Geneve for the Day

We slipped across Switzerland from Zurich on a train so quiet that we whispered to each other from our respective facing seats.

A man of Indian origin guided the hospitality cart expertly down the carriage’s narrow aisle but Lynda and I were too shy to ask for a fancy sandwich or a drink.

He smiled at us, but he too was shy and didn’t speak. He could tell where we were from. Everyone in Switzerland speaks English.

On this night Geneve was not about exploration, it was an awkward haul down the street on the train station’s Place de Cornavin past soot covered buildings that seemed neglected and passé in this part of town. This was the direction of our hotel.

New Swiss, the proprietors of empty café’s sat sipping on drinks with lonely new friends from the old country. They’ve learned not to heckle passing female tourists, but it’s clearly in their constitution. It’s too sedate for them here. It’s boring.

They smile, they’re kind of laughing at us, and they’re thinking, “What’s it all about in this orderly country, anyhow?” They’d like to give chase but it wouldn’t end well.

They say to each other, “I wish we could go home.”

But, home is Croatia, Eastern Europe, North Africa or the Middle East. Chasing just goes down differently there.

Okay, so, flick your wrist back and stick your arm straight out in front of you. Now wave your arm in a short controlled arch, like a rainbow. For us, that was Geneve by day.

Old Town

We were up early with only a few hours before our bus was scheduled to leave for Annecy. I had typed up a list of things to do, but we got caught on a coffee cry and stumbled into Old Town, as it’s called in English. Trim men and women with strong upright backs peddled by on bikes; the women in pretty autumn dresses that fluttered at their knees. We wanted to be like them, and started looking at all the little shuttered buildings as if next year we’d be tenants.

Fresh Market Food

When we could we’d look in through people’s lead paned windows and imagine life at their tables with our friends and people we hadn’t yet met. We’d pass baguettes and unsalted butter at Sunday lunches and serve fresh food from the local market. Mmmm, red wine bottles would stain semi-circles into our big white table cloths. It would be tres jolie!

The cobblestone streets and countless tiled rooftops belie the modern lifestyle of a city like Geneve. But tradition – well, it’s not tradition; it’s just that some people know some things need never change.

The UN was on my list, and a few other places. Besides watching the sun rise onto Lac Lemon we really only saw one of the attractions.  

The Schtroumpf public housing development is in an area called Les Grottes.

Schtroumpf Towers

Les Grottes is home to old winding streets with squat walled buildings that house pawn shops and Italian restaurants. The Schtroumpf complex must sit in the middle of what was once a bustling little area of town. I’m thinking harlots and markets. Schtroumpf’s big and bright and open and airy. It’s for the people.

Schtroumpf is apparently the generally accepted word in all of Europe for Smurfs. And, indeed we stood there and observed the humorous side of European architecture.

At the gateway of our Schtroumpf adventure, we came across a fountain that in my eyes had been vandalised to perfection. As I photographed the bleeding cherub, an elderly woman stopped and spoke to us for a minute or two in French.

As she looked from us to the statue we thought she disapproved the violation so we tilted our heads and expressed our concern with creased foreheads and raised eyebrows. We smiled compassionately when she paused, and I'm sure she thought we agreed. But I’m not so sure I did. I think I liked it.

Meanwhile we still had things to worry about. After all, that’s what we’re programmed to do, so why stop on vacation? Lynda wanted to know if she should buy a new Swiss Army knife. It was her plan before she arrived, but really – she already had one. My problem? Well, it was even more complicated: was it on the airplane or at Dubai Airport? Damn! There was food to eat, but I'd lost my appetite. 

It was time to drag luggage again. On to France!