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Tuesday, May 21st – Roche-sur-Foron to Geneva, 3675 km
I slept in the living room of the cabin last night. Mike says I am still snoring in my sleep, but on further questioning it is more like wheezing. It’s probably related to my allergies, but regardless, he is never happy to share a bed when I can sleep elsewhere. My breathing never has never bothered him when I sleep in a separate bed in the same room. Note, he never sleeps elsewhere because, beneath his quasi-masculine exterior, he is a princess.
Thierry is long gone when I get up at 7:30. Gerard is up by 8 prepares us a continental breakfast while Mike and I shower and pack. I am grateful for his continental breakfasts but believe me, as soon as I get home I am having bacon and eggs, pancakes, the whole works. After thinking this and remembering my on-going crisis with my business partner David back home, I am hoping that I won’t be returning home any time too soon.
By 10:30, after a military search of the cabin to make sure we haven’t left anything behind, Mike and I are rolling out of Roche-sur-Foron, headed north to the Swiss border and Geneva. It is a gentle, unhurried day, since it is only 25 km to the centre of Geneva, and there are 
no hills in between worth mentioning. Switzerland is our 5th country, if I count 4 km in Gibraltar, which I do, of course. The Swiss border guards barely glance at our passports. I ask if they would be willing to stamp mine, but they hand it back me as though they hadn’t heard me ask.
The city begins right across the border. Five kilometres later we are in the centre of this pretty, orderly city of a third of million or so. We quickly locate the tourist information office and the huge International Youth Hostel. We drop our luggage in a storeroom there and set out to explore the town before check-in time. 
Although it is clean and well- planned and probably very livable, the city has no grand attractions except the “jet d’eau”, a fountain of water in the outer harbour that jets continuously over a hundred metres into the air. I am sure I’ve seen it in a James Bond movie but I cannot remember which one. The rest of the city is “nice”. I once read that in a short period in the 1500s Italy was ruled by terrible despots that blanketed the populace with misery. In that period the country produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and spawned the Renaissance that affected all of Europe. Switzerland, on the other hand, had 500 years of relatively peaceful democracy and all that they contributed to civilization in that extended period was the coo-coo clock. Canada is probably “nice” too, perhaps too nice. We are the Swiss of North America.
I walk along the south shore of Lac Leman between the marinas and the 19th century commercial facades facing the water. I can clearly see Mont Saleve where we were yesterday. The wind changes and blows the chilly spray from the jet d’eau my way and I leave the waterfront. I continue through two large parks and by the university before returning to the IYH. Mike is already in the check in line. We are assigned to two different dorms, which is fine with me. He can listen to others breathing tonight. I have two dorm mates who are eager to talk with me. The first is a francophone from Alberta, named Jason, who is 19 and talkative and political. He wants to talk about the failed Meech Lake accord from four years ago and the implications for Canada. After two and a half months away, it is fun to talk about home whatever the topic. The other roommate is a German from Dortmund, Dieter, who is more interested in talking about our travels.
Mike and I eat together at the canteen in the hostel, but since we are staying in separate rooms anyway, we decide to spend the evening apart. He never shares where he goes and I rarely see him when we go out separately. This is true tonight. I dig out my Spartacus listings, which I haven’t referred to in three weeks, and seek out two gay bars. The first is dead so I don’t linger long. The second, Le Concorde, is definitely more popular. It is a restaurant bar. I sit at the bar and soon meet an attractive, fun couple, Stephan and Francois. We share a few drinks and then they invite me back to their place, where I spend the night. They don’t complain about my breathing as I snuggle between them.
PHOTO 1: foot of the Alps
PHOTO 2: valley of Foron River towards Geneva
PHOTO 3: Geneva street scene
PHOTO 4: view from our hotel window
PHOTO 5: le Jet d'Eau
PHOTO 6: street chess in Geneva
PHOTO 7: flags along the harbour
PHOTO 8: lakeside promenade
PHOTO 9: Russian church in Geneva
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