Marlise Kast-Myers | Tribune News Service It was a check-the-box trip, one intended to fill our quota to earn my husband possible Swiss citizenship. With dual nationality, I’m fortunate enough to hold the coveted red passport due to my family bloodline. Having spent my mid-20s in the Alps, I tucked the notion in my mind, that perhaps one day, my husband could also carry one of the world’s most powerful passports.
Easier said than done. After 12 years of marriage, we started with the initial paperwork, followed by an essay (in German) as to why he wanted to become a Swiss citizen. During the process, we delivered a library’s worth of documents, ranging from financial reports to letters of recommendation.
Next were in-person interviews at the nearest Swiss consulate, which happened to be in San Francisco. Thus, we flew from our home in San Diego for verbal tests — again, in German. After hours of studying, plus spending thousands in application fees, there was no turning back.
The good news was we passed almost every phase; the bad news was that we hadn’t visited Switzerland enough to prove our allegiance. The fact that the pandemic had closed travel didn’t matter. We still had to make three trips over five years.
This meant we were one trip short of hopefully waving the white-cross flag. And so, we packed our bags, adopting the mindset that this trip would double as a spring-skiing getaway during our qualifying trial. Seven days would introduce us to the French mun.