While living in Gatwick (North) for 8 hours...

Salut a tous.

It's 1:31 in the morning on a Tuesday. I've got a ten minute oral expose due at 4:00 this afternoon. The topic? Bloody Sunday and all pertinent history. I haven't gotten past that point in my research. It's unlikely I'll go to bed before 2:30. And instead of unpacking and brushing my teeth like I should be doing, I'm going to write this, and watch my new episode of Grey's Anatomy, because I like to live life on the edge.

This weekend I went to Cork to see my other half and roommate for life, Jessica. I had a glorious time and being in Cork only reinforced how much Geneva blows. Several times I had to tell myself that it simply wasn't an option to 'miss' my flight and join the IRA. There were some shenanigans that don't need to go on this blog in case I ever run for President, but it's a good possibility that you'll all hear about it one way or another because I'm pretty damn pleased with myself.

But after this weekend, I have some thoughts that I'd like to share with you all, and I have to get them out now, or I know I'll forget them when I actually have time to write them down. Like that dream I had last night, and remembered right when I woke up, but forgot as I was brushing my teeth. Disappointing as all hell.

Observations:

1. The accent in Cork is completely unlike that of Galway and I had a seriously hard time understanding which made me upset.

2. I miss bagels more than I thought I did.

3. I had a vacation disguised as a layover today in Gatwick airport, and after I finished my overpriced green tea and sandwich, I made use of the facilities before going to check in and begin my painfully long and nearly life threatening wait for the plane. Walking out of the WC, I took notice of the vending machine. Can someone here please tell me why they sold condoms in the vending machine in the bathroom of an airport? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it illegal to have sex on an airplane? Otherwise we'd all be card carrying members of the MHC. And I'm fairly certain that sex in the bathroom of an airport (ignoring how icky that is germ-wise) is frowned upon as well. So why in God's name are they selling raspberry flavored Durex's in the bathroom of Gatwick Airport? One of life's great mysteries.

4. Gatwick blows at keeping their passengers informed. I got into Gatwick around 2. I flew into the South terminal, and I had to catch my connecting flight in the North terminal. I made my way to the free tram thingy that would take me to the other terminal, and saw that there was the option of a Pedestrian path. You all know how obnoxious I am about walking whenever possible, and I had 5 hours to kill until my flight left, so it seemed like a brilliant idea. Down the stairs I went and out the door. I walked out into a fairly sketchy area underneath the airport. Ok, weird. I kind of thought it would be a little more bright and shiny for passengers, but whatevs. I walked down the path that seemed to be the way out. Wrong. I walked back in the other direction and down one path of a fork. Wrong. Back to the fork and down the other path. Wrong. Eventually I had to go back inside and catch the damn tram thingy and it was only then that I realized that the other terminal was like a mile away and there was no way that I could've found it on my own. Obnoxious. Next up on the list: Once I actually got to the right terminal, I couldn't check in for my flight to Geneva until 5:55. No worries. I sat around, read my book, had the bizarre aforementioned encounter in the bathroom, and then wandered upstairs to get my ticket and get through security. I looked up on the monitor and it said that I had to go to zone C to check in. Groovy. A big sign said Zones A-D, thataway. I followed the directions. Zones B and D were right next to each other. Umm. Evidently the British alphabet is different than the American one? I wandered back and forth for a couple minutes and finally had to ask a woman where the hell Zone C was. 'There is no zone C'. Uhhh. Sweet? I pointed to the monitor and she seemed very surprised and informed me that easyJet flights are always in Zone D. Good to know. So I got my ticket and went to security. Being the sweet EuroTrash that I am, I was wearing my AMAZING new boots this weekend. And being the intelligent person that I am, I took them off before anyone had to ask me when I went through security. I thought I was on top of my game. Once I got myself put back together, I walked down the hall, turned the corner, and the good folks at Gatwick had set up a mini scanner for everyone to put JUST THEIR SHOES through. Are you fucking kidding me? So off go the boots again and I spend another 3 minutes putting them back on. Obnoxious. I finally got to the waiting area and thought the worst was behind me. I pulled out my book, chatted with a couple of the girls around me, and waited for the monitor to tell me what gate to go to for my flight. The flight left at 7:55. It got to be 7:15 and they hadn't told us. Weird...7:30 rolls around and suddenly the flight is delayed until 8:25. Balls, but at least I'm just going to Geneva and it doesn't much matter what time I get in as long as I can still catch a train. 8:00...8:10...8:15...8:24...nada. There is no change on the monitor. Even at 8:26, it still says that the flight is delayed until 8:25. Groovy. A guy got up and went over to the info desk where they informed him that the flight was delayed again until 9:45. Eff. That was not an ok delay. It was an hour and a half flight, and there was another hour time difference. That put us getting in at like 12:30, most certainly past train times. And they didn't tell us what gate to go to until 9:30. And the delay time never did change. Angry.

5. Think about the last time that you had male flight attendants. Now think about the last time that they were moderately attractive. Now think about the last time there were two of them on the same flight... It certainly made me feel better about life, and wish that I had put some money in the vending machine...

6. While up in the air, the pilot tells us that the reason the flight was so late was because the easyJet computers in Geneva and London decided to shit the bed today, so a whole bunch of them went down. Super. Then he adds that the Geneva airport closes at 12:30. As in, everyone goes home but the janitors. Ok...so that means...Right. If we don't land by 12:30, we're going to have to double back around and land in Lyon, unless the pilot can sweet talk the Geneva folks into staying late. He also mentioned that in order to land before 12:30, he was flying faster than normal. Cue the turbulence. I had vivid images of the plane going down at a higher rate of speed because we were late and all of us dying in a firey pit of doom. Not pleasant.

