Canuk and I went to Genève at 0630 yesterday morning. She is trying to get a work permit for Northern Scotland for the summer, and she had to go to passport HQ to sort it out. The train ride was nice. We could watch the countryside transition from cow meadows to vineyards, and the town names switch over from German to French. I’m not sure where the border was exactly, but the train conductor switched his announcements to French as well at some point. After reading so much German all the time, I felt a little lost in the Geneva train station. We were no longer in the
Genf Bahnhof, but in the
Gare de Cornavin Genève, and we had to check the
horaire for our
parcours instead of the
Fahrplan for our
Streke. I would be okay for the afternoon, as Canuk, a proper Canadian, had studied French since primary school, but I was on my own for the morning. She had her meeting with the work permit people for about twenty minutes, plus what turned out to be a couple of hours of waiting time. I successfully bought myself a baguette and understood the price in French, but somehow the baker gave me 50.- CHF back for my 50.20 CHF instead of 47.- CHF, so I got the bread for twenty Rappen. I was over in the old town when I realized why the change had looked odd in my palm: five-frank coins instead of twos.
Canuk and I had seen the temple, a small, old church, and the
Basilique Notre Dame before her meeting, since we arrived early, so I set out for a walk along the Rhone. I crossed the
Ponts de l’Île, then the
Pont de la Machine, then back over the
Pont des Bergues.
This last bridge connected to the
Ile Rousseau, which had a lovely bird sanctuary and a stature of the philosopher. (Canuk’s a birder, so she told me what they all were when we came back along the river in the afternoon.) I then wandered through the
Place du Moulard, which had old buildings, a fountain, flowers, and a lot of people enjoying their morning at an outdoor café. I passed a sixteenth-century tower that used to guard the entrance to an old city wall, but I couldn’t go inside.
Spotting colossal spires, I began heading for the guaranteed viewpoint. On the way to the cathedral, I stopped by the
Hôtel de Ville to check out the carriage entrance. It’s akin to a spiral staircase, only squared off and in ramp form so that the carriages can get up the cobblestones. I’m not sure why square was better than round, and I’m definitely not sure that sixteenth-century dignitaries truly needed to ride all the way up to their meeting chamber, but it was neat. The town hall also had a small, but well-lit courtyard, and it is where the first Geneva Convention was signed in 1864 to start the Red Cross. Just outside, they’ve got five seventeenth- and eighteenth-century artillery cannons and some historical mosaics where the old arsenal stood.
The Cathedral of Saint Pierre was huge.
It was built between 1160 and 1232, then went through a lot of changes during the Reformation. The archaeological site under the cathedral was closed, unfortunately, but I climbed its 157 steps for these views before noticing that it was time to meet Canuk by Genève’s famous
jet d’eau.
Naturally, we wandered out on the jetty, getting delicately misted by the fountain in the process. She didn’t get her visa because her Swiss residency permit had just expired, but she had expected difficulties and was resigned to going back to Canada for the summer before returning to Europe. (I am an official Adelbodner and Swiss resident until the beginning of June.) She has also applied for a summer job in Finland, where it’s supposed to be easier to go than the UK, as well as her old canoeing guide position back in Canada. I would love to jump from job to job around the world like Canuk and SAussie, but school calls.
The two of us wandered back into the old town and saw the
Place Bourg-de-Four, which was full of little bistros.
It’s the oldest square in Genève, and it has another fountain and the
Palais de Justice. We also saw Rousseau’s house, the
Place du Grand-Mézel, and the
Place Neuve, which had this statue of General Guillaume-Henri Dufour (professor, engineer, mountain cartographer, 1847 Confederation Army Commander, and member of the Committee of Five that thought up the Red Cross). The
Place Neuve sits in the middle of a lot of museums, concert halls, and theaters.
It’s also right next to the
Parc des Bastions. There’s a great view overlooking the park from outside the Cathedral of Saint Pierre, and it was worth a stroll on our way back around to Lake Geneva and the
Jardin Anglais. Many of the parks in Switzerland have giant games, but I had never seen so many giant chess matches going on at once. The English Garden’s flower clock was our last stop, since we had already been to a few of Genève’s bountiful greenspaces and we didn’t care to see the Red Cross or United Nations headquarters.
I’m sure the
Palais des Nations is great, but our train goes past it on the way out, and we wanted to visit Lausanne while we were in the Swiss Riviera. We happened to arrive at the train station two minutes before a train going in the right direction, so we ran through the tunnels and up the ramp, jumping on with seconds to spare. The gentleman behind us wasn’t fast enough.
Our train took us on a slightly longer path than the usual track, but we enjoyed the view of the wine country and watching the highschoolers goof around on their train ride from school to the tiny towns in which they live. The Lausanne train station is right between Lausanne proper and the old, lakeside district of Ouchy. (They apparently call it “oo-she” instead of “ouch-ee.” Crazy Frannnch.) We headed uphill first, to the
vieille ville and “Loh-zahn.” But first, the public restroom, which was underground: a hole in the floor of the stall, doors that didn’t lock, blue lights, and a syringe receptacle.
