I would be lying if I said returning my rental car in Milan, Italy went more smoothly than my collective experience driving it — after a very language-barriered shouting(ish) match with the man at Thrifty who tried to charge me $500.00 for a cosmetic “scratch” that I mostly rubbed away with my cardigan sleeve, and was not responsible for, I was running late(ish) to my train.

I power walked into Milan Central Station with my giant Mountain Hardware pack full of snowboard gear and seventeen days worth of clothes etc. on my back, my actual backpack on my front — a travel method I feel I’ve perfected, though no amount of perfection makes it look less awkward, clumsy or blatantly touristy, especially in a major train station. I frantically asked someone who looked official if they spoke English, and when they said “a little,” I showed them my ticket in hopes they would point me in the right direction.

They did and I climbed onto the correct car of the correct train with few minutes to spare only to find chaos — every seat appeared to be full. I was thankful for the promise of an assigned seat (only two of my eleven pre-planned trains / busses assigned seats on this trip) but I instinctively panicked about where to stash my giant bag. The individual assigned the seat diagonal from me seemed to be having a similar conundrum. We exchanged knowing, sympathetic glances and both managed to find a place to tuck our bags away before the train started moving.

The girl assigned the seat directly across from me was from Chicago, an aspiring Physician’s Assistant, studying abroad in Italy. The aforementioned man sitting diagonal from me was, Aljaz, from Slovenia. I quickly learned he was from the same town as my only other Slovenian friend, whom I met on the Camino de Santiago five years ago. Additionally, I quickly learned that his giant bag was also filled with snowboard gear for his own trip to Zermatt. The three of us talked the entire trip, altering my original intention to use the train ride to get some sleep. I had woken up at 5am that morning to visit Alessandro’s farm and I was quite exhausted; but I didn’t mind, these are the travel moments I live for.

Aljaz and I got off our train at the Visp station to transfer trains and head to Zermatt. We collectively agreed to power nap on that train but were first interrupted by the individual checking tickets and then again by a man throwing a shameless temper tantrum about his original train car not having a working bathroom. That inconvenience had required him to walk a few feet outdoors from his car to ours at the previous stop. “I am the customer,” he screamed at an innocent employee, “and you don’t even care about me. What can you do to make this right?” He didn’t stop as he was apologized to and repetitively informed there was nothing else to be done. Everyone in the car exchanged looks and I wished so badly I could apologize on his behalf. I also wished I could’ve gotten some sleep but after the show we were almost at our destination (along with the man who was grumpy about needing to go outside on his way to a ski vacation; welcome to Zermatt).

Aljaz was visiting his friend Alina in Zermatt and they unhesitatingly welcomed me to be a tag-along in their reunion. I walked down main “street” (cars are not allowed in the town) wearing my chacos and my hole-filled-jeans carrying my massive bag — people bundled up in all of their snow gear pointed and laughed as I walked past. The attention was strange but warranted, though the cold didn’t bother me. I’ve been working night shift lately, logging multiple -30F nights the past few months, a few snow flurries during daylight hours sincerely didn’t faze me.

The three of us met back up at a bar for a cheeseburger after we all got settled in our respective lodging arrangements. From there, Alina went to work. Aljaz and I rented our snowboards for the next day and then ultimately agreed this was our chance to power nap — the promise of an advertised “Smurf Party” complete with glow in the dark face paint later that evening was too enticing to turn down and we made plans to meet up in an hour.

I arrived first and shuffled into the upstairs bar, Pink, to wait for him. I ordered a local beer at the bar and out of the corner of my eye identified a melanzana sweatshirt. “Are you from Colorado?!” I yelled at Jack over the really fun, but really loud live band. “No, but my sister is!” he yelled back — I gathered that Jack was also studying abroad in Italy and his entire family had traveled to Europe to visit him during his spring break. Within minutes, I had met both his mom and his sister, who lives an hour from me. I hope to make plans with her once I’m home.

Aljaz arrived shortly and I introduced him to the family I had befriended in his ten minute delay (a seemingly typical occurrence for me). Before I knew it, it was 1am. I hadn’t expected a wild face-painted night in Zermatt, but there we were and I’ve never been one to walk away from a social opportunity, regardless of the sleep deprivation it results in (as this day now served to prove three times).

