Nyon's Swiss Shania Twain

View of Nyon from the port
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Having slept for quite a long time, Jason and I got an earlier start this morning, because we had two destinations to make:  Nyon and Geneva.

Jason had to convince me of the Nyon bit, because it looked small and uninviting.  We arrived at the train station, which was ugly and small, and  I figured I had been right. I was thinking that we should just wait at the nearby boulangerie for the next train to Geneva, but Jason was determined.  I'm glad he was.

Yeah, a Country-Music Festival, full of cowboy hats, French-accented country songs, and men and woman trying to learn to line dance...

Nyon botanical gardens, from the castle
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We strolled through the town and suddenly hit a steep decline.  The town now drooped over a hill running into Lake Geneva at the bottom.  And at the tip of the hill, before the decline, was a very picturesque white, four towered chateau.  Suddenly, the town was gorgeous. Remarking that this will be the last time I judge a Swiss town by its train station, I pulled out the camera and took an estimate 8 million pictures of the lake and the castle.

Walking down the hill, through a botanical garden, towards the cute little docks, I heard music.  I told Jason to follow it, but it was back at the top of the hill.  Still, I am accutely aware that every time I don't follow an impulse while travelling, I regret it.  So, we marched across the botanical gardens and up the hill again to the castle.

Chris, eating a 'croissantwhich' and drinking a beer, with country music playing behind him.
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And what should we find at the top...  but an American Country-Music Festival.  I will leave you with that thought for a second.

....

Yeah, a Country-Music Festival, full of cowboy hats, French-accented country songs, and men and woman trying to learn to line dance.  And it appears that the entire town had come out for it, because there were hundreds of people in this cute little castle courtyard.  I pinched my cheeks, but still found myself in the same place.  The scene was, of course, accentuated by the old Roman ruins littered around the courtyard, and ominous, beautiful Lake Geneva in the background.

Castle Nyon
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I figured we should make the most of it, so I immediately headed for the food and beer.  They were selling, I swear this is true, "Croissantwhiches" for 3 CH ($2.75) and a beer for 4 CH.  Unfortunately, the music was loud and my French is bad, so I held up the line trying to figure out how much I needed to pay.  When I finally purchased my provisions, the band started up a Shania Twain song, though I can't immediately remember which one (that's probably on purpose).  It was made even more hilarious by the fact that the Swiss French accents were so accute that you could barely understand the English lyrics.  And meanwhile, families were electric-sliding their hearts out on a makeshift dance floor.

We stayed for a while to take in the irony.  Let it be said that America is only hated politically.  Our culture still holds a bizzare stranghold of fascination on the rest of the world.  When was the last time you stumbled across a French-music celebration in downtown Topeka?  It made me proud, in an odd way.  The Europeans will still celebrate American culture, but I think it's a guilty pleasure. Shhh. Don't tell anyone that we like Shania Twain.  That kind of thing.

On our way down to the docks, I told Jason that I had to wade in Lake Geneva.  Don't question me. I no longer say no to impulses. Not in travel anyway.  I've been warned that this will get me killed.  But, honestly, I'm a fairly cautious fellow, and my impulses are stupid and trite, e.g. "follow the country music" or "please let me wade in lukewarm Lake Geneva," not "let's go have tea with these Al-Qaeda looking folks" or "I think this wild lion needs a good hug."  And since I now have a few regrets stemming from denying these impulses, I now follow them strictly.

So, I waded for five minutes in Lake Geneva, and it turns out that it was the only time I would step foot in it, despite visiting Geneva several times later.  So there. I was right. Nyah.

On our way back up the hill towards the train station, I bought an eclaire.  I would try to describe how good eclaire's are in Switzerland, but it would do no good.  Orgasmic is probably close, but still doesn't quite get it.  Multi-orgasmic?  I dunno. I'm not a woman.  Still,  it involves ecstacy of some sort.  And that's all I can say about that.  Seriously, try an eclaire in Switzerland.

We got to the train station and caught the next train to Geneva, while I stared out the window, longing for my next eclaire.