In 2008, I was a lawyer in Istanbul, working day and night with two partners. We had our boutique law office in a rather good location close to the center. My life was a carousel of contracts, negotiations, endless meetings, full of execution proceedings and long client visits. The evenings were filled with dinners, drinks, and parties—always a different group of friends, always somewhere to go.
Home, technically, was still my parents’ house where I was born, grew up, and became an adult. But I treated it like a hotel with full service. Laundry was magically done, food was waiting in the kitchen, though I was hardly ever there to eat it, and my clothes were always carefully pressed. I was a guest in my own family home—dropping in late at night, disappearing early in the morning, leaving only the trace of a shadow.
And then there was my friend—the Matchmaker. She had made it her personal mission to find me “the perfect man”. Ideally, someone from her inner circle, so we could all be together forever.
She tried. Oh, how she tried. After a few failed attempts, she decided to think outside the box.
“One of my very good friends lives in Switzerland,” she announced one day. “And his best friend… he might be a potential.”
Apparently, this mysterious best friend was even scheduled to come to Istanbul for business for a couple of days that fall. Maybe a meeting could be arranged. He came sometime in October, but he never contacted my friend. Alea iacta est—the dice were cast, but nothing happened… yet.
So she hatched another plan. She would spend a month in Lausanne for her academic research in February 2009, and during that time, she invited me and one of my partners to come and visit her.
“It will be fun,” she said. “And maybe…” (there was always a “maybe”).
The truth was, it was a great opportunity. Free accommodation, just the plane tickets to cover. We used our credit card miles, booked the flights, and off we went. Carpe diem—seize the day.
Geneva — February 5, 2009
Our first stop was Geneva, and from the very beginning, it felt like stepping into another world. The air was crisp, the kind of cold that bites your cheeks but makes you feel alive.
We strolled along the banks of Lac Léman, watching swans glide as if they owned the water. The Jet d’Eau shot proudly into the sky, almost defiant against the winter gray. We crossed the bridges, stopping in the middle just to breathe in the view: the water below, the mountains in the distance, and the city wrapped around us like a jewel.
The old town was a maze of cobbled streets and hidden squares. We climbed up to Cathédral Saint-Pierre, where the bells echoed through the chilly air, and peeked into small antique shops and cafés tucked between centuries-old walls.
That evening, we met with my Matchmaker, and then we, all three ladies, found ourselves in a little bar, sipping wine and laughing about nothing in particular. The city was quieter than Istanbul for sure, but there was something intoxicating about its calm precision. It felt as if Geneva itself was whispering: Festina lente—make haste slowly.
It was cold, yes—but the excitement of traveling to a new country kept us warm. And maybe, just maybe, the wine helped too.
Lausanne
Our next stop was Lausanne. A completely different city, perched dramatically above the lake. Younger, livelier, more playful than Geneva. Its streets twisted steeply up and down, cafés spilled with laughter, and students filled the air with energy.
We stayed two days, soaking in the atmosphere. One evening, we had cheese fondue with your father’s best friend, not realizing yet how connected our stories were becoming.
Bern and Zurich — February 8, 2009
On February 8, we continued our journey. We stopped in Bern, had lunch, and played like children under the snowflakes. Then the train carried us on to Zurich Hauptbahnhof.
Zurich welcomed us with snow and light. From the station, we stepped into the winter air, and I was instantly enchanted. At Central, next to the Coop, I stopped.
“Hello, Zurich,” I whispered.
And what a hello it was. The Limmat glided calmly through the city, the lake shimmered beyond, and the mountains rose proudly in the distance. Framing it all were the towers of Grossmünster and the graceful silhouette of Fraumünster. A postcard came alive.
We went to the apartment where we would stay—three girls sharing one room, like a school trip. We had a reservation for dinner at a restaurant in Niederdorf, the cobblestoned old quarter of winding alleys, warm lights, and laughter echoing between medieval walls.
A Wrong Turn
“The appointment “was set for 18:00. My friend had called him—your father—and he had agreed to meet us.
We left for the meeting point but, in classic fashion, took the wrong direction and ended up at Central, looking around for him. He wasn’t there.
Here, I urge you to remember my first story now—taking the right bus in the wrong direction. Once again, I thought I had arrived at the right place, but it was not the case.
We retraced our steps, laughing at ourselves, and finally reached the crime scene: La Terrasse.
And there he was.
Waiting in front of the restaurant. Well dressed. Elegant. His care, his attention to detail, struck me immediately.
We began with drinks, then he joined us for dinner. Conversation flowed easily—laughter, stories, ideas tumbling over each other. Later, he suggested a last drink. But Zurich on a Sunday night didn’t offer many choices. We ended up back at La Terrasse, closing the circle.
Around midnight, we said goodbye.
It had been a wonderful evening—so much fun, so much warmth. At the time, I didn’t know that this goodbye was not an ending, but a beginning. That this man would become my partner, and that Zurich would one day be my home.
His Side of the Story
Meanwhile, your father had just returned from Laax. Tired from skiing, sunburned, and facing an early morning at work the following day, he almost cancelled.
At the last minute, he changed his mind. Fortuna audaces iuvat—fortune favors the brave.
And that decision changed everything.
Later, my partner revealed a surprise: under the table, she had secretly taken three photos of us. The first time we met. How lucky I am.
Those photos remain among my most precious belongings. They show us leaning forward, curious, smiling, unaware of the story just beginning.
Lessons to my kids:
- Sometimes the best plans are improvised. A friend`s invitation, a short trip with tickets bought on miles—it seemed random, but it changed everything.
- Show up. Your father almost didn’t. If he had stayed home, none of you would be here.
- A goodbye can turn out to be a new beginning. Endings are sometimes beginnings in disguise.
- Treasure the small things. Even secret photos taken under a table can become your most precious keepsakes.
Note for my 80-plus-year-old self:
Remember this, old lady:
- It was February 8, 2009. Zurich. Snow falling, lights glowing, laughter flowing.
- You said hello to Zurich, and to the man who became the love of your life.
- Your friend’s determination, your partner’s secret photos, and his decision not to cancel—all of these threads wove together into the fabric of your life.
- Keep those photos safe. They remind you that fate works quietly, often under the table, with a shaky hand on the camera.
And next time you are tempted to say no, remember: sometimes the smallest yes can change everything.
Post scriptum: Amor vincit omnia—love conquers all.
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