Let me tell you the story of the day I went to Chamonix and how two distant places became connected by an unfortunate loss that still haunts me.
First, I have to tell you about a special purchase I made in Cusco. On my last morning there, I walked into a small jewelry shop. I wanted something handmade that I could wear every day -a little piece of Peru to carry into my London life. I tried on dozens of designs, going back and forth, being that delightfully annoying customer who simply cannot make up her mind.
Then my eyes finally landed on the one.
The ring was shaped like a wheat leaf, each grain filled with a different colorful stone. A symbol of abundance and growth. It was beautiful. I splurged. The women in the shop polished it up for me, gave me a certificate of authenticity, and tucked it into a little pouch made of traditional woven fabric. I was so happy. It felt full of meaning.
During my first week back at work, I wore it every single day. I’d sit at my desk, catching up on a clogged inbox, look down at my hand, and remember how big and wonderful the world is. How small our daily stresses really are. I could feel my soul smiling.
Just a week after returning to London, I flew out to Switzerland to visit a close friend in Sion. On the day I had to myself, she suggested I take the Mont Blanc Express across the French border to Chamonix.
The weather was beautiful, and so was the view – easily one of the most scenic train rides of my life. I couldn’t believe that just a week after the Andes, I was back in the mountains. Of course, the Alps feel modest in scale compared to Peru. Cusco sits at 3,400 meters above sea level, and I had trekked as high as 5,200. Still, Mont Blanc is immense and majestic, standing at 4,803 meters as the highest peak in Western Europe.
I walked around the lovely town. Chamonix is famous as a ski destination, but I don’t ski; I was just happy to wander on a warm, sunny day with temperatures near 26°C. My plan was to take the famous cable car up to the Aiguille du Midi. At 3,842 meters up, the temperature would be entirely different, so I had packed a jumper, gloves, and a hat. Tickets sell out fast, but I had gotten lucky finding a spot for 1:00 PM just two days prior.
And that is where my sad story happens.
I was wearing my ring. Before boarding, I bought a sandwich and some fruit to eat outside. Afraid the alcohol in my hand sanitizer might damage the metal or stones, I slipped the ring off, set it down, and ate my lunch. Then I walked over to join the queue.
Do you see the missing step? I removed my ring. I ate. I left. I never put it back on.
The realisation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was literally stepping onto the cable car – no way to turn back – when I realised what I’d done. There was nothing I could do in that moment except ride up to the Aiguille, try to enjoy the experience I’d paid for, and pray the ring would still be sitting on that bench when I got back down.
By now, you know this story doesn’t have a happy ending. But before I shed my tearful words, allow me to remember how stunning the ascent was.
The skies were clear and the visibility was perfect. Blankets of white snow softened the sharp edges of the Alps, and you could see brave skiers carving paths down the slopes. Yet in the emotional state I was in – furious at my own carelessness, mourning the ring, but overwhelmed by the grandeur of the scenery – I completely forgot about my fear of heights, which only seems to get worse with age. I held onto the interior handrail for dear life inside the cable car, doing my best not to look straight down.
At the summit, the panoramic views are one of a kind. Jagged peaks molded by ice rise aggressively toward the sky like sharp canine teeth. The centerpiece is Mont Blanc itself. Someone like me – not a mountain climber by any stretch – tends to associate the name with luxury pens rather than extreme sports. But Mont Blanc is legendary in alpinism; the first successful ascent in 1786 is considered the birth of modern mountaineering.
Through the telescopes at the Aiguille du Midi viewpoints, I spotted tiny figures braving the cold and altitude. Looking at them, and later visiting the exhibit on early climbers who tackled these walls with primitive gear, I couldn’t help but wonder: What drives someone to do that? Is the survival instinct missing, or am I just a bit of a wimp? Instead of asking what they lack, maybe I should ask what extraordinary drive they possess that the rest of us don’t.
Before heading back down, still preoccupied by my missing ring, I bought a hot chocolate. The mountain air had chilled me to the bone.
The moment the cable car touched down at the base, I ran straight to the bench where I’d eaten lunch. I searched everywhere. Nothing. A few onlookers asked what I was looking for. When I mentioned a ring, their eyes widened with concern – was it gold? A diamond?
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” I said, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment. It wasn’t a diamond. It had no great monetary value. It was sterling silver with semi-precious stones from Peru, bought just a week ago. But to me, it was worth more than a diamond.
I didn’t try to explain all of that. I just checked the ticket office to see if anyone had turned it in. No. I asked the visitor center across the way. No. I even ran up to a young man sweeping the plaza to ask if he’d seen it. Nothing.
Defeated, I looked back up at the mountains. It felt bizarre to be so heartbroken over a piece of jewelry while standing in front of the vast, majestic scale of nature – feeling so tiny, fragile, and temporary. It’s just a ring, I told myself. I hoped whoever found it would appreciate it, and find joy in its colours. I thought about how Cusco and Chamonix were so different and yet would be forever connected in my memories – the colourful place that had given me the ring, and the greyscale one that had taken it away from me.
I sat down at an outdoor café and ordered a Pink Aperol Spritz to lift my spirits, writing in my journal about the loss. I knew, rationally, that it wasn’t a tragedy. It was a minor inconvenience that only someone privileged enough to be traveling could mourn. Feeling guilty about my sadness only made me feel more melancholic.
Later that evening, I took the Mont Blanc Express back to Sion, had a lovely dinner with my friend, and told her what happened. She understood. She didn’t dismiss it with a quick “it’s just a thing, you can buy another one.” She gave me permission to feel sad – more permission than I had given myself.
Part of me still wonders what it means to lose a ring that was meant to symbolize abundance. Deep down, I know it doesn’t mean the universe is denying me good fortune. After all, wasn’t I fortunate enough to be staying in Switzerland, taking day trips to Chamonix, and riding to the top of the Alps? Hadn’t I just a week before returned from an amazing trip to Peru, where I trekked the Andes and marvelled at Macchu Picchu?
Yet, in a quiet way, it felt as though some invisible balance had to be restored. As if life were reminding me: you can’t have everything completely perfect. Something always gives.
Love. Nic
Where I stayed in Sion (and recommend) : Holiday Inn Express & Suites Sion by IHG. Book here:
The Winged Bone 