Ode to a Swiss Army Knife

I was following my teenage sons down the cobblestone streets of Lucerne, Switzerland’s Old Town last month when a store window full of bright red folding knives caught my eye. Suddenly, I was transported back to my 21-year-old self and felt a distinct pull to enter the Victorinox shop.

Twenty minutes later, I walked out carrying a “Mountaineer” model Swiss Army Knife engraved with my initials, “L.J.”, and wearing a grin on my face. My mind flashed between visions of future scenarios where my new knife would come in handy—or save me, McGyver-style—and memories of past adventures.

Decades prior, I’d been roaming around Europe with a backpack and a Eurorail Pass, like many international 20-somethings, and was staying a few nights in a bunk room at Balmers Hostel in Interlaken, Switzerland. I’d met some Australians on holiday, a couple Canadians, and two brothers from D.C. The pack of us whitewater rafted (a first for me) and spent days hiking among snowcapped giants. We stayed a couple nights at Gimmelwald’s Mountain Hostel—a hamlet of simplicity and beauty reached only by gondola—before returning to Balmers. I felt a mountain awakening in my beachy Southern California soul.

Before leaving Balmers, en route to Italy by train, I bought myself a token of self-sufficiency from the hostel’s general store: a red Swiss Army Knife.

Victorinox Swiss Army Knife

I carried that knife around Europe for the remainder of the trip, and it features in many of my memories. There was the time I walked for hours in Paris to find the perfect baguette, tomatoes, and cucumbers, then had a picnic at the base of the Eiffel Tower, slicing up my vegetables with my handy pocket knife and cracking a cold soda with the knife’s bottle opener. And I recall how, after hiking the 12K route that connects the five fishing villages of Italy’s Cinque Terre in sweltering August heat, I inched back towards cleanliness and civility by jumping in the Mediterranean, then was delighted to find that the knife had scissors to clip my battered toenails.

My Swiss Army Knife also gave me confidence whenever I felt threatened as a solo female traveler. I would take it out and pretend to clean the knife blade when I felt I was being watched by creepy men while I sat by myself in parks. When walking through sketchy areas, I’d open the corkscrew implement and hold it tightly between the fingers of my clenched fist.

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

The tiny tweezers, nested away perfectly in my knife, were always close at hand for pulling out splinters whether in the backcountry or in civilization, and way more fun than using regular, boring tweezers. I’d open bottles when no one else could (hero!), and impress male roommates when no one could find a screwdriver: “Wait! I have one!”

I used the nail file and toothpick for a wide variety of tasks—not just filing nails or picking my teeth. Need a sharp object to unclog a salt shaker? I have a plastic toothpick right here! Need to smooth down an edge of a splintering canoe paddle? I have a nail file!

My Swiss Army Knife came to symbolize self-sufficiency, resourcefulness, and adventure, which the knife always made seem imminent.

When, on one of those adventures, the TSA agent pulled my trusty knife from my carry-on bag—oof, my bad—and I didn’t have time to exit the line and ship it to myself, my heart broke a little. That was years ago, and for some reason, I never replaced it. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt like I needed to be back in Switzerland to properly replace it.

In the ensuing years, my cherished Swiss Army Knife hadn’t taken up much space in my brain—until that store window in Lucerne brought it all back.

I know many 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 through wire and deploy seriously gripping pliers. But my little red Swiss Army Knife is packed not just with tools but also with sentimental value. It’s remarkable just how much emotion a simple piece of gear can create.

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