Let me start this by stating that I have had an unfathomably good day. As I write this, it is 9:38 and I’m in my hostel room, topping the day off with a small bit of scotch (though I’ll have to be careful with this stuff, as I’m already exhausted).

After I finished writing I found myself on a cruise of lake Geneva. The sites were not much better than what I could have seen on shore, but I do love being out on the water. Consequently, Geneva has a great fountain that draws water from lake Geneva and shoots it 460 feet in the air. This makes the fountain, while its running, the tallest thing man-made thing in Geneva, and thus a great landmark. There’s something I find comical about navigating the land by a tower of water standing gaunt over the city.

What the cruise best persuaded me of, however, is that I needed to go for a swim in the lake. Have I mentioned yet that the weather has been dazzling? The weather has been dazzling. What this meant for me, is that postponing such a swim could be a mistake. Who could say when I’d see such sunlight again? So it was that I was faced with two problems upon my return to the hostel.

First, wandering around Geneva all morning had left me truly exhausted. It was a pleasant city to walk through, no mistake, but the land of Switzerland is not known for being flat. The second problem I was faced with, was a distinct lack of bathing suit, nor even a pair of shorts. I had two pairs of pants – the clean pair I didn’t want to wear because I wasn’t doing laundry that day. The dirty pair were jeans, and if you’re reading this and wondering what part of that makes them a bad choice in swimwear, you probably haven’t tried swimming in jeans before.

In the end, I decided that the best course of action was to ignore my exhausted state and give swimming in jeans another go.

I arrived at the man-made outcropping (otherwise known as a beach) around 5 in the afternoon, a time when many others were leaving. The water of lake Geneva was nice, albeit cold. It is mountain water, after all. I suspect it was also the cleanest natural water I think I’ve ever had the pleasure of swimming in.

That is, of course, if you can call what I like to do ‘swimming’. Though swimming is on my list of favorite things to do, I have the tendency to float that beats some corks. If I keep my body vertical in the water, as if I were standing only without the ground part, I achieve pretty much the same buoyancy that people strive to keep with a dog paddle. So I have never needed to actually expend much energy to move around in the water.

After about an hour and a half of some swimming and floating in the cold mountain water I finally made my way back to shore, and it was only there that I got even an inkling of an understanding at how incomprehensibly exhausted the whole thing had left me. I had to sit on the beach a good while, engulfed in the rosy glow of euphoric exhaustion that had found me, before I was able to summon the energy to move.

Tired as I was, though, it was becoming late in the evening, and I was starving. So I came home, dried off, changed clothes, and headed back out in search of dinner. I splurged on a very nice Italian place because it was close to my hostel and my hunger demanded immediate satiation.

The splurge was worth it, and dinner was amazing. Already in an exhausted state of euphoria, the salad of tomato and fresh mozzarella was a great way to start things. Following it up with a glass of red wine and a style of lasagna I keep finding around Europe which is both odd and delicious; well I was swept up by a tide of yum.

Such a state of utter contentment is basically where I am now. Yeahhh.

Entering Switzerland: Paradise for Those who can Afford it

In any case, putting that aside from a moment, I have no made it to my hostel in Geneva, Switzerland.

The train ride here was the most beautiful one I’ve had thus far in my life. There were some mountains and lakes. I’ve been writing most of this time, but more than once, I looked from my pen to have the awesomeness of my surrounding actually startle me. I’m sure this looked funny to the people around me, but the surroundings were simply majestic. Some of the scenery that just happened to be visible on the train ride into Switzerland rivals much of what I’ve seen in Scotland, and I haven’t even done anything scenic yet.

But it’s expensive here. Oh God, it’s expensive.

I almost immediately got to know the two roommates I have with me at my hostel. They’re both American and a good measure younger than I am, but our humors are on exactly the same wavelength. Please, no speculations as to what this says about me. We went out to dinner and spent a great deal of time searching for something any of us could even marginally afford to eat. The cheapest we found was a Chinese food place, and it still cost me about 20 bucks for the meal. I hear that skipping dinner thing might be called for tomorrow.

