Geneva By Choo-Choo Train

Mark and I had originally planned to rent a car and drive from Nice to Geneva with all our gear, where we would store it for a couple of weeks. For various reasons, that didn't work out and we decided to fly instead. Whereas before, we planned to drive through the Italian Piedmont and Alps and be on the road most of the day, we suddenly had a whole afternoon to kill in Geneva. Wouldn't it be nice, I thought, if we could join a small group tour of the city. A stroll, a "tram" ride and an excursion on the lake. What could be nicer? As it turned out, a number of things.

My first clue should have been that, in my research, I found very few tours of Geneva. No local people. Hmmm, I wondered. Surely there must be things to be seen in Geneva. So I booked the tour I just described, which sounded perfect.

We took the train in from our hotel near the airport to the central station. From there, we walked down to the lake and took a few pictures, such as the lead photo. We also came across this monument which appeared to be a mausoleum for some ivory important person from the city's renaissance or baroque past:

Turns out, however, that  houses the remains of a 19th century duke of Brunswick who was extremely eccentric and had adopted Geneva as his home. When he died, he left a fortune to the city in exchange for this monument built to his memory. Hmmm. All I can say is that the city must have really been hard up.

Before long, it was time to join the tour. I kept looking for a group milling about, waiting for the walking tour I expected. Instead, I was directed to a large blue tour bus named "Guillaume Tell," i.e., "the William Tell." Hmmm. Could anything be more tacky? (Remember William Tell and the arrow through the apple story?)

It turned out that the tour would commence with a bus ride up through the "international area" where there a lot of buildings that house UN agencies and other international organizations. The tour guide, bless her heart, droned on and on in her Swiss-accented English - which frankly became quite annoying. I half-expected her to say, "We have vays of making you talk," at any moment, despite her otherwise sunny personality.

We learned how many square kilometers the city occupied (not a whole lot), how many people lived there, how many people came into the city from France to work. (She really wished they would leave their cars in France and take public transit in order to cut down on pollution. "But they won't," she lamented.) We learned how many thousands of people work for the international agencies, when this building was built, when that building was built, how many windows it had (okay, maybe that's an exaggeration).

We learned about this century and that century and on and on and on. She told us how - in considerable detail - Geneva had almost become French, then was saved from that fate after the Napoleonic Wars. She told us about the languages and native ethnic groups in the Swiss Federation and made sure we understood that Swiss German as a language had nothing to do with that of their imperialistic neighbor to the north.

I looked at my watch at one point and assumed that surely an hour had gone by. Nope. Only 30 minutes. I wondered why some tour guides think that people want to know all those facts and figures. Is it just to impress people with their encyclopedic knowledge?

Granted, there were some interesting sites on this part of the tour. We saw the headquarters of the International Red Cross (above), the European headquarters of the United Nations (below), and a monument consisting of a huge chair with a broken leg in commemoration of all those people who have been maimed by land mines.

The bus then retraced its route and cross the Rhone River onto the other bank of Geneva. We drove along the lake front, and I noticed a little train that was taking tourists along the shore. "How ridiculous," I thought. "That looks like something that belongs in Disneyland. How touristy can you get!"

Imagine my chagrin when the bus dropped us off to board a tram to the old city of Geneva and I saw that it was the very same train. Diesel operated, it nearly gagged us with its fumes. But that wasn't the worst part. The voice on the tram speakers that told us to look right or left was bad enough. What was really embarrassing, however, was when we'd pass city residents either walking on the street or sitting in a cafe that were obviously having a hard time keeping a straight face while seeing a choo-choo train full of tourists.

It was also frustrating because we couldn't get off to take pictures. We were basically chained in. The photo below was the most interesting one I took from this part of the tour:

By the time we boarded the bus again to return to city center, Mark and I had decided enough was enough. We chose not to go on the boat ride and gave our tickets to a couple of other tour members who didn't have any.

Another thing that was frustrating about Sunday was that hardly *anything* was open in Geneva. Apparently the whole city pretty much shuts down on Sunday. Salt Lake has more going on on a Sunday that Geneva does. It was eerie. Whereas in France we would have seen people in busy sidewalk cafes, enjoying the beautiful weather, relaxing, etc., in Geneva we saw very little of this. I surmised it was a legacy of the city's Calvinist past, and assumed that many Genevans headed over into France for the day where life is more interesting.

After some pasta in one of the few restaurants we saw open, we headed back to our hotel and had a nice quiet evening relaxing in our room, preparing for the next leg of our adventure: Rome.

People of Europe: Geneva Airport

I could have hugged this woman.

She was so very, very pleasant.

Here's the story.

