Against the closing of spring and just as summer is about to make its anticipated entrance, our car zoomed along the curvy asphalt, passing several “Ausfahrt” signs with France miles away. The further we drove, the more it became apparent that we had come the wrong way. How on earth had we ended up on the Swiss motorway equipped with a map and guided by a disorienting British speaking GPS who clearly didn’t know the German “Ausfahrt” from the French “Sortie”? We didn’t have a clue.
It wasn’t long ago since we had left the airport in Basel, an international point of transit straddling the borders of France, Germany and Switzerland. Along a busy motorway and several miles from where we first started, it was all too late to turn around. Another wrong turn would set us off into a second goose chase. Perhaps it might leads us into a long stretch of mountain pass, a dead end or in Germany. Not exactly the destinations we have in mind.
In an attempt to save gas and ourselves from shame and confusion, we decided to stay on the same road traversing the German-speaking part of Switzerland. The feeling of being lost, the unexpected adventure and the sense of excitement while musing at the upfolding unfamiliar landscape, can oftentimes, if not all, inspire dreams in children and travelers. Perhaps this serendipitous detour might just be a welcoming relief. A thought that my travel partner and I unanimously agreed on. From the windows of our rental car, just as the sun started to peek through the sleepy clouds, Geneva’s landscape began to take form.
My early memories of this second most populous city in Switzerland were of hostile traffic lights, although pedestrian friendly, greatly prolonged our travel time. Then there were bankers in fancy suits swaggering out from their swanky offices, branded luxury shops next to cuckoo clocks, costume jewelry, chocolates and life insurance signs. Out of these few mental postcards, a personal favorite of mine is the alluring Lac Leman otherwise known as Lake Geneva. If one allows the imagination to take over, the lake resembles a recumbent croissant.
It is also, as the Genevois would say, a giant liquid-mirror reflecting the city’s neutrality and diplomacy. Whatever time or season, its waters exude serenity. The lake draws everyone into its shores and offers the transient beholder a piece of one’s own version of worldly paradise. Could it be that we were destined to miss the first turn only to find out that there is something much greater awaiting us in the second?
Charlie Chaplin built his villa in the hushed village of Corsier Sur-Vevey and his deep feelings for the lake echoed in his words, “With such happiness, I sit out on our terrace at sunset and look over a vast green lawn to the lake in the distance”. English actor James Mason, like Chaplin, settled into a modest life in Corseaux, a commune in the foothills of Mont-Pèlerin. In his biography, it narrates a happy marriage and a contented life in Switzerland as seen in a photo with his wife, Clarissa ambling near the village where they live, with Lake Geneva in the background.
The composed geographic characteristic of the lake didn’t escape Graham Greene’s gaze while finding fervor writing his 1980’s novel Doctor Fischer of Geneva as well as the Bomb Party. It was later adapted into a film starring James Mason (in his last role) as Dr. Fischer himself. Lord Byron’s poem The Prisoner of Chillon, came to life after his trip to the medieval Chateau de Chillon standing magnificently on the banks of the lake.
Tranquility beckons and inspiration lurks in almost every corner. Perhaps it’s the reason why many artists frequented Lake Geneva. A living medium that would then awake one’s creative imagination. It was easy to comprehend why Ernest Hemingway made it his refuge when he wrote his classic, A Farewell to Arms. An unforgettable story of two lovers caught between the rising horrors of war. Here is where Mary Shelley also gave birth to Frankenstein’s character.
When we reached Geneva, heavy traffic welcomed our arrival at the Pont du Mont-Blanc bridge. We decided to leave the car in a corner and stroll around close to the shore.
The snow-capped mountains loomed from the background as the pencil-fountain jetted water into midair. Like fireworks, the water burst into droplets, a shrouding mist of multi-colored light and magic. Not far, swans bobbed above the surface as ferries crisscrossed the languid waters whisking away locals and romantic tourists alike in search of inspiration.
In the early morning breeze, the red flags with white cooped crosses danced. The leaves fell from the trees, swirled and scattered by the zephyr blowing from where the Rhone River flows. I gazed at the direction of the river. My heart swelled with delight and felt that France was within arm’s reach. After all, this is the same river that runs through southeastern France and upon reaching Arles, convenes with the Mediterranean.
We ambled to the opposite side of the banks. The cobbled streets seemed to embrace idle wanderers. In our case, lost travelers. Early joggers came to and fro, and so did old ladies with their miniature well-groomed dogs. There is fondness for small things here. Like the city itself, rather small in size, but it seemed a part of the world is wedged into this part of Switzerland. Add the lake and its multi-lingual residents; I think that’s where the allure lies.
Our accidental detour ended on the western shore of Lake Geneva in the city of the same name. We were about to turn around when a familiar sign post caught our attention. Our hearts raced as we were both bolting to the reassuring comfort of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. In an instant, I grabbed my partner’s arm and thought about how the unplanned journey was turning out to be a delightful revelation.
We wandered inside to seek repose after our early morning ‘lost in translation’ ordeal. Our stomach grumbled smelling the freshly baked bread and warm croissants. A cheese glass dome sat in the middle of the room and a dark lava-like melting chocolate was positioned at the far end. I sampled a few Swiss cheeses, known to be some of the best, chomped cold cuts and salamis and sipped my coffee in the inspired Parisian terrace of the Café Calla all the while eyeing at the Rhone River in front of me.
Perhaps, unknowingly missing a turn can sometimes lead a traveler to unexpected places that usher unexpected bliss. Not to mention the pleasure of a satisfying guilt-free five-star breakfast.
It was time to go home. As we headed back to the car, getting ready for the second leg of our journey – with high hopes of finally arriving in France, I gladly switched-off the GPS and gazed one last time and for a long time at the place and of the lake.
My travel partner hit the gas and turned the knob of the car stereo. The long red tail lights from earlier had finally ease. In the background was Bruce Springsteen’s Thunder Road singing ‘With a chance to make it good somehow. Hey, what else can we do now? Except roll down the window and let the wind blow.’
The lake does look a bit like a recumbent croissant, yes, and I totally agree with you, it does exude tranquility and serenity, more so than other lakes. I’ll have to stop at Cafe Calla for breakfast on my next visit.
Beautiful Jan. Thanks for sharing your work with me. And hey, Germany ain’t that bad. next time you are near, hit me up and I show you guys around. Would be fun, that’s for sure ????