7. You can all say what you want about me not being friendly, but I always seem to make the right friends in exactly the right situation when it's a matter of travel logistics. Like the old lady who took me home in Cannes so that I didn't sleep in the train station. Well, because the plane was just barely going to make it to the airport while it was still open, it most certainly meant that all of Geneva was shut down, including buses and trams and trains. AKA, my way home. I only had about 10 Euro on me, and less than 10 Francs, neither of which would get me a taxi home. It was raining in Geneva. It's a good 40 minute walk from the airport. It would also be 1 in the morning. Sketchy much? Yes. This is where my friend making ability scored. One of the girls I talked to in the waiting area told myself and the other girl (because we had no way of getting home) that she and her dad could drop us off. Complete stranger. Drove me home. Which is why I am sitting in my nice toasty room right now, and not being mugged on the dark, rainy streets of Geneva. 

That's all.

Console?

I just finished reading this really interesting book that I highly recommend to anyone who wants a good read for a few days. It's called The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas. No, it's not in French. Disappointed? Tough. But it's a very bizarre story about a cursed book that contains a recipe for a potion that makes you travel to a dimension built entirely out of other people's thoughts. It would be a good book to read passages from if you were blazed out of your mind. And when you are in this thought world (called the Troposphere) you can think 'Console?' and suddenly this video-game-esque menu comes up in front of you and you can choose to jump into another person's head who is nearby you in the physical realm. And from there, you can jump to other people based on proximity or ancestry.

I want a console. I'd jump into someone that wasn't in Geneva.

And before you start, yes, I understand that I'm about two months behind the times on starting a blog. I have been doing my best to assimilate into the culture Genevois, and it has taken me two months to realize that it is just never going to happen.

Pre-conceptions about Geneva:

-Tons of shit to do on a regular basis

-City nightlife (aka outrageous parties)

-Plentiful internships

-Mass amounts of work that I could never dig myself out of

-Instant immersion into French

Now, allow me to destroy each and every one of these.

First, if you are ever planning on visiting Geneva, I will give you some pointers. Plan to come in the summer. We had a professor at the graduate institute tell us, verbatim: 'Geneva in the winter makes people suicidal'. He wasn't kidding. It just gets grey and murky and miserable and if you've got seasonal depression like some of us, it's really an issue. Also, you need not plan to stay for more than three days. Go see the Botanical Gardens, take a tour of the UN, wander around the vieille ville for a bit (and if you must, eat some fondue) and take your picture in front of the jet d'eau...but after that, plan on leaving. And DO NOT plan on being here on a Sunday. Everything is closed, including the grocery stores, and the most you can hope for is getting to go down into the archaeological site underneath the cathedral. The thought of which makes me want to vomit, having talked about the cathedral for upwards of 20 hours already. I had thought before I came here, that given the fact that Geneva was an international hub and it had a HUGE university, there would always be something going on here. So very very wrong. First of all, the university population is trumped by the international orgs population, therefore everything is geared towards the 35+ set, not so much the 18-24. Problem.

Which leads to the next pre-conception: nightlife. Not to say that there isn't any. But it's limited and not consistent. I suppose I imagined that Geneva would have the feel of New York, or at least Boston (or even Portland for Christs' sake). Quite the opposite. Disappointing when I can finally legally go out to the bars and purchase alcohol, and I have little to no desire to do so. We try our best to make our own fun here, and we are successful on occasion, but as a rule, little old Colby College has a much more exciting nightlife than does Geneva, Switzerland.

Now, internships. Many of you know that I'm aiming for some sort of combination of international relations/finance/development as a career field. I didn't think that it was unreasonable to hope that coming to Geneva, I would be able to find an appropriate internship. I'm not saying that I wanted a place in the WTO (although that would've been AMAZING), but that I could've been able to find an internship with some sort of organization that was slightly related to it. I don't care if I had to do filing (ok, maybe I do care a little) but just give me something remotely related. No. Essentially my options are with the Rights of the Child or Refugees or ILO. 0 for 3. I sound like an ass saying that I don't want to work with things like that, but it's just not my niche and dammit, it's frustrating. 75% of the reason why I'm in Geneva in the first place is to get a kick ass internship. Merde.

Workload=joke. I'm taking 6 classes. One of them is even a graduate class. Workload=joke. I don't have written work. The readings aren't necessary for any of them because we go over them in class. I'm going to be so ridiculously fucked when I come back to Colby that I can't even laugh about it because I'm actually scared shitless. I've reached the point where I've got scads of extra time, but I know that it just doesn't matter if I do it or not, and there isn't much to do, so I don't do it. It's a seriously vicious cycle, with an end result that by definition, blows.

Finally, the French thing. Let me explain the language situation in Switzerland because I know that most of you don't understand it. 'Why are you going to Switzerland? Do you speak Swiss?' No guys, there is no Swiss language. The very Western portion of Switzerland (aka Geneva) speaks French. The middle, and largest part, speaks German. The South speaks a weird version of Italian. And over to the East, they speak a really ancient language called Romanche. So, I am in a French speaking region. However, I am also in quite possibly the most international city in Europe. And the majority of international organizations speak English. Therefore, English is everywhere. Everyone speaks it here. Along with Italian and German and French of course, but English is EVERYWHERE. Whenever I go into a store or a restaurant and start speaking French, they can immediately tell that I'm not great at it (aka American) and they start speaking English. Frustrating? Unbelievably so. So even when I try to improve my French, it goes nowhere. My roommates all speak French, but since they know that I'm not great at it, they either avoid speaking to me, or speak their broken English at me. As a result, when I'm in class at the university and I actually have to pretend to know French, I'm fucked. It's quite a joke that I'm here to fulfill my French major requirement, because I don't see myself becoming fluent.

Donc. Ca explique tout.