Mark and I took an early morning flight this morning from Nice to Geneva, which is our entry/exit airport coming from and returning to Salt Lake City. (We flew direct from SLC to Paris, then on to Geneva. Great deal. It was cheaper to fly on to Geneva than from just SLC to Paris.) We did this so that we could stow our two bike boxes and a piece of luggage while we travel on to Rome and Greece. Yes, our time in Europe is not over. We are going to Rome for a few days, then on to Athens to fulfill on long-time wish of Mark's: to go on a cruise on a small ship through the Greek islands.

I had done some research about storing baggage at Geneva Airport. I knew where to go - in the rail station located adjacent to the airport. But when we arrived there, this is the scene that greeted our eyes:

First, I could hardly believe that this 10x20' area constituted the baggage storage area for Geneva's international airport. Second, I could not believe it was closed, even though the hours posted indicated that it should be open. 

The signs referred us to the "ticket office," which I assumed (correctly) was the temporary office that had been constructed across the way. I stood in line, not knowing what the hell I was doing, in hopes that help would be proffered. By that time, Mark and I had waited for our luggage at the baggage claim and had hauled them a considerable distance, first missing the storage facility, then finding it closed. This, by the way, was what we were hauling in addition to our carry-on luggage and our computer bags:

As the French would say, "C'etait pas evident," which, loosely translated, means "It wasn't easy."

So, as I say, I was extremely hopeful as I approached the desk behind which sat the woman in the lead photo who spoke fluent English with almost no accent. I'll call her Antoinette. When I told her our predicament, she basically said, "No problem. I can help you." She said to bring the bags over and put them outside the temporary office. 

I jogged over to tell Mark this, then returned. Meanwhile, Antoinette had started helping a Bob Marley look-a-like who was exchanging a bunch of foreign-looking money into Canadian dollars. While Antoinette tried to make sure she had enough money, he played with a toy that resembled a marionette.

"I'm not sure I have enough," she said. "No problem," Bob replied in English. "I'll take wha chu got."

"These are really fresh bills," Antoinette said as she counted them. "I just printed them last night with my machine." That raised my eyebrows as well as Bob's.

"Are you married?" Bob said.

"Yes."

"'Cuz that would be really convenient, having a wife who could print money." Chuckle. Smile. A bit of color in Antoinette's cheeks.

Finally, "Bob" had his Canadian dollars (a lot of them) and was on his way.

The clerk then turned her attention to assisting me with my dilemma. "Can you also exchange money?" I asked. "Oh, yes," was the reply. "We can do lots of things." I told here I thought we needed some Swiss Franc coins for bus or train tickets. "Oh, I can sell you those as well if you want."

By this time, I could sense that Antoinette was clearly of a sunny disposition, yet almost childlike. She wasn't a "Mrs. Sunshine" who wore a plastic smile and had a plastic persona, however. She was the real deal. A kind person. And I felt fortunate that she had been placed in my path that morning.

Another interesting character was the man - Jean-Paul - who came to lock up our luggage. He also seemed to have a happy disposition, even though - as he explained to us - he was running around trying to do ten different things because they were short-handed that morning. Jean-Paul was tall, thin, dark-haired and unshaven, probably in his mid-20's, and seemed to literally have a spring in his step. He treated us as if he'd known us for years. When we later passed him in the hallway, he recognized us and gave us a big smile and two thumbs up.

I wished I had taken a photo of Jean-Paul. I really wished I had taken a photo of Antoinette. But due to fortuitous circumstances, our paths crossed again later that day. 

Here's what happened. After storing our luggage, we had caught a shuttle to a nearby hotel where we would spend the night before heading to Rome the next morning. Mark asked if it would be possible to store our luggage there, since we will be returning in two weeks in order to fly home to Utah. "Sure, no problem," was the response. I was surprised. "How much?" I asked. "No charge." No brainer.

So, late in the afternoon, on our way back to the hotel from downtown Geneva, we went to retrieve our two bike boxes and suitcase from storage. I was hoping I'd see Antoinette so that I could take her picture, but she wasn't in sight. Another woman took us over and  unlocked the storage room (and she was also very pleasant). As we were retrieving our bags, Antoinette came into the room. 

I seized the opportunity. I explained to her that I write a travel blog and would like to take her picture because she had been so helpful to us that morning. "I'm sorry," Antoinette said, "I don't remember what I did for you. But, yes, you may take my picture I guess." The other woman helping us had turned her head in surprise when I had asked the question, and after hearing Antoinette's response, she kidded, "Oh! You're famous!" Smiles.

