Geneva

When we last spoke I was at the bottom of a mountain in a town called Mijoux. I had planned to stop to have lunch, but the town’s audacity at being at the bottom of yet another mountain was too much to bear and I deemed the place unworthy of my patronage.

About two hours hard climbing later, I unexpectedly turned a corner and found this:

Mont Blanc from the top of the last tall mountain in France

Perhaps the photo does not do justice to the size of Mont Blanc, but you can at least see that it is very pretty. And to come across one’s first snow-capped peak, sparkling in the sunshine, without (once again) any anticipation is a fun thing to do.

I descended down the other side of the mountain for a lazy hour or so as Lake Geneva and the city itself unfolded below me like a slowly approaching postcard, before arriving in Gex in the early evening.


I arrived in Geneva the next day to find that that it, like a bunch of European cities, is pretty good-looking. The water-front, I (as a born and bred Sydney-sider) will admit, is world-class and this, combined with the background of the Swiss alps, ensures that life in Geneva is a Kodak moment. It’s tourist-friendly and the infrastructure for visitors is very well-developed, from the water-side bike rental to the super-high-quality shopping that Geneva is famous for. It’s so well-developed, in fact, that for a backpacker it’s completely useless, apparently being four or five times more expensive than the French towns about 20 kilometres to the west. However, If you have reached an age where you appreciate quality in all things and have a bit of money, Geneva could just be the city for you.

I found a hostel to stay at, which asked 35 francs for the night without breakfast. That would probably keep me housed, fed and entertained for three or four days on the road through France, so I decided to go meet Charles and Nichi and then find somewhere to camp for the night and bugger the temperature.

I met them, but, as it turned out, I wasn’t the only one. Michael and Yvonne had also arrived to welcome them. They were a German couple who were living in Geneva due to Yvonne’s new position at the WHO and they had been married a week ago in Berlin. After introductions it was decided that luggage should be taken to Michael and Yvonne’s place, where Charles and Nichi were staying, and I announced that I would go work out my own accommodation arrangements and meet up with them afterwards.

Michael immediately suggested that I stay with them also. Having met him and Yvonne mere moments ago, I was rather taken aback at such a generous proposal. I glanced discreetly at Charles seeking his required approval, thinking that, with the alternative being camping by a lake in Geneva, the merest slimmer of consent would be enough for me to accept a bed for the night at least. Charles’ face expressed exactly no emotion and I took this to mean “absolutely not”.

“I couldn’t,” I said to Michael, “but it really is very kind of you.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Michael said.

“Well alright then”, I capitulated, and we all went immediately to their very beautiful loft apartment before heading out for a drink at a bar on the waterfront.

The next few days contrasted starkly with my days of frugality in France. Michael and Yvonne were inimitable hosts and walking tours through the more interesting parts of Geneva interspersed either beautiful spreads at home or meals out, of which they would only grudgingly and at great effort accept any contribution towards (very large) costs, if at all.

The best part of these days however, was simply the company. After weeks of isolation of a sort, traveling alone in a country where my language skills were passable at best, the feeling of being with friends was a relief. Like coming home to relax after a week on holiday, nothing really compares to the comfort of the familiar.

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After Charles and Nichi left for Italy, I once again struck out alone. There are two stories here. The first is that, as I had decided that Geneva was simply too expensive to be borne, I decided to get back on my bike for one last trip and headed into the mountains to a town recommended by Yvonne and which I knew had a camp-site. I rode most of the day and arrived at about seven at night in the pouring rain. It was about nine degrees and I was advised that it would get down to about two or three during the night. I reflected on the possibility of sleeping under a sheet of plastic in a wet sleeping bag in two degree heat and concluded that it wasn’t for me.

I tried to begin the ride back to Geneva back down the mountain, but the rain was too strong and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I decided that this also, was not for me. I took shelter in the first available building, a pub that offered the cheapest accommodation available in the town, 105 francs for the night, and I decided that this wasn’t for me. However, after chatting to a guy at the bar, I decided that catching a train back to Geneva was a possibility.

I got back to Geneva at about 9 and booked into a hostel that offered a bed and all-you-can-eat breakfast for 32 euros a night. I stayed for three nights and four days and entertained myself inexpensively by hanging out in parks like this, riding around the city and pretending to stay at other hostels so I could watch their movies for free. I also saved money by eating very big breakfasts and nothing else. If you eat a loaf and a half of bread with butter and honey, three bowls of muesli with yoghurt, two cups of orange juice, three cups of coffee and a banana for breakfast, you can easily get by ‘til the next morning.

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The second story concerns how I sold my bike. I wasn’t ever really sure how this was going to happen and was optimistically hoping to get about half of what I paid in Paris (about the equivalent of 300 Swiss francs) back. However, by my last day in Geneva I didn’t have any good leads.

I did try going to cash converters, who offered me 50 francs if I had the receipt from when I bought it, which I didn’t. So, in frustration I went into a bookstore and explained my predicament to the American girl working there. She suggested I make an ad to put in the shop and maybe someone would call me. I didn’t like my chances, given that my train to Berlin left at 9 the next morning, but it was better than any of my ideas, so I gave it a shot. However, before I had made my placard, her co-worker (another US expat), wandered into the room.

She had run away from her home in New York several years previously, but now her bike wasn’t working so well. Espying an opportunity, we went outside to check out the bike and I offered it to her for 150 francs. She said that she’d like to try it out first and so I agreed to come back when the shop closed at 6:30, which I did.

We the people believe in dental hygiene

She liked the bike, but cried poor and we reduced the price to 130. I don’t know why she cried poor. I was leaving in the morning and the bike was not coming with me. The bike was hers and any money she gave me for it was in charity. After some tense moments she agreed to buy it and I left with 130 francs. Delicious. I walked back to my hostel and thought warm, loving thoughts of the huge breakfast awaiting me in the morning.

Thanks this time go to Michael and Yvonne who really went above and beyond the call of duty, I sincerely hope intentionally.

Best to all,

Michael