The Last Adventure

A Friendship Fourteen Years in the Making

"Swiss Alex" and "French Alex"—that's what people called us to tell us apart, because both of our names began with the same initials: A.B.

It was September 2012 when I first met French Alex in Hong Kong. We were both on exchange at HKU. Looking back, it's hard to explain exactly what brought us together. We were among the few science students in the exchange program, and compared with many of the other students, we both looked remarkably young. In Alex's case, it was simply because he was incredibly young. In my case, I suppose my biological clock has always ticked a little more slowly.

Despite the four-year age difference, we quickly connected over our shared fascination with the extraordinary city of Hong Kong, a growing passion for electronic music—something French Alex largely inspired—and the common struggle of surviving our coursework.

There are moments in life that have an asymmetrically large impact, just as there are a handful of people who profoundly shape the way you see the world. French Alex was one of those people. Despite the four-year age difference, he always seemed to be one step ahead of me. His first serious relationship had just ended while mine had only just begun. He secured his internship in his very first semester, whereas it took me two more to get there. Learning, in all its forms, seemed to come effortlessly to him, and his discipline consistently exceeded my own.

Although we often found ourselves pursuing the same opportunities, our relationship was never one of rivalry. He inspired and encouraged me to think bigger, pursue opportunities without fear, and face the world with openness and excitement. Somewhat strangely, I have often experienced his successes and failures almost as if they were my own.

When I look back at the defining moments of my life, French Alex appears with surprising regularity. Not because we have spent every year side by side, but because he has been there at so many of the moments that quietly changed the direction of my life.

Why Leave When Life Is Good?

Now, almost fourteen years after we first met in Hong Kong, our lives have begun to settle. We have careers that matter to us, partners with whom we hope to build a future, and lives that are becoming increasingly rooted. Perhaps that is why he feels like the right person with whom to close this chapter before the next one begins.

Adventure has always been a way of protecting the values that matter most to me: curiosity, self-determination, and the willingness to step into communities and worlds very different from my own.

In many ways, I already get to live those values every day. Zurich has become home—a city that attracts interesting people from all over the world—and building a startup at the intersection of science and technology allows me to satisfy my curiosity while constantly venturing into the unknown. It is deeply fulfilling.

The Simplicity of the Ocean

Yet, as anyone who has built a company will tell you, it also comes with an extraordinary intensity. Building a deep-tech company means solving exceptionally difficult problems across multiple disciplines. It is loud. The problems never stop. There is a constant sense of urgency, communication never really switches off, and your mind rarely leaves the work. You fall in love with the problem and slowly develop an obsession with building the best possible solution. It is hugely rewarding, but also all-encompassing.

At sea, the problems are no less real, but they are wonderfully simple. There are no emails, no meetings, no notifications, and no endless stream of competing priorities. Nature sets the agenda, not your calendar. Your attention narrows to what matters: the wind, the weather, your crew, and the boat beneath your feet.

In a world that increasingly rewards constant stimulation and perpetual connectivity, sailing demands the opposite. Presence replaces productivity. Patience replaces urgency. You cannot optimize the ocean or negotiate with the weather; you can only observe, adapt, and trust the people around you.

Why This Expedition?

Beyond what adventure means to me, there are a few things that make this particular expedition especially exciting. It follows an exceptionally rare route from the Lofoten Islands via the permit-only island of Jan Mayen to the remote east coast of Greenland aboard a one-of-a-kind polar expedition yacht built specifically for these waters. It is not a commercial trip but a self-organized journey among friends, where everyone shares the preparation, responsibility, and ownership of the expedition. Sailing is only one part of the experience; the plan is to climb mountains, cross glaciers, kayak, dive, fish, and explore each place as completely as possible. Most importantly, the expedition embraces uncertainty. The route will be determined by the weather and sea ice rather than by a fixed itinerary, and for five weeks we will trade constant connectivity for self-sufficiency, silence, and the rhythms of the natural world.

Growing Up

While writing this, I kept asking myself why this journey feels different from all the others. I think the answer has less to do with Greenland than with where I find myself in life, maturing potetntially even growing-up? What does it mean to grow up? Perhaps it is a little late to be asking that question at nearly thirty-seven.

Looking back, I increasingly think that growing up is a gradual process of seeing the world more clearly and developing a stronger sense of direction.

As an engineer, I can't help thinking of that process as adding sensors. Many of those sensors came from experiences that, at the time, simply felt like adventures. My time with Alex in Hong Kong, for example, opened an entirely new appreciation for music, culture, and ways of thinking that have enriched my life ever since. Every meaningful experience since then has added another perspective through which to understand both the world and myself.

As those perspectives accumulate, they gradually give rise to something equally important: direction. Direction is less about committing yourself to a single path than about developing a reliable compass—a set of values that helps you make decisions with greater clarity and intention.

With greater awareness and clearer direction comes focus. You begin choosing what is sustainable over what is merely exciting, depth over novelty, and the people who truly matter over the endless pursuit of new opportunities.

Looking back, Hong Kong was the beginning of a chapter of my life defined by exploration. This expedition feels like its natural counterpart: a return to the spirit of that first adventure before turning my attention more fully toward what comes next. The adventures of the past fourteen years were never separate from the life I am building today; they are the reason I am able to build it.

One More Voyage