Safely. Finally. Feet on the Ground.

We arrived in Geneva, Switzerland after more than three years of planning and more than half a day of flying, driving, and riding trains. On our previous trip overseas, Melissa conked out quickly with jet lag (we had, after all, left in the evening and barely slept), but I was too eager to start walking to take much of a nap.

Our hotel had a direct view of the Temple des Paquis, where homeless and struggling members of the city were allowed to visit, free of charge. As I learned at some point, roosters at the top of a church (as opposed to a cross or any other object of religion) represented a Protestant assembly. That said, as I left the hotel, getting no more than a block away, I was briefly approached by a prostitute, clearly enough that I had time to recognize her, smile, and keep walking. And this, as it turned out, was my first liberated experience in Switzerland, a realization that Geneva, or at least the part of it we were staying, literally represented people from all walks of life.

On further walking, for about 90 minutes on my own while Melissa slept, I made a fairly big dent in my view of the city, passing the Brunswick Monument, the Pont du Mont Blanc (a bridge of flags crossing the Rhone River), and the Flower Clock. But then it was on over to the old town and the statues of reformers like John Calvin, followed by a walk back to a small lighthouse on the Rhone River.