If Davos didn't want to 'save the world'

Imagine Davos without the annual parade of billionaires and heads of state in cashmere scarves explaining inequality to each other over fondue. Instead, picture a sleepy Alpine town, where the only summit worth climbing is the ski slope. In this alternate universe, Davos remains what it was in the 19th c.: a health resort. Instead of CEOs, economists, journalists and members of the Mar-a-Lago Club, rheumatologists reign supreme. The most heated debate in town is not about Greenland, Ukraine or climate change, but whether waxing skis with yak butter improves glide.

The only 'global forum' in this happy version is the Spengler Cup ice hockey tournament every December, where Canadians and Russians bash each other with sticks, while Swiss hoteliers quietly raise room rates. The Soviet Union might have collapsed earlier had its forwards been less obsessed with neutral-zone traps. Canadian delegates insist that free trade means swapping goalie pads. Davos never becomes a stage for earnest PPTs, Ted Talks about 'inclusive growth', and non-Europeans playing Europeans. Instead, it's remembered for its mulled wine, suspiciously efficient ski lifts, and its ability to have a rack of bubbling fondue be magically shared by folks who wouldn't have otherwise exchanged a greeting. In this alpine idyll, maybe, just maybe, the world is better off.