We loved be able to walk out our door to head out for huge, all-day adventures. We loved waking up to the sun rising over glaciers and grassy meadows and living in towns where cars feel out of place. It’s something that will no-doubt bring us back to this part of the world, and it’s something that we’re trying to figure out how to take back to our part of the world, too.

Natalie and I set off one morning from our apartment to hike up nearly six thousand feet from Zermatt to the Hörnlihütte. For those of you that aren’t married to my wife, you can save yourself about four thousand feet of climbing by taking a gondola like a normal person; but, alas, this is what I signed up for when I proposed to her.

We couldn’t see anyone in any of the rooms, and there was no one waiting in the lounge area we were standing in. No one to take cues from or to ask questions.

Spa roulette? I said.

We found a glass door labeled Dampfbad, and I got excited.

I know what this is, I said to Natalie. Let’s start here.

Out the window of our train, people are cycling, mountain biking, paragliding, and white water rafting. It feels like we're traveling into a North Face commercial.

I can feel my heart beating in my chest. It's getting faster. I'm sweating. I picture myself unclipping both of my carabiners and falling seven hundred feet to my death. I wonder how long I would have in the air before I hit the ground. Would my body just explode? Would I die instantly, or would I have to bleed out for a while? What do you think about during the fall? Do you embrace your fate and try to think happy thoughts on the way down, or do you hold on to some absurd sliver of hope that you might survive? What should someone think about right before they die? Is there a right answer?

Despite what was supposed to be the lightest window of rainfall for the next 48 hours, Natalie and I returned from our hike completely drenched. It led me to start exploring a class-action lawsuit against GoreTex for using the phrase "Waterproof" to describe my jacket. We were in a place we'd dreamed of visiting, and we were getting absolutely smacked by the weather Gods.

Now, while I appreciate all kinds of gastronomic experiences, my truest love is for the bakery. And, after reading one food critic describe the people of Copenhagen as obsessed with baked goods, artisan coffee, and hygge, I knew I would feel at home in this Nordic metropolis.

Up. Down. Left. Right. The boat rocks up, down, left, and then right. And somewhere between one of the left and rights, I grab a takeout box and throw up everything I ate for breakfast that morning, as I’m laughing and crying about how ridiculous this moment is, and how we’ll remember this boat ride for the rest of our lives.

And now, here we are: four thousand and seventy-four miles from our house - in a place that most of our friends have never heard of - because of some advice my parents gave me fifteen years ago. What a wild life this is.