THE WONDER OF SOLITUDE: A WRITER’S JOURNEY TO TRÉLEX (SWITZERLAND)
So, you are thinking of going for a creative residency. Good. You’ve thought about it long enough, haven’t you? That dull ache inside you that keeps whispering, you must go. You have convinced yourself that you deserve alone time to work on your project. That quiet urge has been waiting.
I understand. I have been working on a novel for the past ten years. Perhaps you, too, like me, will arrive here with unfinished words, a blank canvas or a void waiting to be filled. By now, you must have confirmed everything with Rebecca. The dates are set. Your mind is already wandering the Swiss landscape, pacing the narrow village streets, inhaling the crisp air of the Jura mountains.
You will need a ticket to Geneva. No, it’s not just a ticket—a decision. I booked for at least 23kg of baggage because, believe me, three weeks is not what you think, and you will need your clothes, notebooks, and other paraphernalia for your craft. If you plan to stay longer, book more weight.
Have you spoken to your mobile provider? No? Do it now. I learned this the hard way. Once, while in Portugal, the mobile company assured me that roaming would activate automatically. It didn’t. I found myself stranded outside my accommodation, with the reception in a separate building—quite far and I had no connection. Left with no other option, I walked into a nearby restaurant, asked for their Wi-Fi password, and spent the next forty-five minutes arguing with the phone vendor. Naturally, I had to order a glass of apple juice to justify my stay. Save yourself the hassle. Unless you prefer to be unreachable—which, I must admit, isn’t a bad idea. The transition should be smooth if you’re from the UK or another European country. Just ensure you have a roaming pass—typically for fifteen days, then extend it based on your stay. The other is to check for the charger. I bought two chargers in the UK, but it did not work. So, make sure you research this, as ordering from Amazon without checking the actual one can disappoint you.
Bring packets of soup, noodles, porridge, tea, and coffee. They are expensive in Switzerland, and you will be grateful for small comforts.
So let’s start from Geneva. Once you land, you will see the mountains. The first sight of them will delight you, perhaps even make you happy enough to reach for your phone and take a picture through the thick airport glass.
I came here to finish the last chapter. That was the excuse I gave myself. But you know the truth, don’t you? We don’t come to places like this just to finish. We come here also to remember why we started.
One day, Nina, the residency director, said, “You are a writer. I think you get bored working in just one place. Set up tables around the residency.” So, I did. One desk stood just outside my room, where the window opened to a green field. A thin silhouette of the Jura Mountains appeared like Chinese paintings against the clouds. I felt blessed to witness the nests of birds tightly woven into the treetops. I imagine their chicks stretching their tiny wings, preparing for the moment they would take flight.
Trélex is not like other residencies. It does not suffocate you with schedules or burden you with expectations. You are free to work or not to work. To stare at a blank page for hours or to fill it recklessly. And yet, you will feel a responsibility—not just to yourself, but to the countless others who will come after you, who will sit at these desks and wrestle with their own words. You will understand that solitude is a privilege, and with privilege comes duty.
Afternoon slips into evening. Then, quietly, it becomes night. You’re still at the desk, staring at the blank screen. Waiting. And something arrives—a line, a thought or an urge. Not because you forced it. But because you sat there long enough to let the silence do its work.
Each place gave me something different: the mountains, a sense of time beyond myself; the village, the fleeting texture of the everyday; the room taught me to sit still and trust the silence.
When you leave, you’ll carry Trélex with you. Not as a story to tell or a photo to post but as something quieter: a memory folded inside you. A stroke of happiness that, for a time, you lived and wrote in a place that asked nothing of you except your presence. And that, my friend, is everything.
On a sunny day, you might want to visit La Cure or St. Cergue. Unfortunately, I never made it to La Cure, though it was just a 45-minute journey from Trélex. The village is home to a fascinating hotel that straddles two countries—half in Switzerland and half in France. In some rooms, you could sleep with your head in Switzerland and your feet in France.
This hotel also has a remarkable history. During World War II, Hitler’s army was permitted to climb seven steps within the premises but was stopped at the eighth, as crossing it would have meant stepping into neutral Switzerland. The hotel’s owner played a courageous role, secretly sheltering hundreds of Jewish refugees during the war.
Instead, I got off at St. Cergue, a quiet Alpine village covered with a thin sheath of snow. I walked slowly through its narrow streets, the snow falling in soft, steady flakes, settling on rooftops and fence rails until I reached the ski centre. If you too go there, stop by the café. The girl behind the counter smiled and said something in French. I asked about the mushroom soup, and she answered in French again. I didn’t catch a word of it, but I liked that. There’s something beautiful about not understanding—The strangeness of it. In that not-knowing, there was a kind of freedom. And in that freedom, I felt quietly, unexpectedly happy.
In between your residency, take a day off and go to Yvoire. It is a beautiful medieval village across the water from Nyon, accessible by a short ferry ride. Nestled on the French side of Lake Geneva, it feels like stepping into a storybook. Don’t forget to take your passport. Cobbled streets wind past stone houses draped in flowers, and small cafés spill onto quiet squares. The village is known for its preserved charm, ancient ramparts, and the magical Garden of Five Senses. From every corner, you catch glimpses of the lake. You will find a bench in the sun, a cat asleep on a doorstep, and the sound of a bell from an old church.
And suddenly, three weeks are gone. Time to leave. I didn’t finish all my writing, but I don’t mind. I’m taking back something just as valuable—the quiet, the mountains, the memory of Switzerland in winter. And the hope that one day, I’ll return to this village, to its stillness, and to the stories still waiting to be written.
By: Nabin K Chhetri
Nabin K. Chhetri is a poet and writer based in Scotland with a background in both prose and poetry. He holds an M.St in Creative Writing from Oxford University and an M.Litt. in The Novel from the University of Aberdeen.
As a creative writing tutor, he has conducted workshops and readings at esteemed institutions such as Oxford University and Robert Gordon University. Recognized by the Scottish Book Trust, he regularly leads creative workshops for diverse audiences.
Nabin recently won The Book Edit’s Writer’s Prize 2025 and the Reedsy Scholarship. His novel-in-progress, The Red Moon Trails, was shortlisted for the Jessie Kesson Fellowship 2023. An extract (21,000 words) of his fiction was selected by Creative Scotland in collaboration with the Association of Scottish Literary Agents (ASLA) and recognized in The Bridport Prize (Top 7%). He was shortlisted for Bloomsbury’s Writers & Artists Working-Class Writer’s Prize 2019 and the Charles Pick Fellowship at the University of East Anglia. He was also longlisted for the Paul McVeigh Residency in Ireland.
Nabin can be reached at https://nabinkchhetri.com
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