The resolution will not be televised Geneva
We use my new phone holster gizmo to take a load of selfies and then boarding is announced. It doesn't look too busy at the gate, and there'd been a last minute equipment change from an A319 (quite small) to an A321 (not quite so quite small), which also bumped our seat assignments back from row 13 to row 30. We're on the cheapest tickets available which means even my shiny card doesn't allow me to pick seats anywhere else.
Onboard and we're surrounded by kids. This is not a good development. They're all being really loud, whatever mood they're in, and neither of us like kids at all. Grr. We exchange glares, and type notes to each other on phone screens in order to say things that the parents would probably be offended by. Helen says "where's my free stuff?" repeatedly because well, where's the free stuff? But this is not first class on a long haul plane and I have to explain that there'll be a derisory food offering, no amenity kit, but there will be alcohol.
We've both forgotten that planes are fucking loud once we start moving, and they drown out the kids. Hurrah! And once we're airborne the condensation clears from the window and we can see a ton of clouds which, as always, are pretty as fuck.
We land just after midday and are hindered by basically the entire plane, in spite of the fact we are probably spending the least time in Geneva out of anyone on board. Fellow passengers get in the way repeatedly all the way along the corridors through which I scope out the likelihood of being able to to a same-plane-turnaround here in future. There are adverts for wealth management and watches and pretty much nothing else. I think perhaps a Nespresso ad. But mostly wealth and watches. Airports are weird places, IMO, for this ridiculously aspirational stuff where most people who see them are flying on a strict budget maybe once a year, but what do I know?
There's a queue at immigration which almost reaches to the end of the travelator, and we both engage in French conversation with the officer behind the desk. Bonjour, merci. Research has told us that arriving passengers are entitled to a free 80 minute travel card from a machine before customs. We get them; barely anyone else is doing so. I wonder if they just don't know? It's a great deal, essentially long enough to get you to your accommodation where they will then give you a pass for you entire stay.
Helen's desperate for nicotine so we stand outside in the sunshine for a bit, marvelling at the sunshine. It's not just not cold, it's warm. I've not put my coat on. This is marvellous. The train station is just up at the end and the next train is in about 5 minutes, first stop Geneve/Genf/Geneva. This multi-lingual service is ridiculous, as the UK government keeps telling us it's imperative that everyone in a country speak one language for fucks sake.
It's a 6 minute ride to the main station and of course is impeccably timed. In the city we wander somewhat aimlessly for a bit, but google maps works fine because Switzerland is a Three "Feel at home" country so data is free and plentiful. Huzzah! One block along we eye water, so go down the side street past a lot of shops desperate to remind us where we are, being merchants of army knives, watches, and cuckoo clocks. At the end we cross one of the numerous pedestrian (mostly) bridges to the vielle ville.
Inland a block, and there's a city gate with a clock atop it and a pedestrianised square, so we surmise we're in the centre of all the old shit. There's a pizza restaurant next to the 'Lord Nelson Pub' and a brewery. Ooh. But that's kind of it. Just at the top there's sounds, which are being made by a pair of buskers - one playing rock-ish guitar and singing, the other kinda tap dancing. Weird.
There's loads of these. I love them.
There's syrup for kids.
and a category of 'moderately priced'