Easy Riders

Sunday, 23 December 2007

We awoke early this morning to the unpleasant news that the Robertson's would not be joining the rest of the group on the train to Geneva on account of Christine not feeling well. They would stay behind in Paris to go the hospital while the rest of us headed for Switzerland. We were all positively shocked by these developments, even knowing that Christine had not been feeling well since we arrived. After all the planning that had gone into this trip, it did not quite seem fair that this was happening, especially with regard to Will and all the time he had personally spent planning everything. But the realization that we would not see the Robertson's for the better part of two days was thrust into my hand when Will handed me the tickets for the train to Geneva along with the hotel information for our next two destinations: Geneva and Interlaken.

As my Dad was quick to point out, mischievously I might add, the onus fell to me in getting us around for the next couple of days, but in truth, with Will having already laid much of the groundwork, the only thing for me to really do was to get us on the trains and follow his printed maps to the hotel. So it was that, minus the Robertson's, we left out early this morning to head to the train station and catch a 7:10 train to Geneva. Even though we had reservations for this train, we still needed to be at the train station early enough to validate our Eurail passes to enable us to ride the train.

This set off a chain of events where the (now) 9 of us were rushing through the subways and terminals of Paris trying desperately to make our train to Geneva. It was while traveling through the Metro system of Paris that those of us who had brought luggage instead of a backpack (everyone but me and Will) maybe began to lament that decision somewhat when we had to get on 3 different Metro lines before we arrived at the Gare de Lyon, meaning we had to climb stairs as we connected to the different lines. The fun I got from leading everyone around the Metro with my backpack immaculately strapped on was endless as I noted their expressions of anguish (muah, hah, hah). My Mom would still note that she needed the extra room that only a piece of luggage could provide, but by the end of the trip, after numerous parachute drops off of trains and train platforms, my Dad was of the opinion that next time a backpack will suffice.

Yet for all the physical difficulty, we still made it to the Gare de Lyon by around 6:30 or 6:40, leaving us with a good bit of time before our train actually departed...or so we thought. See, two years before, Ryan, Will, and I left Paris from the Gare de Austerlitz en route to Geneva and spent all of five minutes validating our Eurail passes before catching our train, a train we did not even have to have reservations for. But that was the Gare de Austerlitz on 13 December. This was the Gare de Lyon two days before Christmas and after talking to a man in the information booth, me, my Dad, Danny, and Susan were pointed in the direction of a quite long ticket line which we would need to wait in to get our Eurail passes validated.

After a short time, it became clear that the line was not moving fast enough for us to get our passes validated and make our 7:10 train, so I left my Dad, Danny, and Susan in the line while I went to check with information to see if we could get on the train without having our passes validated given that we did have ticket reservations after all. The man at the booth, kind though he was, lost a little in translation I think because I was still unsure what we could do. With 7:10 fast approaching I conferred with Ryan and we resolved to just go ahead and get on the train and take our chances with being kicked off somewhere down the line. Music cued, the great skedaddle began as we rushed to our platform. Our train did not actually end up leaving until around 7:30, but we did not know this at the time, and we swept up those I had left behind in line like a great tide as we scurried towards the train with luggage and all.

For most of the train rides, we were split up into two different groups. Alex, Will, and I were under the age of 26, so our Eurail passes were youth passes, meaning we were in second class while the rest of the group held first class Eurail passes. So it was that after reaching our train the group split up with me and Alex staying back on second class while everyone else headed for first class, only I did not realize that for this reserved train ride Alex had actually been bumped up to first class. Not only that, I had sent off the rest of the group towards first class while I still actually had everyone's tickets that Will had given to me earlier. After thumbing through the tickets and realizing there was only one second class ticket, not to mention that I had everyone else's ticket, I stacked up mine and Alex's luggage in a compartment and immediately began to walk down the aisles of the train heading for first class.

Ryan had soon realized my error as well and called me on my cell phone which I answered and immediately confirmed that I indeed had all the tickets and was headed his way. Now, with many of the trains that we rode on, the first class and second class cars were usually connected to each other in a way in which one could walk back and forth on them without a problem while the train was moving. This particular TGV train, however, was not set up in such a way, and that was a problem. I needed to get Alex back with the rest of the group along with all their tickets, but eventually I came to the end of the line of train cars that I could walk down, and still talking to Ryan, we both stepped off the train which had not left yet to see how close I was to him. We were still a good hundred yards or so apart.

