Autumn 2017: Geneva, true to type

The Lyon-Geneva journey was a serene procession through a pastoral landscape of sparkling lakes and fairy tale forests, just the sort of tranquility one expects from the Swiss.

Not so at Cornavin station though, where I disembarked to the din of a multitude of tongues – plenty of them Filipino. So many voluble representatives of the diaspora here!

On the packed tram to my Airbnb I began to catalogue my initial impressions:

Geneva is not only a city of many different ethnicities; it is a city of many different doggos.

From small floofs to large ones, the kind that look equally happy bounding through an alpine snowdrift or splashing around in a summer lake.

And these puppers and woofers are, being Swiss, extremely well-behaved. One such massive specimen carefully entered our tram and took up station by the door, paws crossed. He was an urbane passenger, and as the tram slowed at his stop, he rose and glided off in one smooth movement, timing his motion perfectly with the opening of the doors.

Another observation: my brain travels more slowly than the rest of me, and so my  synapses still thought I was in France. Just as well for French-speaking Geneva – or should I say Genève.

The Airbnb was in Petit-Lancy, an extremely quiet, well-kept and well-ordered suburb, with all the cars parked just so, once again confirming my stereotypes about this tidy, picturesque country.

Bonus: my host was at home. I am the sort of guest who likes to share spaces, to chat with homeowners even before I arrive, you see.

In Tbilisi I had stayed with a kindly couple; Naira was a teacher married to an engineer, and they had told me, A guest is a gift from God.

In Dubrovnik, the hillside flat by the bay had belonged to Ana the lively redhead, who had picked me up at the bus station and given me a bottle of wine from her family’s vineyards.

In Paris it had been the sweet, maternal Sophie, and here in Geneva, it was the tall Frenchman Romain, who spoke mellifluous English and seemed to be an excellent housekeeper.

I was exhausted though, and with cursory pleasantries that fell short of my usual cheerful conversation, tumbled early into bed without so much as a rosti for dinner.

Tomorrow would be different.