While I had been retrieving the luggage, Mark went off in search of some things from some of the shops. He was gone a while, so I had the opportunity to people watch. As I was standing there, another railway employee came up - I'll call him Pierre - and unlocked the storage facility. In contrast to the young man who had helped us that morning, this guy radiated sourness. He was older, had a pasty complexion and looked like he probably wore a permanent frown. 

I watched him interact with several customers, and my initial impressions were confirmed. He spoke as little as possible, as if he were under duress. The culminating interaction before Mark returned was one he had with an attractive middle-aged blonde women, whom I believe was English. She wanted to store two pieces of luggage that she had on a trolley. He acted like he'd just been asked to house a homeless Nigerian in his apartment.

It became apparent that the luggage would have to be stored somewhere else nearby. So Pierre rolled the metal door down and locked it, then proceeded to haul one bag halfway across the concourse, set it down with a huff, then return for the other one. He then repeated the process as they wound their way to the other storage facility. The woman repeatedly tried to help (remember, she had a trolley), but the man literally almost grabbed the bag out of her hand and kept repeating his process until they disappeared around a corner.

I was grateful for Antoinette and Jean-Paul, for their humanity, kindness and humor. And I was also grateful that I had not had the ill-fortune to cross Pierre's path that day.

Day 13: Gourdon, Jizo, and the Landscape of Cancer

Yesterday (Saturday) was the last day of our cycling tour. The weather was perfect – clear blue skies with temperatures in the 70’s. The riding was not too strenuous, which I appreciated. The scenery, as usual, was beautiful, and it was thrilling when the Mediterranean Sea came into view. But the highlight of the ride was lunch with many other members of the tour at the hilltop village of Gourdon.

Mark writing in his journal the night before at our hotel in Castellane

A candid taken by Jen as we awaited dinner our last night in Castellane.

In particular, we enjoyed sharing lunch with our new friends, Bill and Jen, from Anacortes, Washington. Jen shared with us some of her experiences with yoga, meditation and religion, which both of us could relate to. I also felt at home with Bill. He admitted that he's not very good at small talk, and I appreciated that because I am not exactly a sparkling conversationalist. I could also really relate when he said he's not great at remembering people's names - something I struggle with all the time.

As Jen was discussing the meditation she had practiced that morning to block out the annoyance from the squeak her bike shoes had developed, I was trying not be to annoyed that everyone else in our group - even those who were seated after us - had received their food before us. 

Then, everyone else at our table was served but me. I heard a crash and the sound of china breaking on the cobblestones behind me, and I thought in my mind, "That is probably my quiche and salad." Sure enough, it was. But all was well once my food arrived. (It was good.) I was more fortunate than another member of our group who ordered a full menu of the day and only received her appetizer. She had to resort to a Cliff Bar or two to see her through the afternoon.

One of the main topics of our conversation with Jen and Bill was cancer. Jen had had esophageal cancer and had survived. She told us about two friends who each have stage 3 melanoma. One is not "doing the protocol" and is doing well. Another is following a protocol and struggles with the side-effects. They are both very active in their 60's and 70's. Jen spoke of another acquaintance who was diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer 10-15 years ago and is still here.

"I decided not to be a number," Jen said, referring to her odds of surviving her cancer. And she didn't. "Decide not to be a number, Mark," she added. We both appreciated her sharing these stories. The fact of the matter is, we don't know how long Mark will remain healthy and vigorous. The statistics are not in his favor. But he is not a number. And his life need not be dictated by numbers. Certainly, his attitude need not be and is not dictated by a number. 

I'm getting a bit ahead of the story, but last night in Vence, Jen gave something to Mark and me. It is a tiny Jizo that her yoga instructor had given her to give to her pregnant daughter. Jen had been carrying it around France on this cycling trip. She had previously mentioned it to us as we had told her about encountering many, many Jizo statutes in Japan a year ago. (I wrote about him here when we were there.) Jizo occupies a very special place at the heart of Japanese Buddhism. He has vowed not to become a Buddha until all have achieved enlightenment. He is the protector of travelers, pregnant women and deceased children.

Jen said that she had emailed her yoga teacher back in Washington about Mark, and she had replied that the Jizo that Jen had been carrying for her pregnant daughter should be given to Mark. It was an incredibly poignant and emotional moment when Jen presented this to Mark, a moment I - and I'm sure he - will never forget. Thank you, Jen.

Bikes lined up against a stone wall across the street from where we ate lunch. The Mediterranean is visible in the background.

After lunch, we mounted our bikes for a descent from Gourdon, followed by our last climb over the Col de Vence. From there, it was all downhill to our hotel in Vence where the tour concluded. We had our final dinner last night, then went our separate ways this morning, Mark and I leaving for the Nice airport at 6:00 a.m. 

