Late night musings from my hotel window

It's 2:18 AM, and I'm sitting by the window of my hotel room in Interlaken. Sleep has been elusive tonight. The soft glow of the street lamps casts long shadows on the empty streets below, and in the distance, I can just make out the silhouettes of mountains against the night sky.

I didn't plan to be awake at this hour. After yesterday's chocolate-making workshop and a quiet dinner at a local restaurant, I had settled in for the night, planning to get an early start tomorrow. But here I am, watching the occasional car pass by on the street below, its headlights briefly illuminating the rain-slicked pavement.

Perhaps it's the anticipation of moving on. I'm scheduled to leave Interlaken later today, and there's something about departure days that always keeps me awake. Or maybe it's just the natural rhythm of long-term travel – these periods of reflection that seem to arrive unannounced in the quiet hours.

Reflecting on Interlaken

These past few days in Interlaken have been unexpectedly significant. What began as a spontaneous detour from my original plans has turned into one of the most contemplative stretches of my journey so far. The town, nestled between Lakes Thun and Brienz, with mountains rising on all sides, creates a natural container that somehow makes reflection inevitable.

Yesterday's chocolate workshop was delightful – learning the precise temperatures needed for tempering chocolate, the subtle differences between bean varieties, and the satisfaction of creating something with my hands. The Swiss chocolatier running the class had that wonderful combination of precision and passion. I left with a small box of my creations, which I've been sampling as I sit here by the window.

The weather has been mostly cloudy during my stay, with occasional showers, but there's a beauty in the mist that clings to the mountainsides. The forecast shows more of the same for today – mostly cloudy and chilly with a couple of showers. Not ideal for outdoor adventures, but perfect for the kind of internal exploration that seems to be the theme of this stop.

61 days in

It's strange to think I've been traveling for 61 days already. Almost one-eighth of my journey completed. The early days in Amsterdam, Paris, and Lyon feel simultaneously like yesterday and a lifetime ago. I remember the nervous energy of those first weeks, the compulsion to see everything, do everything.

Now, sitting here in the quiet of night, I realize how much my approach has changed. In Interlaken, I've been content to spend twenty minutes on a small bridge, watching the impossible turquoise of the Aare River flow beneath me. To sit in cafés and observe local life. To wander without a specific destination.

I arrived 10 minutes before the chocolate workshop yesterday, instinctively, and found myself alone in front of the locked door. The instructor arrived precisely at opening time and seemed surprised to find someone waiting. "Most tourists run on vacation time," she said with a smile. I just shrugged – some habits don't change, even when everything else does.

The road ahead

As I prepare to leave later today, I'm thinking about the 439 days that stretch before me. The immensity of that number is both exhilarating and daunting. So many places still to see, so many experiences waiting.

I've heard that Thun is having their final Water Magic show today – an enchanting display of light, water, and music by the River Aare. Part of me is tempted to adjust my departure time to catch it, but another part knows it's time to move on. The rhythm of this journey seems to have its own logic, its own timing that I'm slowly learning to trust.

The sky is beginning to lighten ever so slightly now. Not dawn yet, but the first hint that night won't last forever. I should try to get some sleep before morning properly arrives.

But first, I'll sit here a little longer, watching Interlaken sleep, grateful for these unexpected moments of stillness in the midst of movement.