Geneva- first impressions

Geneva is where my second family live. Marc-Andre lived with our family in 1976 for a year, and he's like a brother. My parents generally stay with him and Catherine for at least a couple of weeks on each of their annual visits. I have seen them in Europe in 2006 and 2011.

On arrival

Extended family

 I love them dearly and was very much looking forward to their welcoming house, some conversation, some hiking or riding and some shared meals. We had just over a week with them, as did my parents, and Rani, Nik and Steph. What a houseful! Since our last visit, they had also bought a city apartment in Geneva, overlooking the airport. This purchase had arisen from the difficulty of living across the border, with a long and tedious daily commute for Catherine, who works as a physician in the diplomatic region of Geneva.

Some remarkable aspects of our time in Geneva.

Firstly there's the border between Switzerland and France.

I forgot to photograph the crossing, so I pinched this from

http://bardonnex.blog.tdg.ch/media/00/01/399518970.jpg

Crossing this border is a strange experience. Sometimes it's absolutely routine. The guards are very often apathetic, blasee or sometimes downright actively disdainful. 

But they also are capable of taking their patrolling responsibilities incredibly seriously, so one must never be complacent when approaching the border. They are trained to make a quick judgement as to whether to stop you, interrogate and search. Many times the post seems unattended, so you sail through, slowing only slightly, but if they are "en-guard" you must slow right down, look respectful, but not apprehensive (very hard to get this expression right, even with my hours spent in front of the mirror working on the subtleties of this). Any hesitation, going too fast or too slow, and you will be stopped and aggressively assaulted with a barrage of quick perfunctory French questions and commands. The blank look of incomprehension I give them seems to inflame the situation, and a strip search seems inevitable until I pull out my joker card. "Pardon Monsieur, Je sweeez Osstralienne. Je ne parl pa Fransaiz". Frowns generally turn to bemusement, and a cursory glance in the back seat leads to being ushered on.

Nevertheless the whole process generally makes me apprehensive. The alternative is to avoid the post completely. While it's not a crime against humanity to cross the border at an unmanned post, I don't think these crossings are for tourists. 

"Sneaky border crossing" sign

I love sneaking between the countries on my bicycle.. it's some kind of weird thrill to feel like a smuggler, even if my contraband is a water bottle and a camera!