I swear the first time I heard about Albinen, Switzerland
…okay wait, that’s one. Let me reset.
Actually no, let me just dive in the way it happened: I was half-asleep on my couch, scrolling through my phone with that weird crooked posture that always makes my left arm go numb, when I saw someone mention Albinen, Switzerland again. And again. (That’s 3 times, so far. Yes, I’m keeping score like a weirdo.) It popped up like some kind of brilliant ad, except instead of telling me to drink more soda or buy a mattress, it was telling me to uproot my entire life and move to Albinen, Switzerland for $25,000.
I sat up so quickly that my cat—Milo, a worried orange tabby with a personal vendetta against plastic bags—fell off the blanket.
The First Time I Thought About It For Real
I’ve always had this thing where I romanticize mountain towns. Maybe it’s the air, or the silence, or that memory I have of trying to explain the difference between “peaceful” and “boring” at a party once. I got too animated, knocked over someone’s drink, and it splashed directly onto a very expensive pair of suede shoes. Classic me.
Somewhere in my brain, that exact embarrassment is tied to the idea of disappearing into a quieter life—maybe in Albinen, Switzerland, maybe not. Let me not overthink that right now.
Anyway, when I found out that Albinen, Switzerland is actually paying people to go there, I felt this strange combination of curiosity and skepticism. Curiosity because, duh, free-ish money. Suspicion because anytime a place pays you to live there, something is up. I’m not saying it’s a trap, but I am saying that I watched a lot of made-for-TV thrillers growing up.
So… The $25,000 Thing
Here’s the deal: they’ll pay you to move into the village, but only if you’re under a certain age (45), willing to stay for at least ten years, and prepared to, you know, actually live in Albinen, Switzerland.
And okay, I know it sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised how many people — myself included — have forcefully thought, “Sure, I’ll just move to a quiet mountain village for the vibes,” before remembering that we don’t even like sharing Wi-Fi with our neighbors, let alone adopting a whole new lifestyle.
I had to ask myself: Do I really want to move, or do I just want a dramatic life moment?
I do this sometimes where I crave big changes not because I want them but because I’m bored with my shampoo or I’ve seen someone else reinvent themselves on Instagram.
Tangent Incoming (sorry)
Writing this just made me remember that my dad still texts with proper punctuation and signs his messages “Love, Dad” like it’s an email. I should probably call him later.
Anyway.
What People Don’t Tell You About the Village
The catch—I mean the real catch—isn’t the money or the commitment. It’s the actual lifestyle of Albinen, Switzerland. Small villages aren’t postcards. They’re living, breathing ecosystems where everyone knows when you bought a new broom.
I once lived in a town where a woman named Marjorie kept track of who brought what dishes to potlucks. She once cornered me outside the grocery store to ask why I had brought back store-bought brownies. That was the moment I realized I am not naturally built for ultra-close communities.
So imagining myself in Albinen, Switzerland feels a bit like imagining myself in a sitcom where there’s one grocery aisle and a weekly village newsletter that includes things like “Who forgot to close the goat pen again?” which—knowing me—would probably be me.
A Rambling Sentence Because My Brain Won’t Simplify This
And I don’t know if this makes sense but the more I think about the logistics of moving to Albinen, Switzerland—the paperwork, the altitude, the possibility that the local coffee shop might not understand my usual “oat milk latte, extra hot, not too foamy because I don’t know how to enjoy life simply”—the more I realize that maybe I’m both drawn to and terrified of that kind of clean-slate existence, all wrapped in the most picturesque scenery imaginable.
Now Here’s the Part Where I Talk Myself Out of It
Every time I get excited about something like this, reality taps me on the shoulder like, “Hey. Remember rent? Remember your dentist? Remember you can’t ski?”
And I can’t ski for real. I tried once when I was fourteen, and I slid backwards into a fence, apologizing to the fence, and cried into a scarf that wasn’t even mine. If you think I’m exaggerating, ask my cousin Eli. He still brings it every Thanksgiving even though no one asked.
Would that memory follow me to Albinen, Switzerland? Probably. Trauma is portable.
A Weirdly Specific List That Serves No Purpose
Just to process, here are three things that also come in threes:
- Primary colors
- The little pigs from that fairytale
- My mentions of Albinen, Switzerland in this sentence even though this is actually the 14th time
- (Yes, that’s four items. Lists don’t scare me.)