Did you know that they sell Swiss Army knives with USB connection now?

Geneva Day 1: Absorbing the Ambiance

When I started on this journey, the one spot I wanted to visit most was Switzerland. I think this surprised most people I told it to, including my parents. Perhaps this is because I have never shown much interest in Swiss culture. Honestly, I have very little, although I certainly have no disinterest. But if there’s one conclusion I have reached from this trip, it is that Europe is undergoing rapid deculturalization and loss of identity.

Each city I’ve been to may have had strong eccentricities. But their differences are few compared to what they have in common. All across Europe American pop music is big, as is American cinema. In fact, it seems that American pop stars are as likely to be found in Europe as they are somewhere in their own country. Sure, the toilets may work a bit differently, and the sinks are a bit harder to operate, but for the most part Berlin and New York City seem pretty much the same.

So it is here in Geneva. What interested me in Switzerland, though, is the alleged beauty of the place, along with the way the Swiss government runs things. There are no slums and not much petty crime here. I confess, I am ignorant as to why there is so little poverty or crime here – it seems likely enough that all the impoverished just left because the cost of living was too enormous.

In point of fact, the prices here are as breath-taking as the views. Paying two dollars for a soda is an aspiration you have to shop around for. I spent a very long time searching for a lunch under ten bucks, and I found it, but I really had to search around for it. I would have given up the search much earlier, in fact, if I could only have found something for under twenty.

For all intents and purposes though, this place feels like a paradise. Towering mountains in the background; beautiful parks scattered everywhere. The buildings here look charming, every one of them. Even mainstream shipping streets have a relaxed and enjoyable quality to them, and for me that is a first.

Essentially I’ve just spent the day thus far wandering around, and it’s been nice. I’m glad because I‘ve been getting tired of running myself ragged on tourist outings. I chose Geneva for my last stop because its best known qualities are exactly what I’m appreciating right now: serene atmosphere and beautiful environment. This makes it a good place to end my trip, I think.

I’ve wandered into a park filled with chess sets of pieces that come up to my waist. How cool is that? I wish I’d has someone to play it with. Someone wrote ‘No war’ and ‘Fuck Bush’ on some of the pieces. They would have made good team names.

This is part of what I like about Switzerland. Everyone may tease them for their neutrality (I’ve made a few jokes myself) but I can’t say as don’t appreciate this reputation as well. The Red Cross started here, and since became both a humanitarian-focused organization and a political force of its own.

So the Swiss have no war, little in the way of poverty, very little violent crime, astounding beauty both natural and man-made, and I’m forced to wonder what’s not to like. Gandhi (who never lived in Switzerland) once said “be the change you want in the world”. I’ve always liked that philosophy.

Geneva Day 2

The only downside about going to bed after an utterly exhausting albeit perfect day is that the next day, while you may wake up feeling very good, it won’t be while the sun is new to the sky. I didn’t get out of my hostel until 10:30, myself. But that’s alright, even if it is my last day. In essence, Geneva is its own attraction. This gives me another day to wander the streets at my own pace.

Because all of Geneva edges upon Lac Leman, it has the feel of a beach community to it somehow. I suspect its this same feeling that has led to people claiming big cities in California will make you soft. Personally, it’s a feeling I prefer.

I had a dream last night – one of those dreams that seem very pleasant at the time until you wake up and think about it. There was some sort of mystery, and over the course of the dream I kissed not one but two of my female friends.

Both were female, which at least makes my post-dream contemplation much simpler, but I always feel somehow guilty when I dream of someone I know doing things that they wouldn’t do. It feels somehow like a violation of their person. I guess its because on some level, the dreams feel so real. In the mind, it’s as if you really kidnapped the bodies of your friends and turned them into puppets. However, that’s not really what it is, and so I suppose I’ll just feel vaguely put off by it.

