The morning after the half, I had no lingering soreness even though I climbed a small mountain interspersed with sections I not so affectionately label “mountain goat training with European professional mountain goats hot on my tail.” Not the catchiest name, I know.
I set off for Geneva at a leisurely pace since the ride to Geneva took only a couple hours and I could not enter my Geneva airbnb until one that afternoon.
Upon arrival at Gare Cornavin, the main train station, I found a café with internet and also the help of a Portuguese employee (in the French-speaking portion of Switzerland) who understood Spanish, got coffee and some food while I waited a couple hours before trekking over to the airbnb.
Since I did not spring for international data, although I probably will if I embark on any more solo international travel, I took screenshots of the directions before leaving the café. Unlike Alpine Zermatt, it felt like summer in Geneva. (After visiting Spain at the close of the trip, however, calling Geneva warm feels a bit like a joke.) This made for a fun trek but I made it successfully to the flat although a misreading of the directions for key retrieval meant that I had to trudge back down the four flights of stairs to get them from the milk box. (I guess they get milk delivered, or used to.) The building did have a tiny grate elevator but I had no desire to use it. With my luck, my backpack would have gotten stuck or I otherwise would have ended up trapped in the elevator in the unairconditioned stairwell.
Rather than battling a decrepit-looking elevator, my luck pitted me against a European lock I still do not understand. I battled with the lock, turned the odd knob in the center of the door every way it would turn doing the same with the key in the one of the two locks that it did fit, logged onto the internet from outside the apartment to contact the host and even look on airbnb to see if I could find somewhere else to stay. I also battled frustration and a growing negative mood as I conversed with the host without an ounce of sympathy who could not understand why I could not open a door. If not for the neighbor, an Armenian no less, who came out to see if he could help, I might have had quite the long wait or have spent a hundred dollars more on another place. He had a little trouble as well. Lesson learned from this incident? Choose airbnbs carefully, making sure they clearly specify how to get into the place or contact the hosts prior to the stay if I have any questions.
Later that hour as I unpacked some things before heading out for my self-guided walking tour of Geneva, I managed to drop my computer on my foot, the corner hitting right between the phalanges, providential in that I did not break a bone but painful nonetheless. The earlier frustration combined with this painful misery cast a lackluster pall over the afternoon. That just means that I must make another trip to Geneva but avoid dropping electronics on my appendages while selecting a better place to stay.
I walked a good bit that afternoon; the computer inflicted no lasting damage. I sampled delicious gelato by Lake Geneva gazing on a famous fountain, the Jet dEau. (I have no idea where it derives its fame.)
I then moved on to the Ile d’Rousseau. Although this particular small island in the river – which empties into the lake – once served as part of the river and city’s defense and also hosted the famous Enlightenment philosopher, the ground itself lacked much attraction. If I did not have the Frommer’s guide, only a small bust of Rousseau on a pedestal would alert a visitor to the island of its significance. I appreciated the historical context though wished more could be done to enhance the island.
Next, I found the Ile d’Torre, a lonely tower of a 12th century chateau and the oldest surviving building in the city. That tower also marks a spot where Julius Caesar once visited, again hitting all the context sweet spots for me. The tower itself stands attached to another building, many other buildings and an outdoor public transit stop just across the street, hidden history in plain sight.
For the next fifteen or so minutes, I wandered around the tower and adjoining buildings, trying to figure out how to follow the minimal directions on my Frommer’s guide to make it to the next stop. I had a good laugh at myself when I discovered that I just need to walk across the street in the opposite directions. I learned that I needed to get a map of some sort, an actual map with streets and landmarks. Also, having access to GPS might help even more which I will look into further before my next trip.
The second to last major stop on my itinerary, I found in a park, the Reformer’s monument. At the center of the monument stands William Farel, John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and John Knox.
The wall stretches for 50 meters on either side with various other smaller figures built into each side of the center figures. Some of these smaller figures include Roger Williams and Oliver Cromwell. In front of the wall was a trench of water which I noticed because several people with their children made this trench the site of a family swim outing. I found it odd but perhaps the city allows it.
Lastly, I got to wander through Old Town with its cobblestone streets on my way to the Place du Bourg-de-Four, a square that served for centuries as a town square for centuries during medieval times and a forum during Roman times. Give me an Old Town and I’m in heaven.
To finish up the day, I stopped at a grocery store for some supper before trekking back, once again baffled by the lock with no friendly neighbor. Twenty minutes later I could relax for the night, finally, hoping that the rest of the locks for my future AirBnbs would not prove so difficult.