After France, my next stop was ‘home’ to Poznan, Poland (via Germany). You’ll be positively thrilled to hear that the paperwork I was waiting for was sorted in my absence and I’m now officially recognised as existing again. Lucky that - I was beginning to feel faint around the edges.
The big news in Poland of course was the Lot Airlines aeroplane that landed in Warsaw the week before - sans wheels. Apart from the general excitement of it all, the reason this is significant is because the pilot flying that craft is the good friend of my step-family. Fame by 600 degrees of separation is still fame. Happily for the world at large, I shun fame and therefore shan’t bother to make anything of this connection other than to give major kudos to El Capitano. Since I was in France at the time of the accident and officially holidaying, I didn’t see any of the news. In Poland it was much harder to escape. Which isn’t a bad thing because actually, the footage and interviews were quite interesting. Managing to land that plane with barely a bump was quite extraordinary. Of course, he says it’s all in a day’s work and is very nonplussed by all the attention but there’s at least a couple of hundred people who had busily bid farewell to their loved ones who will be forever grateful that he is jolly good at his job (and flies gliders for fun). It led me to wonder how many critical decisions were made in those moments of overwhelming fear. How many relationships were saved? How many were ended? How many lives have now been redirected? How many have a greater confidence of being on the right track? What realisations did they have as their life flashed before their eyes? We are told by philosophers and pop psychologists alike to live each day like our last. Easy to say, hard to practice. I bet that NY-WAW flight reminded a heap of people about the importance of that. As well as all that deep stuff, it also made me wonder about the truth of those allegations that mobile phone interfere with the plane's equipment. Unless it was mobiles that stopped the landing gear popping out, they didn’t seem to have much of an impact on one of the most delicately executed emergency landings performed in aviation history. (Allegedly, just before landing most of the passengers were texting their loved ones madly, or perhaps telling their bosses how they really feel about work or whatever else was weighing on their minds at that moment. Probably not the fact that they'd left the car service too late but possibly wishing they had gone to that party last week.)
With my faith renewed in pilots world-wide, I barely gulped when it was again time fly. This time to Geneva (via Germany). (Germany gets a big workout with three transits, but no love - the airports are not worth blogging about.)
Switzerland is a fascinating place. It’s land locked. Surrounded by alps. Traditionally neutral in times of strife. Maintaining that neutrality economically by not being part of the Eurozone. Mostly self-contained. Very punctual and well organised (despite being bordered on two sides by the chaos that is France and Italy). It’s both globally irrelevant (small population, economy) and the centre of world affairs (through the UN and banking). Geographically and by its nature, it would seem that if any country in Europe was going to have a strong and unique cultural heritage it would be Switzerland, but somehow it escaped getting it’s own language. Some argue that the Rumantsch Grischun is proper Swiss. Sure it is officially one of the four national languages but less than 1% of the population speak it and within it there are also several dialects. There is Swiss German, except that there isn't really such a thing as they speak different Swiss German in each canton. And the cantons aren’t very big. And it’s only spoken in the cantons that are in the bit of Switzerland that’s German Switzerland, not the French or Italian bits. Despite the fact that culture and language are usually so intertwined, in Switzerland there is no common language and yet there is still an undeniable and distinctly Swiss culture. You can’t mistake it. Even if you didn’t pass a checkpoint you’d know if you were in another country. Italy is very different from the Italian part of Switzerland, even if it’s only separated by a train platform. I’m sure the same is true of the French and German bits. Switzerland gave me a very strong sense of people just getting on with what needs to be done. And so with everyone just getting on with it instead of letting a little thing like communication get in the way, it’s little wonder things work so well.
Geneva is, as I’m sure you all know, in the French-speaking part of Switzerland. Luckily for the Swiss, they didn’t adopt the cultural norms that go with the language on the other side of the border. Things work in Switzerland. Things are easy. Places are open. Signage is regular and reliable. Hoorah! Geneva pleased me. OK, so it’s not as pretty as Paris, although I’m not exactly sure why not. The backdrop is made up of alps, and a beautiful lake, the streets are clean and tidy, the individual buildings are mostly attractive. The only thing I can put it down to is uniformity and geometry. The Parisian city scape is quite uniform - most buildings are shades of the same colour. And Paris has a more geometric layout than Geneva. Maybe it’s just my eye. Prettiness scale and opinion aside, Geneva is a pleasant city. It’s soooooooo easy to get around. Whether by public transport (the hotels hand out free public transport cards) or by foot, even for a first timer it did not present any problems. Of course the best thing about Geneva is that I had two friends there, one of whom I caught up with for lunch (John) and one who I met for fondue and (outdoor!!!) ice-skating (Yvan). And thus, on the basis of ice-skating alone and abetted by fondue, Geneva has been added to my list of cities I would be happy to call home. There’s something quite adorable about a city who’s number one tourist attraction is a big jet of water that started as a simple engineering necessity to stop the city’s pipe network from blowing a gasket. Those Genevans are my kind of zany.
Although Geneva was a hard act to follow, the rest of Switzerland didn’t disappoint. I caught the train from Geneva to Zurich. Bear with me a minute while I have yet another nerd-alert moment and get excited about the public transport. From buying a ticket onwards, it was all just so simple and pleasant. The ticket centre had helpful staff - a miracle in itself. The trains are lovely - clean, comfortable, sympathetically designed for the over-loaded traveller, well sign-posted and all announcements are in French, German and English. The bliss of traveling without struggle cannot be overstated. And naturally they are all on time. Swiss trains are also helped somewhat by the beauty of the landscape they traverse. Glorious alpine vistas. Chubby cows contentedly chewing in lush meadows. Fields of vines, sunflowers, corn, cabbage. I know cabbage doesn’t sound romantic but it really does look very twee when there are rows of plump, round, deep green cabbages in a field. And of course, there are river valleys cutting dramatic swathes through forests and the obligatory pert little villages dotting the countryside. If I was a fairytale creature, this is where I’d choose to live. No wonder the hills are alive with Julie Andrews.
Like Geneva, Zurich is perched on the edge of a big lake and surrounded by mountains. Zurich by foot is wonderful - lots of lovely winding, cobbled streets, lined by elegant restaurants and shops, leading you around and around like a labyrinth. For a compulsive walker and window-shopper, it was heavenly! Overall, Zurich is a bit prettier than Geneva but my lack of German made it harder to find my way around and read menus, so Geneva is winning livability by hair’s breadth. Of course, “more difficult” is relative and getting around is still miiiiiiiiiiiiiiles easier than anywhere else. I had the added benefit of my intrepid guide (Sally) who without a word of complaint, facilitated both the sightseeing and menu negotiations. And, even more fabulously, facilitated a couple of rolicking nights out (made all the more fun by her excellent friends), one of which ended in salsa dancing in a bachata bar in the red-light district and a very bad hangover the next day. So bad that even fast food wasn’t going to cut it as a cure. Pineapple (????) turned out to be the winning curative but alas, all that did was temporarily stave off the pain. Eventually the pain came but I think that was just because I had to leave Switzerland. It’s never the champagne.
And so I returned to Poland for a couple of days where it is so cold my face wants to detach itself from my skull every time I step outside. A few francs poorer but some very happy memories and new friends richer. A week well spent, I say.
Geneva's best-known tourist attraction:
One of Geneva's streets in the beautiful old town:
Zurich:
Zurich at twilight:
Shortly before my face fell off from cold:
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