Switzerland is a small, steep country, much more up and down than

Opening Scene

The afternoon sun hung low over the Swiss Alps, casting long shadows across the village below. The air was crisp, tinged with the faint scent of pine and snow. Jack sat on the wooden bench outside a small café, his eyes following the distant, jagged peaks of the mountains. Flakes of snow began to fall gently, adding a soft layer of white over the cobblestone streets. Jeeny stood near the edge of the café, looking up at the towering buildings, each one more imposing than the last, their architecture oddly out of place against the breathtaking natural beauty of the landscape.

Host: The world around them seemed to hold its breath, as though nature itself had paused for a moment to listen. The mountains, ever-present, felt like silent observers of the small scene unfolding below. Jeeny’s voice broke the silence, soft yet filled with wonder.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, I’ve always heard that Switzerland is like no other place in the world. They say the mountains are so steep, they don’t really have any flat ground. But looking around, all I see are big, bulky hotels. It's like they’re trying to force nature into a mold that just doesn’t fit.”

Jack: Glances at her, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watches a tourist fumble with a camera. “You don’t like the style of things here, do you? The hotels kind of look like they’re trying too hard to be part of the landscape, like they’ve been dropped in from another era. Not what you expected?”

Host: The wind picks up, carrying a distant echo of a cowbell from across the valley. Jeeny’s gaze drifts to the buildings, her expression pensive.

Jeeny: “They don’t belong here, Jack. The mountains are so grand, and yet the buildings seem like they’re competing with them. It’s almost as if the beauty of the land is being lost in all this artifice. The hotels look like they were built on top of the mountain, trying to fit into something unnatural. It’s like they’ve got that cuckoo clock style — old, but not really meaningful. Do you think the Swiss even care about it?”

Jack: Laughs softly, shaking his head, the lines around his eyes deepening as he takes a sip from his coffee. “It’s all about tradition, Jeeny. The Swiss love their traditions. They may look like giant cuckoo clocks, but they’re proud of them. Tourists come here to see the beauty, but they also come for the charm of the old world. They like that stuff. It’s comforting.”

Host: The café is a warm oasis in the middle of the quiet town. The faint sound of a piano playing in the background fills the air, a melancholy tune that echoes the underlying tension between Jeeny’s idealism and Jack’s practicality. Jeeny stares at the hotel across the street, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup.

Jeeny: “But at what cost, Jack? Tradition is one thing, but when you’re in a place like this, don’t you feel like it should be about the mountains? The landscape, the wildness of it all? These buildings feel like they’re covering it up. They don’t let the land speak for itself. It’s like a veil over something authentic, something real.”

Jack: He leans back in his chair, his voice casual, yet with an undertone of thoughtfulness. “Maybe it’s all part of the experience, Jeeny. You come for the mountains, sure, but you stay for the comfort. The hotels — they’re not meant to compete with the landscape. They’re there to offer you a way to experience it without having to struggle with the harshness of the real mountain life. Not everyone wants to climb a peak just to see a view.”

Host: The light flickers from the overhead lamp, casting a soft glow across the table. The snow outside begins to fall harder, a curtain of white that blurs the lines between land and sky. Jeeny takes a slow breath, her fingers gripping her cup more tightly.

Jeeny: “I don’t think it’s about comfort, Jack. It’s about the soul of the place. The landscape is so much more than a backdrop. It’s alive, it has its own story, its own character. These hotels... they try to frame it in a way that makes it easy to consume, but they don’t let it be authentic. Hemingway once said, ‘Switzerland is a small, steep country, much more up and down than sideways, and is all stuck over with large brown hotels built on the cuckoo clock style of architecture.’ Doesn’t that just make it feel like the mountains are being drowned out by all this faux tradition?”

Jack: His eyes narrow thoughtfully as he takes another sip from his glass, the quiet around them wrapping them both in a cocoon of reflection. “Maybe. But people want the familiar, Jeeny. They want to come to Switzerland, see the mountains, and feel like they’re living in a story. These buildings, these cuckoo clocks, they’re a part of that story. They give people a piece of what they want — nostalgia, comfort, beauty in a way that feels safe.”

Host: The conversation hangs in the air like the soft mist rising from the ground outside. The mountains loom large in the distance, but their presence feels distant, muted by the human-made world below. Jeeny looks out the window, her expression softening as the snow continues to fall.

Jeeny: “Maybe they want the story, Jack, but I think the real story is in the mountains themselves. The untamed beauty, the wildness. These buildings are trying to sell a version of it, but the real experience is out there, in the rawness of it all. Sometimes, I think we get so caught up in what we’ve created, we forget the truth of the world that was here long before we built anything.”

Jack: He watches her for a moment, the soft light casting shadows across his face. “I get that, Jeeny. But not everyone’s ready for that truth, are they? Some people need the comfort before they can handle the real world. And I don’t think the mountains mind being part of the story — they’re endless, no matter how many hotels try to take the credit.”

Host: The snow continues to fall, soft and silent, blanketing the world outside in white. Inside the café, their words hang in the air, the quiet between them filled with a mutual understanding. The mountains, towering and eternal, stand as the silent witnesses to their debate, undisturbed, unmoved by the buildings below.

End.