My favourite restaurant is inaccessible in winter without booking a snowmobile

I never thought I would say my alarm clock is a snow plough, but life is funny like that.

I am originally from Galway and I moved to the Swiss Alps in August 2021. As Ireland was still in the grip of Covid, we went from lockdown to lockdown, so I thought I had nothing to lose moving countries.

I trained as an English and history teacher in university, and taught in Ireland for six years before emigrating. During this time, I visited Switzerland often as I have Irish friends living here too. It was always on my mind to move, but I felt it was a pipe dream. When an opportunity came to work in a boarding school in the mountains, I took a leap of faith and swapped the Atlantic for the Alps.

Life is different here in Switzerland, and in strange ways.

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At altitude, there is a strong respect for the seasons. I live at 1,300 metres above sea level and as winter rolls in, you must bend to the freezing temperatures. There are days when driving is simply not an option. Despite a snow plough to clear the roads and winter tyres on the car, without chains on them too you do not take the risk.

I recently told someone I was Irish and their face lit up as they replied ‘Les irlandais sont comme le miel’ (The Irish are like honey).

Wearing runners is a risky game and ankle socks are viewed in disbelief. Even visiting friends’ houses requires snow boots and crampons, which are left at the door and swapped for slippers. Yes, we bring slippers to dinner.

Eating out is expensive, of course, but, on occasion, it is such a treat. My favourite restaurant, Refuge de Solalex, on the Alpe of Solalex in Bex, Aigle, serves all the classic Swiss cuisines: fondue, raclette, tartiflette and in November there is the speciality of La Chasse (The Hunt). The restaurant is inaccessible in winter without booking a snowmobile – to which my mom usually says “far from that you were reared!”

In the supermarket, it is normal to shop in ski gear. Still, I get a laugh as people clink down the aisles in ski boots with beer under one arm and fondue under another. As the season progresses faces around the village become a mismatch of sunburn and white goggle-eyes.

Although I speak primarily in English, I love the diversity of languages that float through the corridors and classrooms. With friends, we begin speaking in English, then flow into French. This moitié-moitieé (half-half) approach makes me appreciate that I experience life here better when I speak their language. I guess I never forgot the seanfhocal from Irish class, “Beatha teanga í a labhairt.” (The life of a language is to speak it.)

There are many parts of home I miss, but the people I miss the most. I recently told someone I was Irish and their face lit up as they replied “Les irlandais sont comme le miel” (The Irish are like honey). There is a softness and a humour to the Irish that can’t be replaced abroad. As Patrick Kavanagh wrote “the wink and elbow language of delight” is what binds us. It makes coming home so much sweeter.

Without question, the best part of life here is the variety of outdoor activities you can do with friends. Since moving to the village, I learned to rock climb on the rock face. I never climbed before coming here, but I love the challenge of pushing myself to conquer a new route. As spring approaches and the evenings get longer, our climbing group will start picking routes again. We bring a picnic, chat and climb until we lose light.

Driving up to the village through the mountains at the end of the day is my favourite sight. As the yellowing autumn trees are impacted by the snow-capped mountains, there is a beauty of one season pushing into another which I never expected to love. Much of the valley is covered in vineyards and as I drive through turn after hairpin turn, with the Dents du Midi mountain range on the horizon, I think ... what a special place to live.

As I finish writing this, I hear the clash of hockey sticks from the ice rink across the road and I think: “Time for a cup of Barry’s.”

Amy May Considine is from Galway. She went to NUI Galway and lives in Villars-sur-Ollons, Switzerland where she teaches in a boarding school.

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