Thu, 09 Oct 2003

author Tim	location Lyon, France
posted 21:43 CEST 10/10/2003	section Europe2002/Europe/Schweiz ( all photos )

Genève ( No photos )
No included breakfast at this place, so we got on the road fairly early, grabbing a croissant at the station where we had wandered to plug in the laptop. This proved to be easy, and we emailed and chatted for a while.
Just on the side of the station, a bike company called Genève Roule does a very strange thing - it lets you have bikes for free. They get kick-backs from the advertising on the bikes, which turned out to be less in-your-face than we had expected.
We left a deposit, and set out to explore a bit of the city on the rather impressive bikes. Heading firstly north, dodging traffic in the infernal mess that the city is due to roadworks, back past the non-existant hostel of the previous day, we made our first stop at the Musee International De La Croix-Rouge Et Du Croissant-Rouge. For you and me, that's the Red Cross Museum, right here in the city where it was founded and is based.
As part of a deal which we were only too happy to accept, we got half price by showing our room keys. The wander around the place for a couple of hours was quite enlightening - we didn't realise what a major part the organisation had played in getting prisoners of war repatriated and organised, for one. As a museum, it was quite old by modern standards, even using a bewildering array of twelve slide projectors for one show, the effect of which was admittedly very good.
We learnt all about the history of the organisation, and saw videos and the like on more modern work, such as training young people in developing countries to look after other young people, often on the streets.
After a quick morning tea in the canteen there, we headed just across the road to the second big thing we wanted to see - the Palais des Nations, which is the international headquarters of the United Nations. We had to show our passports and have our bags scanned to get in, then we found ourselves on an hour-long tour through the building's old and new wings.
The tour guide seemed a little in-experienced, but the subject matter was worth the effort - some amazing paintings around the place, and everywhere gifts from various countries adorning the walls, floors, and even used in the construction in the form of marble and the like. We went into three different conference rooms (the building is the world's busiest conference centre, with up to 4000 per year), ranging from horrible 1970s through to fantastic 1930s.
One interesting fact is that the land on which the complex is built was gifted from the city, which in turn was bequeathed from a private land owner. This land owner made only two stipulations on the city when he handed over the land - one was that there should always be peacocks roaming in the impressive parkland, and there is - about thirty we were told. The second was that the parkland should always remain open to the public. It is sad where we live in a world where the wishes of a dying man can no longer be obeyed, citing "security concerns" as the reason for the fact that the public can no longer wander around and enjoy the treasures the park has to offer. I guess incidents like the recent UN headquarters in Iraq bombing are not going to reverse this decision any time soon. My sincere sarcastic thanks to those involved.
Next we rode back through the train station, and out the other side towards the centre of town. We had to dodge trolley-buses and buses all through the area towards Pont du Mont-Blanc, one of the bridges over the Rhône river. Liz nearly got sandwiched, but they seemed rather accommodating really for such obvious tourists as us.
First stop was the famous Jet d'Eau, a 140m high water spout spraying out of the lake, Lake Burley-Griffin in Canberra-style. We elected not to walk out and get covered in water, although plenty of other tourists weren't quite a wise. Some dodgy-looking lads prompted us to move onwards a bit, happily cycling in the sunshine east along the south bank of the lake.
Once past the city limit signs, we decided it was time to turn back in search of the old town of the city. This involved doubling back, then a pleasant detour through the nice city park Parc La Grange. Liz had a habit of changing gears in the wrong direction when she started on a hill, resulting in a few get-off-and-push moments! Out the other side, we headed into town along Route de Frontenex.
We stopped at a tram stop to eat some newly purchased grapes and chips, watching the world and one stinky old man go by. Further into the old town, we picked some random streets and tackled the traffic. This was done with a mixture of riding on the road and riding on the footpath - the latter didn't go down too well with a kindly old police man just like the one in the old Yoplait ads. He gesticulated for a while, but it was quite clear what we had done wrong. A quick 'pardon' and we were on our way, on the roads.
Not really knowing our way around very well, we ended up in a bit of pickle - we had picked a street which ended in a rather steep set of stairs. We could back track for a few minutes or push on up the stairs, pushing the bikes. We chose the latter, but by the top it was apparent that we would not be making that choice again for a long time. These bikes were heavy, much more so than our mountain bikes back home (actually, they're called "city bikes" most places over here, and are indeed much more practical in cities such as this one. Except when you choose to lug them up stairs).
At the top, we rode along into Cour de Saint-Pierre, a bustle-free but gorgeous square right infront of Cathêdrale Saint-Pierre. Liz sat and rested from the exertion for a while, as I wandered down to check out Jazz House. A great little jazz-only record store run by an old guy who obviously was living out his hobby, I managed to keep my money in my pocket, looked lustfully at the baritone saxophone in the window and went back to see Liz.
We'd seen enough of the city for this trip, and as with so many others, we hadn't seen the half of it. It's a shame to be rushing through things now, but we can always come back next time!
We rode down the both-brakes-on very steep Rue de la Cité, scattering pedestrians and loving the wind in our hair! Then back north across the strange bridge-island-bridge combination of Ponts del L'île, through the traffic again back to the train station. Being peak hour, we had to walk the bikes a reasonable part of the way, not being 'local' enough to ride like manics through the traffic as the other bike-riders were doing. Perhaps we spent too much time in Italy to trust the drivers even a little bit.
No hassles getting our deposit back from the rather strange bike shop, I also handed over one part of the advertising that had fallen off and had to be carried in our pack. We walked up to the hostel, stopping to get some bits and pieces for a pasta and sauce dinner (what else?!!), which we ate conversing with an American father and son. Again we were suprised because the son had been away for such a long time (almost three months!) that the dad had come over to visit him! Weird Americans.
There was no strange sort-of-there-but-not people in our room that night, we had the place to ourselves for less than half the price of a double room.

(customised)