The Aletsch is something wondrous.
A river of ancient water, grinding its way through the Alps, a ghost from the last Ice Age. You stand and stare, hypnotised by its serpentine grace, willing it to move a fraction before your eyes. But it remains immobile, brilliant white, like a finger of paint left by Picasso as an afterthought.
People sometimes take a guided walk on the Aletsch, treading on rain and snow that was frozen thousands of years ago. Better to sit on the mountains nearby, breathe in pure, thin air and enjoy a moment of escape from phones, work, traffic and all the other things that clutter up every busy minute.
Switzerland is a rich man’s playground in winter, dominated by snow sports and gin palace drinking culture. But in summer, it’s a retreat and that’s a rare thing anywhere in Europe.