In hindsight, we still had about 5 or 10 minutes before the train actually left, but at the time we thought it would be leaving any second, but I needed to get Alex up to first class along with the tickets. So sizing up the distance along with my athletic ability, I decided to run to Ryan and get Alex on the train with the tickets, and then run back to the second class car. Exhaling deeply, I said to Alex "Let's go" and we took off down the platform, no doubt exhibiting world class sprinter speed (well, Alex anyway) in the process. Alex got on the train and I handed off the tickets to Ryan and made an immediate about face and raced back towards second class, expecting all the time to have the doors shut on me while the train moved on down the tracks. But, superior athlete though I am not, I made it back on to the train with plenty of time to spare and headed back towards the car where I had left our luggage.

Relieved that we were all safely on the train, I gladly headed to my seat and just sort of collapsed, welcoming the prospect of a 4 hour train ride with which to part with any travel worries. I could now just sit back and enjoy the French countryside. After all the trouble with getting on the train, neither I nor the rest of the group was ever checked for our tickets, but at least we now had a story to tell, and with everyone settled into the train ride, nobody was complaining any longer with the prospect of a comfortable train ride lying ahead.

And it was a very comfortable train ride through the French countryside, with the early morning fog lifting to reveal snowy plains before the sun fully broke through as we passed through the rolling hills leading into Lyon, France's second city. From Lyon, we headed east towards the Swiss border and Geneva, catching our first glimpses of the Alps as we passed through the Rhône-Alpes region of France. This was a most welcome change from my previous train ride from Lyon to Geneva two years earlier in which the countryside was cloaked in the darkness of night, shielding our eyes from the Alpine beauty on display. I had to smile. To me, train rides in Europe are exceedingly romantic affairs, not least because you can simply store your luggage and sit down for a few hours without any worries past whether or not you will purchase anything from the beverage cart. After constantly being on the go in cities like Paris you get to take a breath and watch as endless pastoral scenes and charming little towns pass you by.

Not that this train ride was without some worries, however insignificant they were in reality. Before the trip, me and my Dad had been impishly opposed to the idea of having three different cell phones for each family. I thought we would be able to rely on time tables and meeting points to get by in case groups wanted to split up. While Christine's illness had already made it clear as to why it was a good idea to have cell phones, the train ride provided more plain, logistical reasons. As we approached the French border town of Bellegarde, a large number of passengers were making this their final stop, which alarmed Ryan just enough to give me a call and make sure this was not the final stop. It was not, of course, but Ryan was not sure, and thanks to the technology of the likes of Bill Cellular, a few clicks of the button gave him peace of mind rather than suffering through the last 30 minutes of the trip wondering whether I was still in France. I am probably making mountains out of mole hills, but my Mom told me that with Ryan sort of being the leader of the other group by default with me and Will not being present, he went into bouts of extremely mild panic whenever he was asked a question of logistical standards, which knowing Ryan and his hands-off policy was a treat for me to hear about.

So it was that somewhere between 11:30 and noon that we arrived into Geneva, Switzerland, or Genève as it is known locally where French is the native language spoken, though given the city's international reputation, little knowledge of the Gallic language will not leave you wanting for communication skills here. Since Switzerland is not part of the European Union, we had to go through customs when we got off the train, though customs is probably too organizational a term to describe what we had to go through. We merely stood in a relatively quick moving line and flashed our passports to the uniformed agents who apathetically noted our entrance into their country. No stamps on our passports or anything, but that was pretty much the case everywhere we went to in Europe. I got a stamp upon entrance into France and I believe that was it, sort of taking away the romance factor of having all those extra pages with your passport. I need to start asking for them everywhere I go outside the United States.

From the train station, we made the short walk down towards our digs for the night, the Hotel Capitole, which was just a few blocks away from the train station. The Hilton it was not, but the rooms were spacious and comfortable enough, the Internet access was free and easy, and it had all the amenities required for one night in Geneva, so I had no complaints. After settling in, we headed back to the train station to acquire some Swiss Francs and grab a lunch at a pizzeria across the street, the same one that me, Ryan, and Will had eaten at two years before. It was not quite pepperoni heaven or anything, but it sufficed for a nice, relatively inexpensive meal.

