“Dear incomprehension, it’s thanks to you I’ll be myself, in the end.” — Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable In the beginning, home is familiarity. All that is known feels like home. The little house you grow up in, that particular mountain view, that special kind of winter cold, that particular smell…

Comparing the magnificent has never been a choice. Alpine is a landscape bathing in frigid beauty. An icy, emerald-colored lake in front of us, reflecting mountaintops of the most paradoxical formations and a few dark pines. The water is silent and so is the wind; the movements of scarcely falling…