I Went to the New 'Silo' in Switzerland: The Strangest Hotel I've Ever Stayed At

I have a thing for weird hotels. I've slept in a converted prison in Slovenia, a treehouse in Costa Rica, and an ice hotel in Sweden. So when I heard about the Null Stern Hotel—a converted nuclear bunker in the Swiss Alps—I booked it immediately. No windows. No heating. No escape. What could possibly go wrong?

The hotel is located in Teufen, a small village in northeastern Switzerland. It was originally built during the Cold War as a fallout shelter for 300 people. The Swiss government decommissioned it in the 1990s, and a group of artists converted it into a hotel in 2020. I arrived last Thursday, and honestly, I wasn't sure what to expect.

First Impressions: The Bunker That Time Forgot

Let me paint you a picture. The entrance is a massive blast door, about a foot thick, painted army green. You have to press a buzzer, and a voice crackles through an intercom: "Welcome to Null Stern. Please wait." The door swings open with a hydraulic hiss, and you step into a concrete tunnel that smells like damp earth and industrial cleaner.

The lobby is a single room with a concrete floor, a metal desk, and a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The check-in process involves signing a waiver that says, and I quote, "I understand this is a former nuclear bunker and accept the associated risks." Risks? What risks? I asked the manager, a cheerful guy named Lukas. He laughed and said, "The only risk is boredom." Spoiler: he was wrong.

The hotel has 12 rooms, each converted from the original sleeping quarters. My room was about 150 square feet—smaller than my apartment's living room. The walls are bare concrete. The bed is a metal frame with a foam mattress. There's a small table, a chair, and a lamp. That's it. No TV, no mini-fridge, no windows. The only light comes from the lamp and a small red emergency light above the door.

Lukas explained that the hotel is designed to be "the ultimate minimalist experience." Guests are encouraged to disconnect from technology and embrace the silence. "You will hear nothing," he said. "No birds, no traffic, no neighbors. Just your own thoughts." That sounded either meditative or terrifying. I was about to find out.

The First Night: Silence Like I've Never Known

I'm a light sleeper. My apartment faces a busy street in Zurich, and I've grown used to the constant hum of traffic. But in the bunker? Nothing. Absolute zero. The first time I lay down, I could hear my own heartbeat. I could hear my breathing. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It was disorienting.

I tried to sleep, but my brain kept waiting for a sound that never came. After an hour, I got up and walked the corridor. The lights are motion-activated, so they flicker on as you pass. The hallway stretches for about 100 meters, lined with identical doors. It felt like being in a sci-fi movie. I half expected to see a monster at the end.

I eventually fell asleep around 2 a.m., but I woke up at 4 a.m. disoriented. Without any light, I had no sense of time. My phone said 4 a.m., but my body felt like it was noon. I lay there for what felt like an hour, staring at the blackness. It was the most alone I've ever felt.

The Bunker's Dark Side: Claustrophobia and Panic

Around 5 a.m., I started to feel panicky. The walls felt like they were closing in. I tried to remind myself that I could leave anytime—the door wasn't locked. But the psychological weight of being underground, surrounded by concrete, was overwhelming. I got up, walked to the lobby, and found Lukas making coffee. He saw my face and said, "First time?" I nodded. He poured me a cup and said, "It happens to everyone. The first night is the hardest."

He told me that about 20% of guests ask to leave after the first few hours. Some people just can't handle the silence and the confinement. "We had a woman last month who checked in, walked to her room, and came back five minutes later saying she couldn't do it," Lukas said. "It's not for everyone."

I decided to tough it out. I drank my coffee, did some deep breathing, and eventually calmed down. By 7 a.m., I felt okay. The breakfast was served in a small dining room—bread, cheese, jam, and coffee. Simple but good. I ate alone, listening to the sound of my own chewing. It was weirdly peaceful.

The Daytime Experience: Exploring the Bunker

After breakfast, Lukas offered me a tour. The bunker is surprisingly large. There's a decontamination room with showers and chemical suits (still hanging on hooks from the Cold War). There's a command center with old radios and maps of Switzerland. And there's a generator room with three massive diesel engines that could power the bunker for weeks.

The most surreal part was the "emergency exit"—a tunnel that leads to a hidden door in a nearby forest. Lukas showed me the exit, and I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. The contrast was jarring. Bright sunlight, birds singing, the smell of pine trees. I stood there for ten minutes, just soaking it in.

I asked Lukas why anyone would choose to stay in a bunker when they could be outside. He smiled and said, "Because sometimes you need to go underground to appreciate what's above." That's the hotel's philosophy. They want guests to experience discomfort and isolation so they can appreciate comfort and connection.

Is it worth it? I'm not sure. The experience is genuinely unique, but it's not a vacation. It's more like a psychological experiment. You're paying to be uncomfortable, which sounds crazy when I write it out. But there's something valuable about confronting your own limits.

The Second Night: Finding Peace

I decided to stay a second night, and it was completely different. I had learned to embrace the silence. I brought a book (Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five, fittingly about war and survival) and read by the lamp. Without distractions, I finished 200 pages in one sitting. I meditated for the first time in months. I actually slept through the night.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, I felt refreshed. Not just physically, but mentally. The constant noise of modern life—notifications, traffic, conversations—had been stripped away. My brain felt quieter. Lukas was right: the bunker forced me to sit with myself.

Final Thoughts: Should You Book It?

The Null Stern Hotel is not for everyone. If you're claustrophobic, don't go. If you need constant stimulation, don't go. If you're looking for a romantic getaway with your partner, definitely don't go (the walls are thin, and you'll hear everything).

But if you're curious about pushing your boundaries, if you want an experience that's genuinely unlike anything else, if you need a digital detox that's actually enforced by concrete walls? Book it. It's weird, uncomfortable, and strangely beautiful.

I left on Saturday afternoon, stepping out into the Swiss sunshine. The birds were singing, the air was fresh, and I felt grateful for every sound. The bunker taught me something: sometimes you need to sit in the dark to appreciate the light.

Would I do it again? Maybe. But I'll bring a better book and a thicker blanket. And maybe a nightlight.