Welcome to Geneva!

Like a missionary evangelizing, I passed the train ride from Lyon to Geneva preaching the global conversation to a young man from Cameroon whose sister and brothers-in-law are teachers. He was fascinated by the concept of classroom connections between school children and took the Waza Alliance and Able and Willing website addresses, promising to read about our work that evening. He offered to buy me coffee and helped me find my bus, reminding me to stop at the ATM for Swiss francs.

Which was a start, the 100 franc bill that it fed me, but I suspected that the bus would require coins, and with shock, realized that I had no idea how much a Swiss franc was worth. A kind woman told me that 100 francs was about 70 euros, so francs are about the same as dollars. I went into a shop to get change, and chickened out, buying a paperback to get my change and asking how much the bus cost. I thought the 5 franc coin was good enough for a 3 franc bus. Silly me.

Next issue was finding the #3 bus that my email said was right in front of the station. It was, but going in the wrong direction (good thing I asked). Eventually I found the #3 several blocks away and, pleased with myself, hopped on, slipping the 5 francs to the driver with a smile. Which he greeted with an expression of disgust –“another dumb tourist” – and told me I had to buy my ticket from the machine at the curb. As he shut the door behind me and drove off. I stood behind the turnstile, paralyzed, and he snarled, “Well, DO something!” I timidly pushed through the bar, which I thought was fixed in place until I had a ticket, and waited for the next stop, throwing my suitcase on the rack. He threw back at me, “And you need the exact change!” So I implored the nearest passenger to change my 5 franc coin, which he kindly did. At the next stop I pointed to the machine and said, I just buy it there? And he said, push the red button in the yellow column. I just stood there stunned. I do what? He said, LISTEN TO ME. Push the red button in the yellow column.

I thought London’s tube was a mess. This system doesn’t even have a map that helps! As I jumped to the curb I said, You have my suitcase, Don’t leave me! The kind passengers did their best short of patting me on the head, saying, it’s a disgrace, don’t feel bad, it’s incomprehensible. I said, ruefully, I’ve been in Switzerland for 2 minutes and haven’t done anything right yet! Which of course is status quo, so I’m over it.

The dorm is so IUesque, I feel right at home! Unfortunately, my large window faces west, which though it is great for sunsets, is pretty much the sauna treatment, even with the shutter down all afternoon. It does cool off at night, so I’ve slept well (when not getting phone calls from home at midnight!) It has been quite hot, 28-30 degrees C, which I think is 90s plus very humid.

The university classrooms are stifling and the natives are used to it, so we wilted in dismay as our chipper instructors in suit and tie chattered on, never breaking a sweat. I’m changing 3 times a day, soaked. The guys on the bus are in snappy suits, polished shoes, looking comfy. I’m dripping and wondering how we can be standing toe to toe and yet be on different weather maps. And I think Switzerland: Alpine chill. Hot cocoa. Nope. Let’s break stereotypes here: think, sweaty city.

Sunday afternoon we had a walking tour of Geneva with a veritable bottomless well of encyclopedic knowledge. He walked us for 4 hours, to the Calvin Academy, with the 3 vault keystones in the three languages of the school needed for Scriptural reading: Greek, Latin, Hebrew.

























We saw the tower commemorating the spy caught smuggling the key to the city out in a dead goose – and later saw the Siberian geese that have migrated here due to climate change. The little island dedicated to Jean – Jacques Rousseau, born here, and the 18th hotel where Dickens was staying during the war of 1848 when a cannon ball came through the wall, seriously compromising his good impression of the city.





The Rolex company among others made me think of Brad and Steph and Michael – there was an antique store of tools of the watchmaking trade they would have enjoyed.




















The roots of the city pre-reformation divided it into Italian, French, and German sectors due to the business interests of the city commerce. Street names changed with the reformation, from The Street of Pretty Girls, for example. Not Calviinist. The romanesque and gothic cathedrals became protestant temples, the statues of saints cast into the Rhone. Such religious conflict always saddens me.









The European Soccer championships this weekend have the city in an uproar and the Lake Leman waterfront celebrates the local furor. There are fans of the teams from Spain and from Germany everywhere sporting their teams’ colors. The Sunday night final game needed no tv access to keep current – the horns and shouts in the street announced the winning goal. I know Eusebio and Chebi are thrilled, and Christian disappointed.

