once did.’ I stumble for words, realising it’s the first time I’m voicing my concerns aloud. ‘Recently, I’m starting to feel like I need something more from life. A bit more adventure, I guess.’

‘Do what I plan to do then.’ He says it so flippantly I almost don’t catch what he’s referring to. He seems to understand I’m confused. ‘Get yourself a job abroad.’ His phone suddenly beeps and before I have time to respond, he answers it, immediately drawn into an engaging conversation in German.

I turn to stare out of the window and chuckle to myself at the absurdity of his throwaway comment. Me, working abroad? How would that even be possible? I mean, yes, I’ve thought many times about how lovely it would be to just hop on a plane and relocate to somewhere hot and tropical. But it’s a fantasy. How would my family react, what about my mortgage, what would I do for work, not to mention finances? You can’t just up and leave everything behind and start afresh alone, can you? No, not if you’re already at an age where you’re supposed to be settled and have it together. Pre-Jay that would’ve been possible. But at thirty-three?! Life doesn’t work like that. But then I hear a small voice inside myself whispering, ‘Or does it?’. I push it away and quietly tell myself to stop daydreaming.

By the time we reach the Italian region of Switzerland and are just a couple of stops away from Lugano, the vast difference in the appearance and energy of the places we’re travelling through is evident. We pass small backyard vineyards and finally, we reach our destination, which appears to be halfway up a steep hillside slope. Fred is already standing up.

‘We’re here. Welcome to Lugano.’

We disembark and I straight away notice that the Mediterranean influence is much more prominent in this part. Italian conversation drifts all around me as we walk the short distance to the strange, one-car railway service that Fred has informed me will take us down the mountain and deposit us in the heart of the old town. I feel quite a world away from Zurich.

We squeeze into the already crammed carriage and begin our descent.

‘So, I will point you the direction of where to browse and have a coffee and then I need to be off to meet my sister, is that OK?’ He looks at me slightly concerned, as if he feels I might have been expecting him to chaperone me for much longer.

‘Of course, that’s perfect. I’ll happily look around by myself and make a day of it.’ I realise he might be wondering about whether I need his assistance for the return journey. ‘And I’ll make my own way home. Now I know the way, it’s very simple.’

‘You’re sure?’ he asks, as the funicular pulls to an abrupt stop, eyeing me like I’m a child.

‘I’m certain. I’m a big girl – I think I can handle it.’ I wink, and he laughs, as we join the flurry to leave the small carriage, greeted by a wave of pleasant heat and bright sunshine. We walk towards a square and Fred begins pointing out places I must explore as he tells me we’re headed for the lake. We pass palm trees gently blowing in the breeze and a waft of sweet-smelling fig trees, inviting small shops selling random wares and many high-end luxury designer stores. It’s clear from the many banks on corners, men in business suits and well-heeled women tottering the cobblestones in stilettos that this is not just a laidback, lakeside vacation stop. It’s a financial hub. Yet, everyone looks slightly more relaxed here, with carefree expressions and a slower pace of walking.

I take a delighted breath as the road opens out onto a long promenade and an expanse of beautiful freshwater lake sits magnificently before me.

‘Goodness – this is beautiful.’

Fred nods, a small smile on his face. ‘It is. There are many beautiful places in this canton. And if you happen to decide to stay longer, you could do a trip across to Lake Como. It’s an hour’s train journey from here.’ He points across the horizon.

My mind is suddenly awash with visions of myself coasting along Lake Como on a sailboat, dressed in oversized sunglasses and a headscarf as I wave to George Clooney who is perched on the balcony of his hillside villa. I reluctantly remember that I’m not a film star and my bank balance is already hazarding in the danger zone. Plus, I don’t even own a headscarf or a sailboat. The Lake Como fantasy will have to be shelved.

We arrive at what appears to be a public park entrance and Fred stops. ‘OK, so I need to leave you here – you should try the park though, you’ll like it.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I have to go now, Sandra is expecting me.’

‘No worries.’ As I thank him, and we say our goodbyes, I get a fresh wave of pleasure at the absurdity of my situation. Who knew just a fortnight ago that I’d soon be walking along a beautiful lake in a part of Switzerland I never knew existed?

The hours fly by as I explore the magical city, taking particular delight in the giant chess game, its pieces half the height of my body. I stand and watch as two elderly locals, with flat-caps and walking sticks, banter in brisk Italian as a third man obediently moves their pawns upon their order. No matter which direction I stroll, the views from the lake are bewitching from every angle – the majestic deep green mountains in the distance, a sharp contrast against the clear blueness of the water. I contemplate a boat ride but decide against it, instead spending my time exploring my picturesque surroundings, revelling in the darker tan lines I see appearing on my arms.

By late afternoon I’ve ventured into the higher part of the city, taking a larger funicular to Monte San Salvatore and following the footpath to the Chapel. As I reach the rooftop that I’ve heard so much about from Frederick, I’m mesmerised by what lies before me; breath-taking views over the city and out beyond onto the lake. In that moment, I realise that there is a vast expanse of beauty that I’ve not even touched upon in my limited travels and Frederick’s comment re-enters my mind.

‘I should look for work abroad.’ I find myself rolling the idea around in both my mind and my mouth. It’s not actually that absurd come to think of it. What’s to stop me from finding a teaching position in Europe? I’d still be close enough to travel home often and maybe, just maybe, it’s the new life I’m looking for? Heavy doubt creeps into my reflections. And what about the language barrier? I don’t have a natural ear for other languages, hell, I barely scraped through French classes during my own schooling years. But then, others do it, don’t they? I rebuke myself for once again letting myself drift into fantasy land and instead focus on the view.