On our last morning in Zurich, I was prepared to have to donate a kidney to pay for breakfast. But much to our surprise, we were presented with one of our favorite meals of the trip: a €14.50 “one plate buffet.” It reminded me of how I used to insist on celebrating my birthdays at Sizzler growing up; I never tired of the thrill of filling up an empty plate, getting my money’s worth and overeating to the point of feeling sick. Only this time was different; I only had one chance to make it count. The buffet featured scrambled eggs, sausage, smoked salmon, mushrooms with bacon, caprese salad, and six different spreads on toast. It was impossible to see the trim or the color of my plate when I walked back to my seat; one German couple even stopped mid-conversation just to glare.
What did I care? When so much about the world feels outside of our control, the least we can do is rejoice in the things that make us happiest. That feeling of succumbing to joy was, for the next 19 hours, just finding its legs. The stopover in Zurich was merely a precursor to our pilgrimage to Vals, site of the only thermal hot springs in Switzerland, and an architectural marvel previously known to Courtney only in photos.
Built using local quartz, Therme Vals is a spa based on the architectural interpretation of a stone quarry. The building is made up of cantilevered concrete roof joints that fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, alternating between very small, intimate spaces and large, meandering baths. Each room in the adjoining hotel was designed by a veritable who’s who of architecture gentry. We settled on a dark stone room with a view of green mountains speckled with alpine huts, and a shower in the center that glowed an ethereal yellow. Expensive and out of the way, Therme Vals had long been on Courtney’s dream list to visit, but within an hour of arriving, our only regret was that we hadn’t booked a second night.
The spa featured six different baths. There was an indoor pool, framed by jaunty angles and sixteen blue-hued skylights. It was connected through a chainmail opening to an outdoor pool, where steam rose from the water in thick sheets and copper water spouts doubled as massage stations. “Spring Grotto,” Courtney’s favorite, felt like spelunking in a mine shaft, with a tunnel passageway that opened to high ceilings. I preferred “Blossom,” a pool dense with lavender petals that smelled like a botanic garden. There was a blissfully warm 42° C pool with red-speckled tile that conjured an image of walking on Mars. Its pair was a freezing 14° meditative challenge, where I managed to still my body in a low crouch despite the quivering of my lips.
There were other rooms, too: two saunas, a sound room that played a soundtrack of gongs, and a “tinkler” fountain room, where we slung copper cups with long metal handles down a well to drink fresh water. We visited the spa three times, including a special—entirely silent—midnight opening done exclusively for guests. Courtney said it was one of the rare buildings she had ever been to that was better in-person than in the photos, and it felt all the more crazy that we had very nearly denied ourselves the experience at all. There was something magical about being in the baths. The feeling of being submerged in water has a way of focusing on the now, not remising the past, or worrying about what’s ahead. Luxuriating in the present. An hour passed without us hardly registering that it was time to go.
Back upstairs in our hotel room, we twisted off the caps of our complimentary sparkling waters. We made a toast to making time for joy, to being gentle with ourselves, to insisting on living in the present. It wasn’t quite well water in copper cups, but the glass bottles made a satisfying clink when they touched.