Our Monday courses at the University involved 90 minute presentations on an overview of Swiss history from the point of view of a journalist/geographer, the Swiss systems (26) of education, and the economics of 2nd language acquisition. All were exceptionally well presented though our fatigue and heat-induced suffering had to be pretty evident in spite of the coffee and cold water splashed liberally on the face & neck at every break!

This modern monument illustrates the meridional line that passes through Geneva.

Our meals are uniformly wonderful. I bought my first and last Swiss chocolate this afternoon, desperate to stay awake – oh my. Oh my. Oh my.

I will buy gift boxes of chocolate to bring home for staff and students as promised, at the last minute, and savor the fond memory of that one indulgent treat. Wow. I will leave you with that taste on your tongue, creamy and rich, ridiculously rich. Wow.

R & R, Sylvia Style

My stay in Lyon with English teacher Yvette and her husband Oliver (accountant, tech wiz, chef) and her son Jeremy (economist, MBA, soccer star) had as its purpose the rest and recovery requisite to the end of a 15 day student tour. After a delightful and exhausting day at school Tuesday, I did accomplish the rest, but the R & R became rest and risk. It was utterly against the grain for me to have to submit my final best offer for Helen’s house this week without knowing what the other bidder would choose. I had to gamble, which I loathe. I finally managed by putting myself into the Euchre frame of mind and reminding myself to trump high if you really want to win the hand. It was more a relief than a victory when I got the word that my offer was accepted. Now on to inspection and subsequent renegotiation of price, closing, and preparatory work, hopefully just before closing on my house (still waiting for that first domino to fall.)

Yvette and I lounged as only spent teachers in the final days of school can, thoroughly enjoying each other and a cup of tea. Yvette came down with the obligatory end of term illness, so we were content to take it easy at home. Their hospitality was exemplary.

One of the highlights of my visit was the Wednesday afternoon premier of Prince Caspian in French. Yvette dropped me at the theater and went home to siesta while I wandered in Narnia, deliriously happy to visit there with a theater of small children. I left with regret, last as usual, and half in the clouds look around for Yvette. Instead I saw Aslan. Riveted, stunned, speechless, I stood before the miniature statue. I touched his face to see if it was real. It was simply a direct replica, an astounding likeness. Still bewildered, I climbed into Yvette’s car and gasped, “Look! There! Do you see that lion? Am I imagining it?” She laughed and reminded me that I was in Lyon. I belatedly made the connection. Duh. Still the hair stands up on my neck when I think of the chances of being in Lyon for the premier. Needless to say there was Sarah presence and Sarah laughter – I see her in Susan and in Lucy both. How she would have loved it! Do you suppose that Narnia is the land the scissors walk to?

Collège Lachenal: Pen Friends

Talk about déja vu. Here we are, the last day of school, encore! As guest speaker for the day Tuesday, I fielded questions and led discussions in 5 classes of 6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th grade English students. For the most part, I asked them to decide the topics that I addressed and they wanted to know about American students’ school day, food, sports, weather – and had I seen many stars?







This question of celebrity spotting simply stunned me. It came up in every class as no other question did. That brought us to the question of national stereotypes, and we made lists. Americans are seen as rich and tall, they eat hamburgers and ketchup, McDonalds and Coke, they drive big cars and live in big houses and often hang out with big stars. I did my best to show Indiana in relation to Hollywood and New York and asked how often they encountered French celebrities. Of course, they scoffed and said, “Are you kidding? We live in Lyon!” I said, “Hey, I live in Indianapolis!”

When I listed typical stereotypes of the French - elegant, sexy women, men who are suave, polished, interested in women and wine, and quick to surrender when courage is required in a crisis - they came quickly back with, “Hey, who came over and won your revolution for you?” A fact that escapes many Americans, who also forget that it took our country almost 3 years from Pearl Harbor to D-Day with all industry tuned to preparing for war to get ready to take on the modern military force that had overrun all of Europe, a Europe that had no time to prepare to meet it, who was urged by its Allies to not prepare for war as a means of avoiding it. We forget that France had time to see the consequences of resisting that force with cavalry and saber in the photos of a leveled Poland, whose capital had been the “Paris of the East.” We are grateful in hindsight that France surrendered to save Paris from bombing, vowing to defeat the occupier another day, for we found great pleasure in the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower.

These students more than anything remind me of my students, and I would love to find a way to create an affordable exchange of student groups. The lesson I did my best to teach is that we have much more in common than we have differences, that Americans find France exotic and attractive in much the same way that the French find America a paradise of wonders. It’s not a bad thing in a couple in love to admire and long to be like your partner: America and France have a life-long friendship, fraught with moments of high valor and petty squabbles. Vive l’Alliance!