Terri took the lead photo, above, as well as this one, on the last day of the tour. We had decided to wear our matching "Maui" kits to commemorate arriving at the sea.

It was a magical time this tour of ours, a time when our strength was tested, our training was tested, our nerves were tested, and our will was tested. It was a time when I experienced periods of euphoria and periods of frustration. It was a period of growth and reflection. A time to savor goals accomplished. But also a time of enrichment, of meeting new friends, sharing our lives and celebrating this wonderful thing we call life while being thankful to those who share our journey.

A la prochaine (Until the next time) ...

Castellane: The Doors of Carriero Sant Vitour

Castellane is a really small place. Really. One wouldn't expect there to be too many photo ops in a little village in the mountains. I certainly didn't. But as I started walking up the "Carriero Sant Vitour" (which I assume is the Provençal, which in French is "Rue Saint-Victor"), I started to notice the doors and the door knockers. Each one was different from the next. So I started taking pictures. As this post shows the result.

I liked this one because of the doggie door.

There were two things that attracted me to this door. First, it's blue. Second, the door knocker (pictured below)

C'est tout.

Day 12: Castellane

After nearly bonking yesterday, I took a rest day yesterday while Mark went out on the ride. We both enjoyed our days. I blogged in the morning, then went out for a stroll around the old village where I took some pictures with my iPhone and picked up some souvenirs. Then it clouded over and rained, so I went back to the hotel, re-emerging a couple of hours later to take another stroll with Mark's camera. I then had a delightful lunch with a couple on the tour from Salt Lake before heading back to the hotel to await Mark's return.

The parish church just off the square

Detail of the painting above the church doors. I commented that Jesus looks like a stoned hippy. Mark's comment: "He looks like he's being strangled."

Detail of the church door

I had another one of those experiences where I happened to look up and saw this plaque. It turns out there were at least three more on buildings near the square. Each thanks a person who "died gloriously for the liberation of Castellane" in August 1944.

At this gate on 31 January 1586, a bunch of women held off an invading Protestant army during the French religious wars. A nearby historical plaque states that a woman named Judith Andrau poured a cauldron of boiling tar on the captain of the invaders, saving the day.

Our hotel

Food of Europe: Of Wine and Pavlova

In my last post, I whined a little about food. That was yesterday. We had the most wonderful dinner of our entire tour last night at a spiffy little hotel in Castellane named Nouvel Hotel de Commerce. If anyone stumbles across this post while searching for a hotel in Castellane, this is the place to stay. After a few places that have acquired nicknames in our group like, "Hotel Albania" and "Hotel Warsaw," this place is a very welcome change.

I have never been a wine aficionado. My experience with it has been very limited. But this trip has opened my eyes to a few things. We are served wine every night with dinner, but our real discoveries have been on our own. 

Things started off with a bottle of Burgundy that our innkeeper suggested when we were up in the Alps.

Until I drank that wine, I didn't think I liked reds. This one was probably the driest red I've ever tasted, and I loved it, as did Mark. La Framée Bourgogne Hautes Cotes de Beaume Mouillard. I don't know the correct way to refer to the wine, but there you have it. Apparently, it is produced in the northern part of Burgundy. We will be on the lookout for it when we get back to Utah, but I'm not too optimistic about finding it there behind the alcohol wall.

I drink rose from time to time at home, but I've had a fair bit of it on this tour as part of the wine provided with our dinners. Last night, I partook of the best rose that I've ever tasted.

I considered finding a new home for that ceramic wine chiller - mine.

It is apparently produced east of Marseilles and above Toulon. In doing a bit of research on the Internet, I discovered that 16 generations of the same family have been producing wine at Salettes. Their website states that "Château Salettes is located on the Mediterranean coast between Toulon and Marseille, at the foot of the hilltop village of La Cadière d'Azur. The vineyard stretches over 100 acres amid pine trees, olive trees and broom. The vines, planted out on terraces above "Golfe des Lecques" bay, benefit from an ideal exposure and a unique soil quality combining clay, limestone and crushed rock. Boasting an exceptional 3000 hours of sunshine per year, this area of Provence brings together all the ingredients that go to make Château Salettes one of Bandol's finest wines."

Once again, we'll be on the lookout for this wine once we get home. We may even buy a bottle to take  home, especially since tomorrow is the last day of our tour and we'll be able to repack everything before heading to Rome on Monday.

As I mentioned, dinner last night was wonderful. The dessert, pictured in the lead photo, I guess could be referred to as a species of pavlova. Two large meringues cradled vanilla ice cream coated with crème Chantilly festooned with fresh strawberries. It was delicious. I can't wait to see what we're having for dinner tonight!