SWITZERLAND
- Apr 8
- 9 min read
Switzerland is a unique country. Its majestic natural beauty has earned it the nickname "the land of lakes and Alps." Its secrets and enchanting features never cease to amaze the imagination and inspire a desire to discover even more.
SWITZERLAND: ICONIC LANDMARKS
A Meadow, a Lake and a Mountain – this is the minimal set that unexpectedly makes up the whole of Switzerland.
What associations usually come to mind when you hear the word "Switzerland"? Almost inevitably, a parade of "the best" emerges: the tidiest cities, the most mirror-like lakes, the most reliable banks, the most smart order. Add chocolate, cheese, watches, and cows with a philosophical outlook — and it's practically a postcard.
But behind this collection of clichés lies a far more precise formula, almost dry, yet surprisingly capacious: Switzerland belongs not to an abstract center, but to its cantons and the people who created it. Everything else is merely the careful consequences of this idea.
And here's where things get interesting. If you try to "consolidate" Switzerland into a single point, it suddenly turns out to be incredibly simple: a Meadow, a Lake, and a Mountain. A minimum of decoration, a maximum of meaning.
Rütli Meadow is a place with almost no external pretensions. No pomp, just a grassy slope above Lake Lucerne.
But it was here, according to legend, that representatives of the first three cantons — Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwalden — swore an oath of mutual support . Historians are careful to clarify: the legal formalization of this oath occurred a little later, in the Charter of Union of 1291. But popular memory stubbornly clings to the image: a few people, a quiet meadow, and a decision that proved enduring through the ages.
Lake Lucerne itself is an extension of this idea. It's not just beautiful, it branches out like a map of the country: bays, coves, unexpected turns. Its shape almost echoes the character of Switzerland — complex yet harmonious. It's easy to believe that water, too, can negotiate and live its own life.
And finally, the mountain — Gross Mythen. Not the highest, not the most formidable, but surprisingly alluring. There are people who seek new summits. And then there's Armin Schelbert — he's been climbing the same one for twenty years straight: Grosser Mythen. Five thousand times — it sounds like an obsession, but in reality, it's about a love of simple things. Early in the morning, with a flashlight and a stick, he follows the familiar 46 turns, as if meeting an old friend. At the top, what awaits him isn't a record, but silence, chamois on the slopes, and a sunrise that never repeats. From 1,898 meters, the world looks a little different each time. And, it seems, that's the secret: not to seek the new, but to be able to see the familiar anew.
Sometimes, to understand a country, you don't need cities and landmarks. Meadows, lakes, and mountains are enough. Everything else will follow.
SWITZERLAND: COAT OF ARMS' HISTORY
A white cross on a red field is a simple symbol that conceals a history of alliances, disputes, and an amazing ability to negotiate.
Switzerland begins with a name — and that's a bit of a mystery. The country is named not for an empire, not for a dynasty, or even for its capital, but for one of its cantons — Schwyz .
He was among the three founders of the 1291 union, and its name gradually spread to the entire state. The word's roots lie in the Old German "suedan" — "to clear," or "to uproot," as if to remind us that this country arose not from a ready-made form, but from an effort — to clear, to unite, to build.
For a long time, the locals simply called themselves "Confederates" —Eidgenossen. Only later did the familiar "Swiss" emerge. This already clearly reveals the local character: first a union, then an identity.
The Swiss cross originated not as a coat of arms, but as a practical battlefield sign. As early as 1339, at the Battle of Laupen , warriors of the Old Confederacy wore white crosses made of linen strips on their clothing to distinguish their own. The Bernese Chronicle would later record that all fighters were marked with "the sign of the holy cross, a white cross on a red shield." This is the earliest documented use of the Swiss cross as a battle standard. Interestingly, the Kingdom of Savoy, which wore the same symbolism, played on the enemy side, likely adding to the confusion on the battlefield. Nevertheless, despite the enemy's numerical superiority, victory was achieved and strengthened the Swiss Confederacy.
Over time, this simple symbol took on a life of its own — and not always a straightforward one. During the Old Zurich War in the 15th century, opponents accused the Confederates of deception: supposedly they used "double crosses" — white on one side and red on the other — to confuse the enemy. History is slow to confirm or refute these accusations, but the fact itself is telling. Even a symbol of unity born out of necessity remained a tool — flexible, vibrant, and entirely practical.
Gradually, this symbol began to take shape, but not immediately as the familiar coat of arms. For a long time, the cross remained a military flag, and Switzerland represented itself differently: through a collection of cantons. 15th-century images show a whole gallery of coats of arms— thirteen shields standing side by side, sometimes surrounding the imperial symbol. It wasn't a single center, but rather a chorus of voices, with each canton retaining its own distinct identity.
And yet, the white cross, as an independent coat of arms, gradually came to the forefront. One of the earliest examples is a 1547 medal created by the Zurich master Hans Stampfer. On it, the cantonal coats of arms are neatly arranged around the cross, as if recognizing it as a common symbol. Even earlier, in 1533, a similar cross appeared on the coins of Schwyz. It was no longer simply a battlefield symbol — it was a symbol that began to be minted, consolidated, and repeated.