After lunch, we set out to experience what we could of Geneva given our relatively short time in the city. Here, we gave ourselves the luxury of no real set agenda, which is perfect really for a city like Geneva. With a population of about 185,000 people, Geneva cannot quite be classified as a small city, especially given its international profile, but the small town, laid back vibe that it exudes is remarkable. Of course the true acid test of Geneva's quality of living was two years before when after only a couple of hours in the city Ryan had told me and Will that this was definitely a place he could see himself living in. With a beautiful lake and its promenade, mountains nearby, and one of the better "old towns" in Europe, you can begin to see why.

So with these expectations we set out to make the most of our short time in Geneva. Most of the group was jonesing for a Christmas market and went looking for one that was suppose to be near our hotel while me and my Dad walked down towards Lake Geneva, or Lac Léman, to take in the expansive views of the city and its surrounding landscape. Here, the first thing that stood out was the Jet d'Eau, one of the world's biggest fountains which shoots water as high as almost 500 feet. It was not running on our last visit, so I did not know quite what to expect from it. I knew it was sort of the main landmark of Geneva and that it dominated the lake area around the city, but I was not quite ready for such a sizable presence. It is so randomly massive that it catches you off guard, or it did with me anyway. Another landmark that stands out as you gaze out over the lake area is looking towards old town and seeing la Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Genève towering above the rest of the city with its medieval romanticism (as oxymoronic as that sounds). From the lake we headed towards Old Town and the cathedral where the rest of the group had relocated to after their Christmas market had left much to be desired. My Dad and I spotted an undoubtedly better market on the way and resolved to bring the others back to it after visiting the cathedral. But that was for later because right now we were climbing the hills of Old Town towards la Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Genève, this bastion of Calvinism.

As mentioned before, the cathedral pretty well dominates Old Town as well as the vistas from down at the lake. So much so that it is odd how it hides itself away from view as you traverse the atmospheric medieval backstreets that eventually take you to the main cathedral square; at least it was hidden from the direction me and my Dad approached, though the others came via a different path. We ascended this labyrinth of ancient avenues and eventually found our way to the cathedral, spotting the silhouetted figure of my mother in the distance, sitting on a bench opposite the cathedral entrance as we approached. My Dad, ever the prankster, casually and with the stealth of not quite a ninja, snuck up on her from behind, though her not so startled reaction did not quite justify the effort, but it at least exhibited the still playful spirit of my Dad 3 days into the trip, showing he was still having as good a time as anyone. Reading back what I have just written, it seems I am no doubt inferring too much from this blip of a story, but my blog, my rules, and I reserve the right to conjecture about such seemingly insignificant details.

Clever anecdotes aside, though, I will shift back to our time at la Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Genève. As I touched on before, the cathedral is a bastion of Calvinism, though a better description of it would simply be the home church of John Calvin, the Protestant theologian who, along with Martin Luther and others, played an important role in the Reformation. I will not bore anyone too much with his legacy, interesting though it is, but wikipedia(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Calvin) can give you a heads up on this prominent figure of Geneva.

After giving my Mom the scare of her life (I write with tongue firmly in cheek), my Dad and I headed into the cathedral to catch up with Ryan, Beth, Susan, and Alex before they climbed to the top of the cathedral while my Mom, Danny, and Lisa stayed behind. The cathedral, as much as it towers over the city, seems rather quaint once inside, especially given its legacy with Calvinism, and the mood was certainly sombre, befitting the medieval ambiance within the surrounding area. We took in this setting as we awaited an absentee steward to take our money for the climb to the top. He finally appeared, but he confused us greatly when showing an unwillingness to change our 10 Swiss Francs note. It simply did not seem possible that we did not have exact change for such a humble charge of 4 Swiss Francs, but we did not, though I believe he eventually convinced us to have one person pay for all, saving him the trouble of making change. Or maybe he finally acquiesced, I cannot quite remember.

