There and back again

Venus shone brightly in the very early hours of the morning as I made my way to the airport. I'd soon be boarding a flight to Geneva, and I'd decided to walk to the airport, some forty minutes away from where I live. As I wended my way there, I got lost in thought, thinking about the last time I'd gone to Switzerland, back in 2012, and the never realized promise of that planned trip, and then the outcome of my time spent there. All the while, images flashed through my mind of times I'd been there before as well. In no time, I was near the airport, and the first wisps of dawn began to appear; soon the day would break, though I'd not be there to witness it. Maybe it was the nerves getting the better of me, maybe it was everything that had been in my mind the weeks before, but I caught no shut-eye that night, and not very long after I sat down in the plane, I fell asleep, sleeping through most of the flight.

It was rather unenventful, though on the odd occasion I woke up, I ended up thinking about the plane crashing, and wondering about whether or not it would be a quick thing, and if I'd suffer a lot before dying. Nice, happy thoughts. 

So, only carry on luggage meant that I left the airport fairly quickly after landing, and soon I'd find myself on the bus that would leave me in central Geneva, Cornavin to be more precise. The bus stop was in front of a record store, and it took all I had not to walk in. Must fight temptation. (I actually managed not to go in any of the record stores I went by, a small win for me.) 

When I'd previously stayed in Geneva, I always stayed at Le Grand-Saconnex, a municipality located to the west of the city centre, and I'd always make my way down either by bus or by walking there, so in due time my feet started to get a feel for the city. Time did not erode this feel, and as soon as I stepped into Cornavin I knew exactly where to go, and how to get there. I was only going to stay in Geneva for a few hours, though, before I left for Nyon, so I had to make time count. I crossed the river Rhône, walking around the city, taking in the view, before I sat down for a wee while. It was really hot, and me being me, I forgot to bring those Swiss Francs I still had from my last visit, and I didn't want to pay steep exchange fees, not right then, anyway, so I didn't even buy a bottle of water. 

Eventually, there I was, making my way to the Parc des Bastions, littered with people exercising - which made me feel very aware of my non-ideal shape - and with people lazing in the shade, the tranquil trill of birds filling the air with song. A breeze blew gently, abating the heat that made its presence felt. I sat down for a while, resting my weary feet and taking in the scenery. 

Reformation Wall

Not very far from there would be my next stop - Plainpalais. A somewhat momentous place for me, once upon a time. It is, after all, the location of that fateful last goodbye, but not only sad memories came to mind, I was also filled with memories of wintry days gone by, drinking warm mint tea and wolfing down slices of quiche. I stood there, now on a summer's day, then in a winter's day. For a small while I coexisted in both the days, then and now, winter and summer. I shook my head, and moved on. Time to head back to Cornavin and catch the train to Nyon. As I was leaving Plainpalais, I went by a street that I'd been by any number of times in the past, and to which I never payed enough attention. However, this time something seemed to pull at me, and my gaze turned towards it. I crossed the street, and realized that a door, semi askew, on a walled area was actually the entrance to a graveyard. Now me, I am not the biggest fan of graveyards, and yet into this one I went. And how I never ever noticed this place before is beyond me. I ventured inside, partly expecting to enter one of those graveyards that's chock full of graves and mausoleums, and yet what I found inside was the opposite of that. To be sure, there were maybe hundreds of graves and monuments to the departed, but rather than the sombre and musty fixtures one would normally find, I was greeted, so to speak, by a wide green area with the graves strewn thereby. A pleasant place to be, you'd find people engaged in menial conversation, sitting in benches, or lounging by the shade of the trees. I stayed there for a small measure of time, so my feet and legs could catch a much needed rest, and afterwards I'd be on my way to Nyon proper.

The graveyard by daylight

Arriving in Nyon, a smaller city than Geneva, a city that I don't know quite as well but of which I know enough to make my way around, I walked around the area for a bit, before making my way to H + Z's place. Last time I'd been here was in 2012, and since then they'd moved to a different place, though not very far from where they lived. Z welcomed me heartily, and after a spot of freshening up - it was very hot and I'd been walking for hours - I excused myself and slept for a bit until H arrived. 

Nyon is a quiet place, or mostly so, with people living a fairly content village sort of life. It has a peace unto itself that I find endearing, and by lake Geneva you can dip your feet in the water, or even go for a swim. Me, I prefer to listen to the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. This was a peace I needed, a peace I could not find back home. And if only temporarily, my soul feels lighter, my souls feels cleansed.

It's almost time to head one, one last day of tranquility before the maelstrom that awaits me back home annihilates these few days of peace. I haven't left yet, but I already miss it here.

Nyon by the sea