Kebabs, Cold Nights, and Cozy Hearts in Zürich

There’s a new kind of religion in Zürich, and apparently, its temple is a kebab shop.

“Mit und Ohne,” the city’s latest Döner shrine, has people willingly waiting 40 minutes in line, braving the cold like it’s some spiritual test of loyalty. Don’t get me wrong, the kebab is good, juicy, saucy, perfectly grilled, but is it “freeze-your-toes-off-for-nearly-an-hour” good? I’d say… not quite.

But of course, when a friend insists you have to try it, you indulge. Because friendship, like kebab hype, comes with its own kind of peer pressure.

Since switching to part-time work, I’ve been more mindful about how I spend, less spontaneous nights out, and more strategic outings (read: wherever there’s free entry or food involved). Still, Zürich’s social scene has a way of keeping me included, friends inviting me left and right, free tickets to events or outings magically appearing in my DMs. There’s something special about feeling seen and thought of, even when your wallet says, “Please, no.”

And honestly, I can’t wait for the Christmas markets to start. Glühwein season is basically therapy in a cup. There’s nothing like wrapping your hands around that warm mug, surrounded by twinkling lights, the smell of roasted almonds and cinnamon pretending to solve all your problems.

The temperatures are already flirting with zero degrees, which means one thing: raclette season has officially arrived. Nights now often look like this: dinner at a friend’s place, laughter over melting cheese, a round or three of playing Impostor, coffee, wine, and hours of conversation that stretch deep into the night.

It’s in these small, cozy moments that I remember why I love Zürich so much. The city glows, not just from the fairy lights, but from the people who make it feel like home.

Still, “home” is a complicated word when your family is far away. Zürich is where I live and love, but my heart also beats hundreds of kilometers away, with my family, with my grandmother, who’s now going through chemo.

Not being there for her hurts in a way I can’t quite put into words. I’ll visit for a few days next week, but sometimes life feels like a balancing act that no one really teaches you how to perform.

Adulthood can be overwhelming, juggling jobs, emotions, distance, and bills all at once. But having people who show up, who celebrate the small wins, who keep you warm through long winters, that’s the real luxury.

And maybe that’s what I’m learning in this chapter: that joy doesn’t always come from the things we line up for, but from the people who wait with us in the cold.