The City of Calvin

Geneva, from the top of John Calvin's church
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Geneva.

The city of Calvin.

So here it was, the city of my religious upbringing. The nude beaches seemed to put a dent in Calvin's image...

The Palais of Nations, WHO, CERN, UNHCR.

Geneva from the causway beach. Two Swiss Francs to go to the beach. What a rip.
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Cosmopolitan Capital of the World.

City of no real National Identity.

I was finally in Geneva.  This is one of those cities where you hear of snooty people going just to be snooty.  They will go there with their beautiful mistresses, speak 8 languages, have a meal from every corner of the world and eat it while admiring the gorgeous lake, and maybe pop over to France to ski at Mont Blanc.

It is also the city of my religious upbringing.  Grace Brethren is not really Baptist, but they are definitely an offshoot of Calvinism.  Geneva was Calvin's land.  My denomination of Christianity was practiced here with full vigor.

Downtown Geneva
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So, I had a lot of questions, thoughts, and apprehensions about finally seeing this city, which means so many things to so many different people.  And when I stepped foot into it's streets, stood on the beaches of the lake, and sat in the pews of Calvin's church, I had only one thing to say:

'Eh.'

Seriously.  Geneva is hugely overrated.  There's absolutely nothing wrong with Geneva.  It's just not all that spectacular.  It's definitely not the most beautiful place on the lake (I give that honor to Lausanne, Nyon, or Montreaux).  The town itself is a hodgepodge of old buildings which are strangely melded in style, giving a bizarre paradox (i.e. Calvin's church has imperial columns melded into a Gothic spire... even I know that doesn't work).  The other half is kinda seedy and gritty.

The Palais of Nations and its interesting monument to landmines
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It's technically in the Swiss Romande, and the hills overlooking the city are actually in France, but I heard mostly Spanish while I was there, which took me by a rather large surprise.  The people are friendly enough for a big city, but coming from Neuchatel, which will change your view of French hospitality entirely (for the better, I mean), it kinda came off as harsh.

It's not very Swiss at all, in fact. It really doesn't seem to belong anywhere.  I know that the cosmopolitan aspect is something that makes it famous, but I found it more irritating than anything.  Maybe Neuchatel's impeccable French credentials were corrupting me... but I didn't feel like speaking Spanish. I could do that at home.  In fact, that's sort of the feeling I got the whole time I was there:  I could do this at home.

Chris drinking
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Of course, I am exaggerating.  You can't have topless beaches at home, which they have in Geneva.  But, following the cardinal rule of topless beaches: only old men and old and/or ugly women may use them.  Geneva was no different.   Also, Geneva, to its credit, does have an ENORMOUS water fountain, that jets water 200m (over 600 feet) into the air, much taller than the tallest building in Geneva, and it can be seen by passing airplanes.   I'll admit that was cool.

***

We walked around the majority of the afternoon and saw all there was to see, at least according to the Lonely Planet.  We climbed to the top of Calvin's church and took in the Alps behind the lake, which was probably the best view in the city.  Then, panting, we climbed right back down.

We walked all the way out to the Palais of Nations, where all the World NPOs are housed along with a number of UN orgs.  It's an impressive compound, with a bizarre statue of a three-legged chair outside the front gate, which supposedly represents land mines (one of the legs is blown off, I guess).

It started to rain, so we headed back for the city when we ran into a young woman who asked us in broken French where a certain hotel was.  Not wanting to seem foreign, I responded in French as best as I could and she thanked us and moved on.  Not but twenty-minutes later, we stumbled into the hotel in the EXACT opposite direction that I had told her to go.  If you're reading this and can speak English, please lady, don't come kill me.  I was just trying to seem like I could speak French and knew my way around Geneva.

We moved back towards the station to meet with Jason's uncle for dinner, which would prove to be one of the most enlightening and fascinating dinners I've ever had...