I’ve spent the last few days in Switzerland. Objectively speaking, I’m staying at one of the most beautiful hotels in the world Badrutt’s Palace Hotel. Subjectively speaking? I’ve never felt poorer.

It’s fascinating, really. Back home, you occasionally feel like you’ve done reasonably well in life. You’ve worked hard, survived corporate politics, made questionable investment decisions, bought a nice handbag or two, and think, “I’ve done alright.” Then you arrive in St. Moritz.

Suddenly you’re the economic equivalent of someone’s emotional support animal. The man walking his dog owns a chalet that probably costs more than the GDP of a small nation. The teenager ordering hot chocolate casually steps out of a car that looks like it was assembled by Swiss watchmakers and priced by people who hate accountants. Even the dogs seem privately educated.

You quickly realise that in Switzerland there isn’t rich. There is only… “comfortable enough to buy an ice cream without checking the exchange rate.”

Speaking of ice cream. It may be the only purchase I made this week that didn’t require a brief financial planning meeting with myself.

But what a spectacular country. The lakes don’t look real. They’re so blue they feel AI-generated. The mountains are so majestic they make your life goals seem unnecessarily ambitious. Every train arrives exactly when it promises to. Frankly, it’s unsettling.

And then there are the walks. Long walks where every corner looks like a luxury watch advertisement. Every flower has better discipline than I do. Every balcony has geraniums that appear to have annual performance reviews.

Naturally, after all this serenity, I decided to bring balance back into my life by visiting the casino in Lucerne. Now, history would suggest I occasionally have miraculous casino recoveries. Switzerland chose a different storyline.

Apparently Swiss casinos also believe in precision. They precisely calculated how much money I was willing to lose before politely escorting me back to reality. Efficient. Predictable. Very on-brand.

As I walked back along the lake, licking my painfully expensive but emotionally supportive ice cream, I realised something. Switzerland has absolutely no interest in impressing you. It simply exists in quiet perfection while you spend the entire holiday questioning your net worth, your wardrobe and whether your hotel bathrobe is actually nicer than everything you own at home.

And honestly? I can’t wait to come back. Hopefully richer. Although judging by St. Moritz standards… I’ll probably still only be able to afford the ice cream.

Till later!