IT IS A SILENT NIGHT, 10 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS. The streets of Zermatt are dressed up in twinkling lights, Christmas trees, Santas of varying sizes and shapes. Plow machines pass by occasionally, clearing snow and sludge off the roads, leaving it glossy enough to reflect all the lights. I pull down my beanie, tuck my hands inside the pocket of my parka and continue walking towards my hotel.
The tingle of what sounds like a xylophone forces me to take a detour. Above the door of one of the closed shops is a band of little people carved out of wood. There’s a drummer and a xylophonist lit by a single bulb, and as I approach, they play a little song that makes me smile.
Christmastime in Zermatt is truly magical. The town becomes a meeting point for ski enthusiasts during the day; in the evenings, there are small pubs playing festive music while its patrons huddle
