GENEVA. With my head full of German language and pronunciations, I land in French speaking Geneva and have to revert back to that language, but at least it is one I know.

Switzerland is an intriguing country, regardless of having four national languages (French, German, Italian, and Romansh). Apart from the cheese, chocolate, watches (or rather, timepieces), knives, banks, mountains, and international organisations, its beauty is legendary.

I included Geneva in my trip to fulfill one of my life’s dreams – to visit the United Nations building. When I was much younger, with my love of languages I wanted to be an interpreter and fix the world by working for the U.N.

I am staying with a Servas family, and my French will be tested well over the next two nights, which is good for me and my fluency. A lot of Geneva has that gorgeous grand-old-buildings-with-balconies look reminiscent of Paris about it and I love that, with some built in the 1400s. I only have one day, really, to fit in as much as possible.

The enormous Lac Léman  defines and delineates all the vistas of Geneva. But first, after buying my train ticket for Zürich for the next day, I catch a modern and efficient tram past the UNHCR building straight to the U.N. building, or the Palais des Nations, and wait for the tour to begin. I have had to bring my passport  with me as ID in order to enter. There is a strong security presence as you would expect but all are friendly and helpful. People speak to me in French and I reply, so they think I am Swiss-French until they see my passport and speak English to me. I join the English speaking tour group.

The Palais is made up of two buildings. One built in the early 20th century is the original League of Nations. It has art deco styling both in colour choice and decorative motifs, with a grand entrance and various sculptures. The second building is a 21st century add-on, still quite grand but more a product of the seventies concrete, I feel. They are joined by a long raised glassed-in passageway. Fortunately the tour starts in the new and ends in the old, leaving the best for last.

At one auditorium we quietly enter the balcony overlooking the room and listen in on a conference going on. It is regarding aging populations and health and is carried out in English; we are able to hear the conference below us clearly and the Speaker sounds British. It is strange to look down on the crowded auditorium and watch the Speaker and each individual member participate. I look up and notice that there are small enclosed booths all around the balcony which house the interpreters, all seated with earphones on, and my heart starts to flutter. Before our tour guide instructs us to, I put on the headphones attached to my seat and switch the dial to French so I can listen in on the French interpreter. It is a woman and her French is perfect; she speaks at the same time as the Speaker and interprets simultaneously what he has just said, which is a necessary requirement. I can understand both her and the Speaker but I don’t know if I would be able to do that.  As she is speaking I observe each of the booths to see if I can pick which person it is. Suddenly, the words I am hearing and a woman that I spy opposite whose mouth is moving meld into the same conversation. She uses her hands to gesticulate and stress an important point. She is probably in her late thirties and I am immediately jealous of her, her job, living here, doing this. When the tour guide asks the group if there are any questions, I ask her how can I get a job? She smiles and tells me I need fluency in at least two of the six U.N. international languages (I have a good level of French and Spanish, and of course English so, maybe, check?). And it is highly competitive. And I would have to live in Geneva. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll think about it. Ok, I have. Take me on!

We continue the tour and visit the Room of Human Rights. As we walk we pass various gifts donated to the U.N. by countries, memorials to U.N. workers killed, and art donated. In the older building I gawp at the art deco marble flooring and grand arcades. Finally, the pièce de resistance in the original Palais, the Assembly Hall, where the U.N. General Assembly takes place. I am in wonderment and awe. As we exit we overhear U.N. officials taking a meeting break and discussing potential agreements in the halls – from all different nationalities and with differing languages, though most are in English. I have fulfilled a dream. I head back to Geneva central along a path that skirts the lake, taking in the view, and walking on clouds.

Apart from a sudden cold snap affecting Europe, the wind in Geneva is ridiculous, and causes its famous Jet D’Eau to be switched off today , which is disappointing. But the lake is impressive and houses crowd the distant foreshore. On my side is a park where many stately homes, which used to be inhabited by VIPs, are used as museums and such. I venture out on the walkway to the inner harbour. The wind here is fierce and almost knocks me over. Its icy cold, seeming direct from the Alps, pierces my few layers of clothes, making my eyes freeze in their sockets, but worse, it makes my fingers stop working when I try to take photos. I take respite from the wind for a moment behind a low wall to find people swimming in the lake!