Last Romp on the Royal Riviera

We resolutely rose early to use the cool of the day and avoid the bus loads of tourists on the winding coastal route from Nice to Monaco. The blues and greens, sapphire and emerald of the Mediterranean dazzled us, seen from the towering rocky claws of the Alps that reach toward this jewel of sun-drenched paradise. There were multiple plans for increased personal income floated about with the purpose of return trips to this inviting coast.














The postage stamp of a country that is Monaco packed in maximum wealth in villas, cars, and yachts. We wandered by the Marine studies aquarium with its mini-submersible and statue honoring sea life obliging us to sing a chorus of “Yellow Submarine” with the sublime realization that the octopus really does have a garden by the sea.

The garden walk dedicated to Princess Grace led us along the sea, beside the cathedral closed to tourists during the Sunday Mass, and up through the town to the Palace of the Grimaldis. This family traces its history back to the 13th century when an ancestor returned from exile disguised as a monk to reclaim his heritage. The clever decision to open a casino and to offer tax shelter for the wealthy has made Monte Carlo a world famous name, augmented by the famed Grand Prix.

We drove up winding roads to the hilltop village of Eze where we lunched and wandered, ending up at the top of the outcrop of rock on which the church is perched. The shopping along the way featured the lovely Provencal fabrics, lavender sachets, and of course, Lamborghinis and Ferraris. Porshes, too, perhaps. There was drooling. There were guards to ward off droolers.

An afternoon lesson on aromatherapy, essential oils, and health by the honey-voiced British therapist who lives and works in Monte Carlo (with unbelievably rich clients) had a soporific effect that we fought off with difficulty. The activity roused us as we combined our choice of 8 oils in almond oil to make 2 bottles of therapeutic balm. We had a chance to guess the 3 scents in a fragrance contest and had 3 winners who knew cloves (Carly, Hannah, and who?).

After a brief but enlightening tour of the Fragonard factory by Magdalena, we shopped for perfumes, soaps, colognes, and bath salts. I found my favorite perfume, Ile d’amour, but not the cream sachets that I like for gifts. It was a sweet end to our last day of touring, and made even Nicer by a last Mediterranean swim before dinner.

(Photo at left: Science Gleaning Knowledge of Life from the Sea)



We said our farewells to Amanda, our guide, since she planned to accompany Texas and Alaska in the morning, and Patricia gave her the scarf that she knit on the bus while we traveled. As one of her “knit-wit” sponsors and a knit-wit grandma, I was immensely proud of that generous gesture.

What an amazing group of well-mannered students respectful of each other and their teachers, with simply splendid parents who did their best to mother children not their own: never easy. It was a joy and a privilege for me to travel with this group, the other teachers, the parents, the students, a time that I hope has opened wide the vision of these youth to a planet awaiting their arrival as leading world citizens.

The Azure Coast: Nice

Saturday morning we drove into Nice, our last day with Manuel at the wheel, stopping first at the amazing Russian Orthodox Cathedral built for Nicolas, the son of the Czar, who died here. Southern France was a common destination for Russian émigrés fleeing turmoil at home, so this splendid monument to a beloved son by a grieving mother serves a devout community as well as attracting tourists.
We were awed by the baroque decor and the icons that filled the small space.

After leaving our bags at the hotel, we wandered down the pedestrian shopping street until we found a café for lunch. We used the heat of the day for shopping and Round 2 of hair salon magic. This time Sarah and Kira and Scott went under the knife, all emerging to general admiration and approbation.

Finally, we stood on the famed Azure Coast. The long awaited swim held all the satisfaction of a cool dip on a hot day, with the unexpected difficulty of negotiating the rocky beach. You’ll have to look for beach photos elsewhere as the Nikon did not risk leaving the hotel room. Suffice it to say that it was a splendid swim: free beach with a lifeguard, remarkably salty water great for buoyancy, and a torrid sun. We applied +50 liberally.

After dinner, we took a walk to check out the summer solstice music festival. We enjoyed ice cream, watching break dancing, some reggae, drumming, and a free rock concert.

Our walk home along the Promenade des Anglais was balmy and sweet. Our last day together will be a special one, with Nice providing a lovely metaphor by hosting the French Ironman competition here tomorrow. Our 2 weeks has certainly had elements of endurance, of diverse challenges, and of deep satisfaction.