It’s also BYO-TP. Luckily, Canuk had some wet wipes. Ugh. We left quickly and hauled ourselves uphill, against the flow of foot traffic. It seems everyone else took the bus up and walked down. Not we hardy Adelbodners. We made it to
L’église Saint-François panting only slightly. It was nice, but we could see the huge cathedral up the hill, so we didn’t stay long. Lausanne’s is the biggest cathedral in Switzerland, with a giant pipe organ and a thirteenth-century rose window. The bridge on the way there is supposedly designed to psychologically discourage suicidal leaps, but I thought it mostly just made photography difficult. This cathedral is pure John Calvin Protestant Reformation,
and word is the church members aren’t even allowed to dance. Iconoclasm hit hard, and the cathedral is very bare compared to some of its ornate Catholic cousins. We poked around and found an opening under the altar area.
Canuk flicked on her headlamp and we could see the ruins of the previous building, a smaller church. We also climbed the tower, at 225 steps, and snapped a ton of pictures. You can see France easily from that height, and Evian, with its fancy spring water, is directly across
Lac Léman, to the south. To the southeast were the French-Swiss and French Alps, including the highest, Mont Blanc, and to the west were the Jura Mountains, lower and softer, much less jagged. A watchman still stands guard in this tower every night, looking for flames and calling out the time between 2200 and 0200.
We stopped for an afternoon snack by the plaza and fountain outside the cathedral (“
Esplanade de la Cathedral”), where we could look down on the buildings below. Thus fortified, we made one final foray uphill, past the old
académie and up to the castle. The
château was closed, but it had a statue of Major Davel, who tried to free the area from the Bernese in 1723, after they had ruled for almost two hundred years. (He failed, and was decapitated for his efforts. Napoleon managed to beat the Bernese in 1798, but Canton Vaud joined the Swiss Confederation soon afterward, in 1803.) On our way downhill, we searched for an old, mechanized clock. We found the city history museum and huge square, which it was supposed to be near, but no
Fontaine de la Justice, which it was supposed to be directly above. We spent so long looking for the clock that we ran out of time to see the old watchtower. Lots of Swiss towns have better rampart remnants, however, so I’ll see some later. We did pass by the cantonal gymnasium (secondary school), which was built circa 1590, during the Bernese occupation. What a place in which to learn. Finally, with only minutes to spare, we found
Place de la Palud down a side street and behind some construction.
We stared at the clock as passersby gave us curious glances. The minutes ticked by: no mechanical horological celebration. Just as I was cursing and we were about to leave, a few minutes past the hour, it began. The clock boomed out a short story in German, and soldiers paraded by, followed by music and dancers. Neither of us could make out what was going on. We laughed so hard that we set out in the wrong direction, and only made it to the waterfront after a lengthy tour of non-touristy Lausanne. We knew which way the lake was, but we couldn’t make a left turn to get there until we hit the train tracks, then wound down the hill through a nice neighborhood and a park. The parks all have table-tennis and great sandboxes, but you’re supposed to train your dog to use the sandbox so you don’t have to pick up after it. Don’t play in Swiss sandboxes.
We made it down to Ouchy just at sunset. Canuk and I walked along the lake and marina until we made it to the weathervane.
It’s a large C shape, and you can tell which way the wind is blowing only by walking out onto the pier and lining the C up with a column. We skipped that jaunt in favor of a pirate ship-shaped play structure. We made it to the Olympic museum right before it closed, but the grounds were just as interesting as the pricy exhibits. They’ve the current world record shot put, high jump, discus, et cetera, all set up.
I marveled at the height of the pole vault bar. They also have some statuary and Chinese decorations, as they’re gearing up for the summer Olympics, and we had passed by some external exhibits on our long wander through Lausanne earlier. We enjoyed the Olympic flame and views of the lake before climbing back up to the train station. We fell asleep as we were whisked punctually back into German Switzerland. We returned to the Chalet at midnight, ready for a good sleep before we headed back to work in the morning.
This is your bonus picture for today, since I didn't post any from my last snowboarding day. Piet Mondrian construction company! I wish I could see what they build with that.
The Guild went off to Thun (this is them on the bus), so I stocked things and cleaned the Chalet. I spent much of the day organizing the recycling, which I don’t mind. I feel like I’m saving the planet. When the women returned, Brazil and I held a successful bingo night in the dining hall. Eleven of them won prizes, and I learned all about bingo culture.
I really like the Guilders, and I’m looking forward to hearing more of their stories. A couple of them told me about their world travels while we hiked to the woodcarvers’ the other day, and a bunch have already offered their homes if we ever stop by England, Scotland, or Wales. They live all over the place, so we’re set if we do a UK tour. Sadly, I’m not likely to make it over there for a few years, at minimum.