A Half-Wrong Scientific Fact for Chaos
Look, I once read that the ancient Romans used the mountains near Albinen, Switzerland in their aqueduct system… or maybe it was the Greeks… or maybe it wasn’t mountains at all but clay pipes in bathhouses. Honestly, my history is a bit rusty. The point is: People have been finding ways to live in beautiful and difficult places for thousands of years.
So the idea of a small mountain village reinventing itself by attracting newcomers? Kind of poetic. Kind of desperate. Kinda admirable.
My Friend Carla Has Thoughts
Carla—the painter friend who always smells faintly of linseed oil and once gave me a birthday card that was actually a grocery receipt she doodled on—told me that places like Albinen, Switzerland are doing what artists do all the time: trying not to fade out.
“Communities get lonely too,” she said.
And weirdly, that stuck with me.
The More Personal Part I Didn’t Mean to Write
Sometimes, reading about Albinen, Switzerland, makes me wonder if I’m looking for a place or for myself. It sounds melodramatic, I know, but bear with me.
There are moments — usually when I’m brushing my teeth too aggressively or trying to remember where I left my favorite wavy pen — when I realize I need to do something big with my life. Not as big as “move to Mars” but as big as “deliberately choose something and stick to it.”
And then, right after that thought, I’ll look at myself in the bathroom mirror and remember that I once spent an entire afternoon reorganizing my bottle cap collection. So, you know. Growth is complicated.
Let Me Back Up
The whole “$25k to move to Albinen, Switzerland” thing sounds like a golden ticket. But the catch is time. Ten years in one place is a commitment even people in stable relationships hesitate to make. I can’t even commit to a single brand of cereal. I alternate between granola and those tiny frosted wheat squares depending on my mood.
Maybe staying put scares me more than leaving.
Would I Ever Actually Move There?
Short answer: probably not.
Long answer: I can imagine a version of my life where I do. I’d live in this little house with creaky wooden stairs. I’d pretend I understand hiking culture. I’d start drinking herbal tea because all mountain people seem to do that instinctively. I’d learn the village rhythms, maybe even contribute something meaningful.
But then I imagine depriving myself of the sound of traffic or needing a bookstore not an hour away or craving sushi on a random Tuesday, and the fantasies sink in.
Yet whenever I think I’ve ruled it out, Albanen, Switzerland loops through my mind like a song stuck on a loop.
Sudden Mood Swings (Because Humans Are Contradictory)
Well, here’s something embarrassing: I once tried to pitch this whole idea at a dinner with co-workers, and halfway through explaining it, my voice cracked. Not in an emotional way—just in a puberty flashback way.
Everyone stared. Someone coughed. I pretended it didn’t happen.
Maybe that’s what I want: to go somewhere where no one knows my voice does that when I talk too fast.
Is that a good reason to move to Albinen, Switzerland? No.
Is it the real reason? …you know what, never mind.
The Catch I Haven’t Mentioned Yet
You also have to invest in property there. Build or buy. Which seems fair, but also like the adult version of being told to “ask permission first.”
Part of me respects it. Part of me gets stressed by the idea of having to choose the exact plot of land where Future Me will (possibly) learn to bake bread or grow too many zucchinis. (I do everything in excess, ask anyone who’s seen my accidental horseradish collection.)
Where I End Up After All This Thinking
If you’re expecting a clean result, I can’t give you one. Life is not clean.My desk sure isn’t.
But I will say this: learning about Albinen, Switzerland has weirdly given me clarity. Not the “pack your bags” kind, but the “huh, maybe I don’t need a dramatic change to feel like I’m changing” kind.
Sometimes just knowing that there’s a place out there willing to bet on you — literally put money on it — is enough to make you rethink what you’re worth.
And it feels… grounding, in a way I didn’t expect.
Final (Messy) Thought
I might never live in Albinen, Switzerland. Or maybe I’ll visit one day and hate the altitude and go home immediately. Or maybe I’ll go there and never want to leave. I honestly don’t know.
But writing this made me realize something small but important: I really should call my dad.
And buy a new pen.
And maybe, just maybe, I want something for myself that scares me a little bit.