Despite it all, Aljaz and I met up for a mostly on-time start the next morning to board the train (not chair lift, not gondola: train) that shuttles people up the slopes in Zermatt (there is a gondola on the other side of town, as well, but who passes up a ski-lift-train?)

The views from Zermatt were incredible and the snow was surprisingly satisfactory. During the first run of the day, we crossed paths with Jack and his father (Jack identified me based on my description of the bright colors and even brighter backpack I wear). They left shortly afterwards to catch a train back to Italy, but it was fun to run into (the only) familiar faces on the mountain, all the same.

Aljaz and I continued taking gondolas up and up and up. At one point we reached the top-Switzerland chair-lift (what I didn’t realize until this trip was that Zermatt spans territory in both Italy and Switzerland — my pass allowed me to access both but Aljazs’ did not) and from there I watched as a few people hiked up even farther. I speculated the view that would be accessed from there would likely be epic and I resolved to do the same. “I’m going to walk up there,” I told Aljaz when we off-boarded the lift. “You’re going to waste an hour,” he told me.

It’s been funny to articulate, throughout my entire trip, that I did not go on this “snowboard trip,” with the goal of maximizing snowboarding time. I didn’t expect the snow to be good, or even decent. I had plenty of that in Colorado / Utah / Montana this season. I went for the views — for the new scenery, the new experiences and the new whatever-else I hoped to be surprised by. “It won’t be wasted,” I told him as I strapped my rental board to the backpack he had made fun of me for bringing earlier that morning (the same backpack that now also held his snacks, he kindly bought me a consolation granola bar).

The view was worth it, so was the snow. And for the record it only took me twenty minutes.

We met back up for beers shortly afterwards, where I was able to ninja-secure a table with a perfect view of the Matterhorn. The couple from San Diego that had sat there before me offered to leave a generous amount of left over fondue, “we can’t finish it,” they explained as they packed up and further connected with me by telling me of their friend in Boulder .. and then they left, and there I was, drinking beer and eating fondue in the sunshine with my new friend from Slovenia beneath the one and only Matterhorn. I’m not sure it gets much better than that.

Aljaz and I accidentally parted ways once again after that. As I trudged along the very catwalk that delayed my attempt to reunite with him before the end of the day, a man on skis sped past me — “gravity,” he shouted with a laugh. I boarded a gondola a few minutes later. “Hey, you’re the gravity girl!” a familiar voice said.

I spent the next fifteen minutes gondola-hopping with a physician who now works in Switzerland, currently on a team making incredible strides in malaria prevention. I talked to him about the book Half the Sky I recently finished, aware of the short amount of time we’d have together as I skimmed over topics I have since became increasingly passionate about — topics such as malaria and HIV care and prevention, the devastation of avoidable iodine deficiencies and the tragic extent of maternal mortality rates, and lack of sufficient care, globally. We shared snacks as he sprinkled in his own experiences with the things I was speaking of and told me a bit about how he got to where he is now.

We exchanged email addresses at the conclusion of our gondola ride and he has since sent me paragraphs of well thought out future opportunities to consider. The subject?: Gravity Girl’s get out of Colorado free starter card email. I facetimed my dad, and my dog, from a bench with a Matterhorn view a few moments later, soaking in the fact that the entire peak was not visible from town and this would be my last glimpse for the foreseeable future.

I packed up my bag when I got back to town and then Aljaz and I drank one last beer together (ok ok, two last beers) before I hopped aboard the train that would carry me closer to my next destination. As we sat at the bar, he showed me photos of Slovenia and I mentally added it to my bucket list as I showed him photos of my favorite places in Colorado — forever grateful to live in such a beautiful place, uncertain of my intent to ever leave but thankful for the connections and potential I have to do so, nonetheless.

The Airbnb host of my lodging for that night had reached out to me earlier in the week offering to pick me up at the train station. He was aware my train arrived after the buses stopped running and identified that a taxi may be difficult and expensive to secure. I found the gesture and proactivity incredibly endearing and, as arranged, I hopped off of my train only to meet his entire family and be warmly welcomed to Martigny by name.