ode to swiss army knife

I was chasing my teenage sons through the cobbled streets of Old Town Lucerne, Switzerland, last month when I came across a shop window filled with bright red folding knives. Suddenly, I was transported back to my 21-year-old self and felt a different pull to enter a Victorinox shop.

Twenty minutes later, I walked out with “”.mountaineerThe model Swiss Army knife is engraved with my initials, “LJ,” and I have a smile on my face. Flashing through my mind were visions of future scenarios where my new knife would come in handy – or save me, MacGyver-style – and memories of past adventures.

Decades ago, I, like many international 20-somethings, was roaming around Europe with a backpack and a Eurorail pass, and staying a few nights in a bunk room at the Balmers Hostel in Interlaken, Switzerland. I met some Australians, some Canadians, and two brothers from DC over the holidays. We went whitewater rafting (a first for me) and spent the day hiking among snow-capped giants. Before returning to Balmers we stayed a few nights in the mountain hostel of Gimmelwald – a village of simplicity and beauty that can only be reached by Gondola. I felt a mountain awakening in my coastal Southern California soul.

Before leaving Balmers, on the way to Italy by train, I bought a symbol of self-reliance from the hostel’s general store: a red Swiss Army knife.

Victorinox Swiss Army Knife

I took that knife across Europe for the rest of the trip, and it remains among my many memories. That was the time when I would walk for hours in Paris to find the perfect baguette, tomatoes and cucumbers, then have a picnic at the base of the Eiffel Tower, cutting my vegetables with my handy pocket knife and cracking cold soda with the knife’s bottle opener. And I remember how, after hiking a 12K route connecting the five fishing villages of Cinque Terre, Italy, in the sweltering August heat, I was whisked back to sanity and civilization by jumping into the Mediterranean Sea, then delighted to find that the knife had scissors to cut my broken toenails.

My Swiss Army Knife also gave me confidence whenever I felt in danger as a solo female traveller. Whenever I felt like sitting alone in the parks, I would take it out and pretend to clean the blade of a knife. When passing through rough areas, I would open the corkscrew tool and hold it tightly between the fingers of my closed fist.

In the US, my little multitool came in handy for simple tasks. I used it for random things like fixing loose screws on my crappy, old desk in my college apartment. In the fall, I took it on my first camping trip and I remember sitting on a rock beneath the granite giants of Yosemite Valley, hitting a stick with a blade just because.

The little tweezers, which were perfectly contained with my knives, whether in the backcountry or in civilization, were always on hand for taking out splinters, and were far more fun than using regular, boring tweezers. I used to open bottles when no one else could (hero!), and impress male roommates when no one could find a screwdriver: “Wait! I have one!”

I use the nail file and toothpick for a variety of tasks – not just for filing nails or picking my teeth. Need a sharp object to open a salt shaker? I have a plastic toothpick right here! Does the edge of a splintered canoe paddle need to be smoothed? I have a nail file!

My Swiss Army knife became a symbol of self-reliance, resourcefulness, and courage, a knife that always seemed imminent.

When, on one of those adventures, the TSA agent took my trusty knife out of my carry-on bag – oops, my bad – and I didn’t have time to get out of the line and pass it on to myself, my heart broke a little. This was years ago, and for some reason, I never changed it. Maybe somewhere in my mind, I felt like I needed to go back to Switzerland to properly change this.

In the years to come, my beloved Swiss Army Knife didn’t take up much space in my mind – until that store window in Lucerne brought it back to life.

I know several other brands make highly functional multitools. Some are built to handle more heavy-duty tasks with stainless steel frames and locking mechanisms. Some are designed to cut the wire and deploy critically gripping pliers. But my little red Swiss Army knife is loaded not only with tools but also with sentimental value. It’s remarkable how much emotion a simple piece of gear can evoke.

Holding my new Swiss Army knife makes me feel like a 21-year-old backpacker again, resourceful and capable. And it still makes me feel like a self-reliant and adventurous traveler and outdoorswoman. I get all that without deploying a single tool.