Just finished my coffee and pastry. Time to move on.

Spec-Tac-Ular

How can I put this day, or at least as it has passed so far, into words? I’ve spent it wandering the parks and walking the edge of Lac Leman. Silly as it may seem, one of my favorite aspects of Geneva is that someone seems to have placed elaborate fountains everywhere, and almost every one of them spouts drinking water. Somehow being able to actually drink water from a decorative fountain makes it all the more inviting.

In truth, I’ve spent more time sitting than walking, but to those who know me well, you probably know that this is a sign of utter contentment and satisfaction with my surroundings.

My lunch, again, was lovely and again had those special ingredients of mozzarella and tomato, in sandwich form this time. Mango sorbet for dessert. I’m sure if it wasn’t for the caffeine in my cappuccino I’d have fainted already.

Last Evening in Europe

Night has descended upon my last day in Europe. With proper funding I could happily have spent another week here, but then the same was true of Munich, Berlin, and Amsterdam, not to mention Scotland. But time moves forward relentlessly and with its hook, so well firmly buried in my cheek, I have no choice but to follow.

25 hours from now (taking into account time changes) I will be back on American soil. There, I will resume the life I’ve done well in avoiding for the last month – that of an unemployed college graduate in the field of psychology, very little idea of what he wants out of the world, let alone what he has hope of finding. I strongly suspect that ‘initiative’ and ‘self-motivation’ will be two key terms in creating a future I want. We’ll see if I can acquire them.

I had a better idea of what this last month was going to hold than I do of this coming month, and this is a frightening thing. But there’s nothing to be done about it; my future a bridge I’ll have to build when I reach the ocean. In the mean time, I have many loving family and great friends, too many I needed to catch up with even before I left. When I get back I’ll have to catch up with all of them, since this month has yielded more stories than I can ever hope to remember, let alone tell.

But enough about the future for now. I haven’t given mention to any of what has happened since lunch.

Truth to tell, there hasn’t been all that much to tell. As I had planned, I spent the day wandering through Geneva. I went across the lake to see the monstrous fountain up close. I had a great time scuttling under the spray-rain falling all around the fountain, as I tried in vain to capture its might at different angles with my camera.

I found and explored the tiny Rousseau Island. Jean-Jacques Rousseau wasn’t buried on this island, but they have a huge statue of him and they named the island after him. I find it funny that I was more easily able to stumble onto this man’s memorial island than I was able to get around to reading anything he’s written. I’ve been meaning to do so for some time.

Swans are just everywhere on Rousseau island. They’re as common as pigeons or ducks. I think that’s cool, except ducks aren’t dangerous. Swimming in Lac Leman again, I was afraid that while floating I’d bump into or otherwise manage to piss off a local swan. They’re brutal beasts when on land. When I’m immersed in water taller than I am, I have the feeling that a swan could beat the living hell out of me. That’s why when I watched a vindictive little kid try as hard as he could to kick a swan in the head, I tried to imagine what the headlines could read. “Kid and swan go neck-and-neck – fight immediately swan-dives into foul play”.

Seriously, I thought for a second that I was going to witness a child being slaughtered by a large bird. Didn’t he realize that the swan was twice his size?! I can’t imagine what the swan had done to make this kid try to kick something twice his size in the head, but fortunately for all of us, this child missed his target, who avoided his feet with a nonchalant swivel of the head.

My swimming trip was cut short as it began to rain. I had to walk a good hike back to my hostel in the downpour, but in my post-swim euphoria, I was barely aware that I ought to have felt uncomfortable because of it until I was almost back to the hostel.

Once back, I changed and set out again, much like the day before, in search of food. This time, however, I managed to find a restaurant about ¼ the price of the last, and roughly ¼ the quality as well. But it was a solidly mediocre meat and mushroom pasta dish. I returned with a full belly and shopped around for some memorabilia. In the end, I chose a Swiss army knife variant to bring home from Geneva, called the Swiss card. This felt like something of a copout given that I have seen them in America too, but it was cheaper here and I’d been considering purchasing one for a while.

