When I was nineteen, I hadn’t known, or noticed or cared, but the hotel had a name, a famous one: Das Waldhaus Sils. This grande dame of a hotel—the “house in the woods”—had attracted a century’s worth of Nietzschean pilgrims: Thomas Mann, Theodor Adorno, Carl Jung, Primo Levi, and, by far my favorite, Hermann Hesse.
