Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Heidi, for whose whole world was the mountains. I read her story when I was a child. I imagined myself running with her on the green pastures, and I think I even tasted the delicious flavor of warm bread with goat cheese. Today, I'm not so sure that Heidi really existed, but I know that the mountains in her story are as real as can be. Just as real are the endless meadows, the wooden huts, the goats whose bells make the music of the place, and the white cheese, perfect for eating with fresh bread.

For someone caught up in city life, living among green pastures, under a blue sky, motionless above snow-capped peaks, seems like a dream. It's hard to imagine days flowing peacefully, at the pace of nature, when you're surrounded by hustle and bustle, social norms, and the words of grown-ups. And yet, a visit to the Alps can transport you for a few moments to a life far away from the frenzied world.

Once you reach the top, you are overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the place, and your mind is emptied of everything you left behind at the foot of the mountain. If you stand still and say nothing, you begin to hear a silence that is not quite silence: you hear the wind, you hear rustling and something diffuse, like a constant echo. Sometimes I get the impression that the mountain has its own sound. I don't know if it's the air hitting the unyielding rocks or the breath of nature vibrating with life.

In this complete silence, you lose yourself and find yourself at the same time. The mountain reminds you that you are small in a big world and that very little is under your control. In a moment like this, I loved hearing my friend say: "I just want to sit down and say a prayer." We sat down on the soft grass and listened to the unspoken sounds of the mountain. I couldn't hear my thoughts; they had stayed down below, far away, with all the worries and trivialities of everyday life.

I wondered what makes people want to reach the top. The desire to be above the world? The illusion of conquering an untamed place? Why does beauty become a challenge? Why does admiration turn into a desire for domination?

I asked myself these questions as I ran from one cable car to another, checking off peaks and views. And the more spectacular the scenery became, the more aware I became of the dangers of the mountain. I realized that I hadn't made peace with the idea of climbing something so big, as if size were something to be conquered. I thought of Heidi. I'm sure she wouldn't have wanted to climb crevasses or queue for the perfect shot. For most of us, a life like hers remains just a fantasy. But that's precisely why her story appeals to us: a relationship with the mountain that needs no souvenirs.

I understood why Heidi never wanted to leave her mountain. She wasn't a tourist, she was at home. We, on the other hand, have no little cottage in the mountains and must return to the noise of everyday life. But even so, we can learn to see the mountain through her eyes. And, to a small extent, that's what I did: I sat down on a blanket, ate slowly, without rushing, and stayed there just to look.

Beyond the views from the peaks of Europe, I remained with something that cannot be checked off a list: a peacefulness like that of Heidi. Perhaps I will never know if she truly existed. However, if a little girl once lived with her grandfather and goats on those green pastures at the foot of the Alps, then, no matter how spectacular the Alps may be for today's tourists, she knew them better than anyone else.