I walk back through town as the sun is setting, highlighting the inner harbour, marina, and surrounding buildings in a wash of golden yellow. This side of the lake is the old town with cobblestone streets and narrow alleyways, statues and churchyards. I pass a new Mercedes parked outside an Arab bank and am reminded of how different are the lives of the haves and the have-nots. After 15000 steps braving the cold and wind, I return home to a white wine and a warming traditional raclette dinner – Swiss cheese melted over potatoes with ham and pickles. The family is so lovely and I am sad it is such a short stay in Geneva.

Mid morning the next day, I am on the train to Zürich. I wanted to travel by train through the Alps, having never done it or seen them, rather than flying over and looking down on them. When the train winds its way up high on the hills overlooking and alongside the lake giving me a fabulous perspective, I am glad I chose this option. We charge through the countryside and into low-lying cloud, with occasional glimpses of the landscape around us, giving the impression of being suspended in space. I am sure the man sitting opposite me is becoming annoyed at my child-like gasps of awe at each turn. He is well dressed and probably in his early 40s, with a sharp precise beard and hair just so. He snaps his newspaper loudly and settles it on the miniature table between us. Once, I accidentally brush my foot against his perfect tan trousers. He leans over and regards my travel shoes with disdain as he brushes the dirt off with exact movements. I focus on the mountains outside. There is no wifi easily available and for once I am not concerned as the scenery has all my attention.

ZÜRICH. I am going there to have a look at the city I have heard so much about and to visit an old school friend; I have just one night. The central train station is beautiful and picturesque like the rest of the city. In the tourist office I hear German once again here, no longer French. I need to find a place to stay and am told by the lady in the tourist office that there is one close. I push my suitcase along the road and hit cobblestone streets. Yes they are wonderful and old but do you know how difficult it is to move luggage along cobblestones? Every fifteen metres or so I have to stop and rest a moment. I am getting riled at them but once I glance at my map I realise I am not far. A helpful young guy uses his wifi to check that I am near the address. I spy the doorway and decide to leave my luggage downstairs while I check out the reception. I climb five sets of stairs to reach the reception which is not open. I don’t like the idea of having to haul my bags up five flights of stairs so I use their wifi to look for somewhere else. I even consider going back to the Transit Hotel at the airport, but I am not flying out, I am continuing on the train into Italy. Just around the corner and facing the river is the cheap hotel I decide on. I have the rest of the afternoon to wander until meeting my friend, Bettina, for dinner nearby.

I follow the Limmat river walking past historic buildings toward Lake Zürich. Even though it is cold there is no breeze here and the sun bounces off the water providing an attractive backdrop to the statues, avenues of trees, and couples or families strolling along the lakeside feeding the multitude of swans congregating. I cross the river to take in the older section of town, where there are more pretty nooks and crannies, alleys, and colonnades.

 

Bettina and I decide on Swiss fondue made with a mix of two cheeses, a salad, and a white wine (apparently you have to drink white wine with fondue and raclette), and we spend time discussing a whole range of topics – it’s been years. She teaches me how to stab some bread or a potato with my fondue fork and immerse it in the melted cheese in the pot, swishing and rolling it around til it is covered, then letting it cool a little before eating. She tells me it is a farmer’s dish. At the end, the crusty cheese that has cooked onto the base of the pot is scraped off and we crunch our way through it. It is great fun. We even connect with another school friend via phone call! It is such a strange and wonderful feeling talking to them both after so long.

Then I am taken on a tour – and to walk off the meal because I ate too much – of the Neiderdorf mediaeval buildings and backstreets area filled with old guild halls and churches. Bettina fills me in on the history of the architecture as we wander up and down the narrow streets. It has been a delightful evening.

Even though it is a short visit and has been a momentary peek, I have relished and savoured my glimpse of Switzerland. I think I overdid the Swiss cheese, though.