Along with my tool, I bought two beers: a Heineken and a local beer, of a quality too low to be worth mentioning. Heineken was a good measure better than I expected – not good, but drinkable enough.

I have also been sampling the local Swiss chocolates. It’s all been good chocolate, but admittedly a bit of a disappointment. There hasn’t been anything close to running against some chocolates I’ve had in the past. Then again, I’ve been completely unable to track down dark chocolate here, and I consider dark chocolate the clearly superior chocolate.

And now, as I write this, I am discovering the pleasure of eating chocolate alongside good scotch. It’s an interesting experience

I’m definitely developing an appreciation for Scotch. A month ago, I all but hated it. Now I prefer it to most beer I can find. Admittedly, with the difficulty I have finding good beer, this isn’t saying much, but it’s a leaping start, I assure you.

But having put to pen the details of the day, I’m being tempted to delve off into ranting or self-reflection of the worst kind. I know what you, the reader, must be thinking: “So what is new here?” And while the question may make a good point, tonight at least I feel it would be best to stop writing here, perhaps to embark on David’s postcard. Which I left upstairs. Shit.

Leaving

Here I sit at Geneva airport awaiting a flight back to America. I finished off the last of my spending francs on a Carlesburg beer (I was 5 cents short, but the woman was kind enough to let me have it anyway). I love nice people. According to the can, it is the Official Beer of Switzerland, and proudly boasts that it is ‘probably the best beer in the world’. I agree entirely, assuming that when they say ‘world’ they mean ‘beer can’. Crappy stuff.

Honestly, I expected the beer to be bad. This trip, however, has been about nothing if not new experiences, and I’ve been giving numerous beers a chance, even when the label seemed to obviously declare “You will hate this beer” (like last night’s Cardinal Special). Thus I figured I’d let the madness of indiscriminate beer-tasting to last until I reach American soil.

After hearing stories early on about other Americans having their face spat upon, I feel almost let down that I’ve only encountered even one mildly anti-American comment (I don’t consider anti-Bush comments to be anti-American, even if he does. After all, the American people elected Gore). I had this cool retort prepared and everything, where I was going to tell whoever made a negative comment that they ought to boycott everything American. Things such as internets, telephones, and electricity. Imagine the reaction of this fictitious America-hater. Wouldn’t it have been great?

Ah well.

{Insert Pause}

I’m onboard an airplane now, and by pure luck I managed to snag a window seat just when I most wanted one. A window seat over the alps should be pretty spectacular. Here’s hoping.

Last night my two fresh-out-of-high-school roommates left and a middle-aged Irishman also named Allan (same spelling) took their place. I consider it an exhibition of a newfound social skill that my first response upon finding him in the room was to introduce myself and give him a warm welcome.

For two Allans, we couldn’t have been much less alike. He was big into sports, and we ended up talking about them for a time (perhaps a bit too long for my tastes) after I mentioned a passing interest in Gaelic soccer. It should be noted though, that Gaelic soccer is as crazy a game as exists

I asked him if he enjoyed traditional Irish folk music, but the closest we could agree upon was Van Morrison. When all was said and done though, he was still a nice chap, both interesting and helpful.

Can’t say as I’ve done much with my day today. I woke up, checked out, and dragged my stuff to the railway station. I accidently paid double for a storage locker, but with my flight not leaving until late in the day, I figured it was worthwhile to experience as much of Geneva as possible.

