The last time I was in Switzerland, I was in my early 20s, backpacking through Europe like so many of us did in the 90s. That trip sparked something in me—a love of travel, exploration, adventure, and immersive experiences that has quietly shaped everything since. For years, Switzerland has been on my list of places I wanted to return to, and now, after all these years, it is finally happening.
This September, I will be leading a yoga and meditation retreat in Pontresina, a charming village tucked into the Upper Engadin Valley of the Swiss Alps.
Surrounded by glacier trails, mountain lakes, alpine meadows, and the dramatic Bernina Massif, it feels like exactly the kind of place where the noise of ordinary life begins to loosen its grip—where the body remembers how to breathe and the mind finds room to settle.
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There is something about mountains that does this. They ask nothing of us except presence. And
in a time when presence feels increasingly hard to come by, that invitation matters.
I have seen it again and again throughout my years of leading retreats: when we step out of our familiar surroundings and into the vast and unhurried natural world, a shift begins. The armor we didn’t even know we were wearing begins to come off. The nervous system, so often braced against the pace and noise of modern life, finally gets permission to soften.
And what tends to emerge in that space is often extraordinary. A version of ourselves we had
almost forgotten. More open. More curious. More genuinely present to the people around us and
the world we share.
It becomes both an inner and outer exploration—a journey through breathtaking landscapes and
through parts of ourselves that are easier to hear when life grows quiet.
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What calls to me most about this retreat isn’t just the beauty of Switzerland.
It is the opportunity to spend a week immersed in nature, community, movement, rest, and wonder. To let the rhythm of our days be shaped by something other than a screen or a deadline: yoga in the mornings, hikes through alpine landscapes, scenic train rides through the mountains, nourishing meals shared together, and long stretches of open time to simply take it all in.
This is what travel, at its best, can do. Not just show us new places but return us to ourselves.
Remind us that the world still holds more grace and goodness than the noise of any given
moment might suggest.
A week in the mountains won’t solve everything.
But it can recalibrate us in a profound way, and
that recalibration has a way of lasting long after we return home.
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As September draws closer, I find myself feeling more and more excited to share this
experience—and this remarkable landscape—with all of you. A few rooms remain, and
registration will be closing soon. If this retreat is calling to you, I would love for you to join
us—for the mountains, the practice, and the community we will create together beneath those
wide-open skies.