With the arrangement finally settled, we climbed the tower towards the top of the cathedral. Alex receives points for best climber (though her competition was not exactly fierce), but both her and Ryan, after getting slightly ahead of the rest, apparently took a wrong turn at some point, but no harm no foul. After a breathless ascent, we reached the top easily enough to find a magnificent, panoramic view open up before us with the Jet d'Eau spewing out its waters for a little while longer as well. A clearer day would have offered us a more magnificent vista; after all, on a clear day, you can see France's Mont Blanc, Western Europe's highest mountain, though it is a 60 minute trip from Geneva itself. As it was, however, the views were striking enough. My Dad had earlier noted how he did not know that Lake Geneva was such a large body of water. He assumed it was just a charming little lake by the city, but from the top of the cathedral he could see just how expansive it was as it stretched off endlessly into the distance.

Looking back towards the opposite direction, Ryan and I both noted to each other that it was interesting to see just how far Geneva sprawled out. Old Town and New Town seem rather quaint, and they are, but there is more to Geneva than meets the casual tourist's eye. And so we took in Geneva and environs for a little while atop the cathedral, taking fun pictures and noting the medieval architecture in the process. Before long, we were heading back down the winding steps to meet back up with the rest of the group in the square outside the cathedral, somewhat lamenting the gray skies, but content with what we had seen and nobody feeling the worse for it.

The plan now was to head towards the Christmas market that me and my Dad had spotted while walking towards the cathedral earlier. But first, we took a killer group photo (minus the Robertson's of course) outside the cathedral, proof of our presence in the medieval section of Geneva. I have already touched on the atmospheric setting that is Old Town in Geneva, but it is worth talking a bit more about it. On both of my travels to Geneva, I have found myself totally enamoured with Old Town, despite the brevity of each visit. From the cobblestone streets to the narrow alleyways marked with Swiss flags, there is a certain omnipresence of history and culture that fills the air. Another aspect of it is that when something is called "Old Town" in Europe, it well and truly warrants the moniker, in Geneva's case going back to the time before Christ. Founded in 1565, St. Augustine, Florida, is America's oldest city, and would only be considered "New Town" on this side of the Atlantic.

With its medieval feel, numerous cafes and boutiques, I could probalby spend hours walking around this area, but had to make due with minutes instead as we headed towards the Christmas market around the Rue du Rhone, which is more or less the main avenue of Geneva. We found this Christmas market to certainly be better than the first, but the first one was absolutely threadbare, and while this one had a bit more volume to it for sure, I felt like a year of hyping up European Christmas markets as the greatest thing on earth had our families thinking that maybe our perception of such things was a bit skewed. Still, it had some nice items in it and a solid atmosphere to boot, though you would be hard-presssed to find any amongst our group who actually felt like Christmas was only two days away, but that probably had more to do with not being suffocated with the commercialism of America, which I think we actually missed.

A little while later we were walking back to the hotel to rest and relax for an hour or so before dinner. Will, exhibiting qualities befitting his superguide status retroactively given his absence, had made reservations at a restaurant called the Café de Centre, just off the Rue du Rhone. Danny and Lisa decided to stay in for the rest of the night, so the group was now whittled down to 7 as we headed to dinner.

It was their loss, however, as the meal, despite the price (welcome to Switzerland after all), turned out to be delightful. The food was good, the wine was good, the service impeccable. Will had been spot on with his choice for our Geneva culinary experience. We had some reservations when we first walked in given that we felt very underdressed for such a seemingly high-class establishment, but the kindness of the staff soon reassured us and things only improved afterwards.

With no plans for the rest of the night, we were happy to linger a little while and enjoy our dinner experience, but after a while it was time to pay the check and call it a night. We had, after all, been up since about 5 or so, and traveled from Paris, France to Geneva, Switzerland, so a good night's rest was well earned before we left for Interlaken tomorrow, a trip which would take us into the heart of the Alps for the first time really. So we wrapped it up and headed back towards the hotel. Warranting my "loner" status for the first time today, I split up from the rest of the group to take the long way back by the lake to try and get a good picture looking back towards Old Town and the cathedral at nighttime, but I too was soon checking into my room and calling it a night, well satisfied with the day despite the losses incurred.