But history was not linear. At the end of the 18th century, Napoleon came to Switzerland — and with him, an attempt to reboot the entire system. The Helvetic Republic emerged, albeit briefly, from 1798 to 1803, but with new symbols. The seal depicted William Tell with his son, a scene filled with drama and heroism. The flag featured the name in French — for those having trouble identifying the new color scheme. The coat of arms, the pinnacle of brevity, simply stated the fact that the new entity consisted of 19 cantons. The old cross faded into the background, and the symbolism became more "ideological."
This period proved short-lived. By the early 19th century, Switzerland was returning to its roots. In 1815, the white cross on a red field was once again adopted as the symbol of the Confederation . This came in two versions: a simple coat of arms — a shield with a cross — and a more complex seal, again lining the cantonal coats of arms around it. Almost as before, only now with an awareness of a shared history.
The modern coat of arms of Switzerland is the same cross, but placed on a heraldic shield. No unnecessary details, no embellishments. This minimalism embodies the country's entire philosophy: simplicity, underpinned by a complex system of balances.
And finally, the motto. "One for all and all for one." In German, French, Italian, and Latin, "Unus pro omnibus, omnibus pro uno" sounds equally clear. And yes, it's impossible not to recall Dumas's The Musketeers . But in the case of Switzerland, this isn't a literary formula, but a working principle. A union in which different parts remain distinct, yet still stand together.
SWITZERLAND: FUN FACTS
Of the square logic, a little about elegant confusion and the glorious maritime power of the four seas.
Switzerland generally dislikes being "like everyone else" — and it demonstrates this with its flag. While other countries line up in strict rectangles, it maintains a square. There are only two such flags in the world: Switzerland and the Vatican. And this proximity is no coincidence. The connection runs deeper: for over five centuries, the Swiss have served in the Papal Guard — the most recognizable and, arguably, most stylish security force in the world. So, the geometry here is underpinned by tradition and trust.
Why a square? There's a simple and elegant explanation: a flag hangs horizontally on a pole, while a military standard hangs vertically. The Swiss flag, no matter how you look at it, is the same . Versatility is a practical thing: one format is suitable for both combat and civilian use. Switzerland hasn't reinvented the wheel and has retained a form that's comfortable for being itself.
But the "not like everyone else" game doesn't end there. Switzerland is regularly confused . With Denmark — because of the white cross on a red background. With Sweden — because of the similar-sounding names. Sometimes a tourist confidently points to the north of Europe, thinking they've reached the Alps. The Swiss, of course, sigh, but without drama — with a touch of irony, like people accustomed to their own uniqueness.
And finally, the main geographical focus. The country is landlocked — but at the same time, it has access to four. The Alps act as a watershed for the continent: rivers carry water to the North Sea (via the Rhine), the Mediterranean (via the Rhone), the Adriatic (via the Ticino and Po), and even the Black Sea (via the Inn and Danube).
A square flag, four seas without a coastline, and a slight confusion with its neighbors — Switzerland seems to deliberately collect paradoxes. And it does so with impeccable taste.
SWITZERLAND: ALPINE SKIING
Where snow becomes philosophy and slopes become a matter of taste.
As a passionate, seasoned skier, I'd occasionally stumble upon the Best of the Alps club and regard it almost as a seal of approval. Nine legendary resorts , resonant names — everything was perfect. Indeed, the list is impressive: Davos and Crans-Montana for Switzerland, plus Chamonix, Kitzbühel, and other Alpine elite. It would seem — the epitome of perfect skiing. But upon closer inspection, it becomes clear: it's not so much about the slopes as the atmosphere. Conferences, hotels, meetings, corporate suites with views of the snow-capped slopes. Everything is beautiful, prestigious, and a bit over-the-top.
And then a simple thought occurs: a true snow leopard doesn't look for a sign. He looks for his slope. A black piste, fresh snow, that very turn that makes you want to climb back up. And the Alps — they can be great even without clubs.
Alpine skiing in Switzerland is a history with a British accent. In the late 19th century, it was English tourists vacationing in St. Moritz, Davos, and Gstaad who brought with them the spirit of competitive sport. But it wasn't resort-goers who first adopted skis here, but mountaineers — as a convenient means of moving across the snow.
In 1893, the first ski club was founded in Glarus , the first competitions were held in 1902, and a national association was established in 1904. But the real turning point came a little later, when Briton Arnold Lunn proposed a simple and daring idea: not to go up, but to go down — fast, for the time being, for fun. Thus was born the "downhill only" principle, which transformed skiing from a utilitarian skill into a passion. The Alps became a natural arena — steep slopes, space, speed.
At first, it was a pastime for the wealthy, almost a secular ritual. But over time, especially after the world wars, skiing became part of the national culture. And perhaps it is in Switzerland that this transition is felt most clearly: from an elite hobby to a freedom accessible to anyone ready to take the first turn.
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