En Geneve

Have you ever been in place so perfect, that you feel like there is some higher presence guiding everything? Some people get that feeling from Disneyland (and everything is definitely planned out there). I got that feeling in Switzerland. It's hard to tell where divine intervention and human intervention meet, which makes the natural orderliness of the place all the more uncanny.

In the center of the city, there is a huge geyser fountain shooting from the middle of the cobalt Lac Leman, on the banks of which I enjoyed an utterly perfect day. I recommend La Terrasse, a popular meet-up by the lake where you can imbibe on the grass nearby or go down to the water for a quick dip. It's the perfect place to sip and view the local talent. The sun also does not set until around 10 pm, which is also nice. It was surprisingly cold, but at least it was warmer than Paris (which is comparable to Canada in terms of global latitude).
I felt very much at home. Geneva feels more like a global town than a global village. Like DC, the grassy knolls of Geneva are filled with the idealistic, ambitious interns who work on issues of global import for next to nothing; they seem to live on pure will.

The social scene was a very exclusive, almost incestuous club, where everyone can make jokes in several languages and is comfortable with speaking in acronyms. The WTO, UNHCR, ILO, ICRC, WIPO, IOM and countless other NGOs and intergovernmental bodies restent en Geneve. For my human rights class, most of the sites I visited worked on human rights / humanitarian issues. During the presentations, I felt pretty much in awe all the time.

Not surprisingly, the architecture of the UN High Commissioner on Refugees reflected humility - it reminded me of an adobe plueba in a cliff-face, or maybe a bunker. A very safe, nonthreatening bunker. The Palais Wilson, named after Woodrow, was a grande dame of a building on the outside, but the inside did not have very ornate rooms. One of my favorite features was a giant statue, in front of the United Nations office, of a wooden chair with one leg broken off. It reminds me of a broken school chair, or perhaps a bar fight. Someone mentioned to me that the statue refers to torture. On the U.S. stance on torture, I can only say pbbbbbbbt. We could certainly use more visual reminders.

It is not cheap to live in Geneva; in fact it was too much for my fellow students and I. I was lodging in the sticks of Fermey-Voltaire, a perfectly charming village in France that takes it name from its founder/benefactor, one of the masters of satire. There is one main cobblestone road flanked by parked Volkswagons and Citroens. High-end boutiques and some truly sublime restaurants line both sides. At one end is a freeway leading to Geneva, at the other is an intersection leading further into the suburbs. When I arrived on Sunday evening, it was so quiet and pitch black that not only could I see the stars, I could practically hear them as well. To be honest, it was a little spooky. I'm used to more noise at night from car alarms, ambulances, maintenance workers, etc. Apparently even the construction workers get the evenings off. I spent some quality time in the local Carrefour, one of the only places to get cheapish groceries in the area, making a bread run an opportunity for networking with Genevois who stop by to save on the essentials. Photo credits to the lovely Katie.

Next up, Mont Blanc.