Among my experiences, I stopped in a tea room this morning and had an unpleasant encounter with a pastry. I can’t actually read French, so I pointed to the pastry that looked best to me, something akin to a cheese Danish. The lady gave me an odd look and told me “It’s a cheese pastry”. Since that was exactly what I thought I wanted I nodded eagerly and she shrugged because, well, it was her job. But as it turned out, cheese Danishes in Switzerland are different than in America. But instead of the American sweet creamy filling you’d find in the states, it just tasted like it had cheese on it. Kind of a gross cheese. So yes, I had a bad experience with Swiss cheese here.

Then I just wandered the shores of Lac Leman and ended up just lying in the sun. It was late, and I feared a migraine was coming on. The last thing I wanted was a skull-splitting plane ride.

I also had a really tasty chocolate ice cream cone. Thus far, the Swiss have shown me nothing but excellent sorbet and ice cream. Chocolate, mango, and apricot have all been pleasing to the tongue.

This has been my day thus far – relaxing and blissfully uneventful. Now I’m in for a day filled with time-travel. The world will soon give back to me the 6 hours I’ve stolen during the course of this trip, and so I plan to arrive home at 10:30pm feeling like the sun should be rising any minute. It should be easier on my sleep schedule than the other way around was.

Epilogue

Ah, the 8 hour plane-ride finale of monotony. I just finished watching Jersey Girl. It turned out to actually be a cute film. No masterpiece, but it was warm, sincere, and had decent dialogue (something I feel Kevin Smith often lacks).

But I stray from my intention. I think the time has come to write an epilogue to this journal. I can’t think of a particularly good reason to do so, aside from achieving a sense of finality and closure. I’m nearing 200 handwritten pages of writing for these 4 weeks of travel, and while I have every intent of typing this all up, I can’t help but wonder at the point. There is no theme to these pages, nor any over-arching plot unless you consider my life to fit that description. What I have written, here is really a combination of personal ramblings, introspections, and often simple, nondescript accounts of what my days have brought me.

I’ve been writing these weeks both endlessly and tirelessly and I’m not entirely sure what goal I’ve been so eager to put my energies toward. Truly, since I began writing in the first week, I wondered if anyone, myself included, would have the interest or stamina to actually read it.

My experiences have been enrapturing to myself, but most of what I have seen and experienced are no more interesting and often less elaborated on than descriptions I routinely skim in fantasy and sci-fi novels. My writing style has seen better days. But then, I’m often hard on my own work, and it’s hard to judge ones own writing.

The trip has been long and in many ways difficult. I recall clearly the first night in Belgium being scared shitless, and asking myself over and over what I could have been thinking, to agree to wander Europe all by myself. I wondered very sincerely how I would manage to make it through the following two weeks. I wanted nothing more than to be home safe in a familiar bed.

The place I stayed in Belgium remains the worst place I have had to stay, and certainly this contributed to my feeling of panic, but it is also clear to me now that the area of town surrounding my hostel was not the only contributing factor.

This is the strongest reason I can point to that I suspect this journey has changed me in some ways. I can’t say just how. Perhaps I will carry myself more confidently alone, or perhaps I’ve gained a measure of social ability with introductions. I’d like to believe both. But whether either are true or not, neither are truly changes so much as the symptoms of a deeper change.

To you, the reader (and here’s hoping I have one) these symptoms may be the extent of what the change will mean. But to me, the person living in Allan’s body and daily struggling to puzzle out who he is and who he can be, the change may be a more profound one, whether I ever understand it or not.

Most important is that, at this moment I can’t help but think any changes will be for the better. In these 4 weeks I have both witnessed and experienced a great deal, and I think some things I have seen and experienced may be at the forefront of my mind for the rest of my years.

It’s odd to believe something like that, because few significant things feel anywhere near as significant at the time they are actually happening. I may remember Berlin the rest of my life, but waking up in Berlin is very much like waking up in Silver Spring, Maryland. Life always feels suspiciously like life at the time its being lived.

I am happy with those words, so I think I will end on them. Thank you, reader, for reading whatever you have read, and if you read all of it thank you doubly. I hope you do not regret the level of commitment you have granted to these accounts of my month away from home.