The Alps

Switzerland and France

The train hummed along across the Swiss border, into German-speaking Switzerland. Pip and I popped open the windows, leaned back in our seats and breathed in the mountain air. The Alps surrounded us on either side. Our train navigated a narrow pass that took us past tiny villages and ancient church steeples, alongside skinny lakes, across rolling green farmland. It was beautiful. (It's Switzerland... what do you expect?)

The trip took an entire day. This was not the express train. We stopped 7 times to change trains. Usually we had 2 minutes or less to run from one platform to another. It was like Swiss clockwork.

Then, halfway across Switzerland, it was as if someone flipped a switch. Suddenly everyone on board was speaking French. The signs in the villages were now in French. The advertisements were in French. A group of teenage girls yapping away in German switched, as if on queue, to French.

We rolled into Geneva, and Pip began warming up on his French. He hadn't taken it since he was a teenager. Better than me: I didn't know any French at all. We walked through the train station, and words started to come back to him. He asked for directions, and stumbled through a few words. He read signs and figured out how much things cost. I got some Swiss Francs out of the ATM. (We weren't in the EU anymore.) We picked up a free map, and strolled out of the train station and into Geneva--one of the world's most international, but most expensive, cities.

Our first goal was to find a place to sleep. Our class was stuck in Ireland. The volcano hadn't let up yet, and our classmates and professor were stuck in Dublin. We were supposed to meet them, visit the World Council of Churches on an official tour, and take in some of the sights as a class. We would have stayed with a friend in her hostel, but since she was stuck in Ireland, she had canceled her room. Now what.

More importantly, what in the world were we going to do in Geneva? We tried to get food. Even the cheapest places were hovering around 15 euro (19 dollars) for a snack, and we were broke. We went into a little cafe, ordered a croissant, and sat down at a computer. I started to look for cheap accommodation, and ended up messaging my friend Jon. He knew of a website, and within 5 minutes, he had sent me a link to a cheap hostel that still had a room available. I looked up the address. I couldn't believe it. "Pip, it's across the street." My friend in Pittsburgh had found a hostel for us in Geneva that was next door.

We checked in, set our stuff down, and explored Geneva. Right away, it was pretty clear that we weren't going to be able to afford anything. Luckily, walking was free, so we wandered through the streets, admiring old bank buildings, modern international headquarters, wristwatch advertisements, and stunningly expensive diplomat cars. Money seemed to flow everywhere that wasn't Pip and Alex. What could we do here?

We decided we wanted beer, because at least that was fairly inexpensive. The convenience store clerk explained to Pip in French that it was illegal to sell beer after 9:00 PM, but that he could do it if we were careful not to get caught drinking it on the street. After having just left Germany, this seemed completely ridiculous. A long-haired hippie-looking guy was stocking up on beer too. Pip calls it the "hippie code": find a hippie with dreads, ask him what's going on in the city. We asked him, what is there to do in Geneva? The hippie shook his head. "Geneva is boring," he said in broken English. "John Calvin ruined Geneva. No good."

John Calvin! That French Reformer whose theology established the Reformed churches (including my Presbyterian Church), and who reformed the church in Geneva by establishing legislation against dancing and outdoor music in 1541 was being invoked by a dreadlock-wearing hippie buying beer in a convenience store 470 years later. I love Europe.

We met a guy at the hostel named Sohail. Sohail was from Miami, and he had quit his job and was now on a 6-month pilgrimage walking from Rome to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. He was truly one of the most interesting people I've ever met. Together, he, Pip, the hippie, and I saw what there was to see of Geneva. We got an insider's tour of the Geneva underground scene, eventually making our way inside an abandoned building by the river that was absolutely alive with grunge music, neon lights, graffiti, and beer. "We've found Geneva!" Pip said. There it was.

We decided the next day that we really did want to see the World Council of Churches, even if our class wasn't going to be able to make it. We walked over to that side of Geneva (such a small city), past the UN building, and various major international headquarters, before reaching the WCC. The World Council of Churches is a fellowship of 349 churches from all around the world who seek a way to exhibit the visible unity which they feel is worthy of Jesus' Church on earth. The mission of the WCC is something that I have been studying quite a lot at Trinity, as it's the largest ecumenical organization in the world.

Pip and I walked in with a year's worth of expectations: this was actually the WCC we had been studying for so long. Unfortunately, we weren't greeted in a particularly warm way. "Can I help you?" the receptionist said in English. We explained our situation: our class was stuck in Ireland. "Who are you with?" "Trinity College Dublin. The Irish School of Ecumenics." "Who are you meeting?" "We were supposed to have a tour." "And who are you trying to see?" We weren't getting anywhere.

Then Pip remembered something. A friend we had met at the conference in Berlin was a student in Romania at Sibiu, where Pip had studied many years ago, and he had a professor whom Pip knew in Sibiu as a personal friend back then. Apparently now this professor was working in Geneva at the WCC, and he was an ordained Romanian Orthodox priest.

"Is Daniel here?" Pip asked. It was like a light bulb went off. "Of course! I'll call him down for you." Pip's heart was racing. He hadn't seen his friend in 9 years.

We sat and waited, and then, like a scene in a movie, a man came around the corner and hurried into the lobby, his hands in the air. "Pip! My friend Pip!" he yelled. Pip, the prodigal son. They embraced after falling out of touch for 9 years. We were treated like long-lost royalty.

Daniel, like every Romanian I've ever met, is accommodating beyond words. His jolly demeanor and impossible politeness, compounded no doubt by being a priest, kept us smiling the whole time. Daniel gave us a tour of the entire WCC complex, and then treated us to a free lunch in the cafeteria, where we rubbed shoulders with theologians and diplomats. Pip and Daniel caught up on the events of the last 9 years. We talked about the WCC, about Romania, about Armenia (more on that in a bit), about the volcano, and about Eastern Orthodoxy. Afterward, Daniel led us into his office where we sat in large chairs in the shadow of dusty old books and talked theology for two more hours. Daniel is the Programme Executive Coordinator of Church and Ecumenical Relations at the WCC--a lofty position which basically aims to bring together the churches on the fringes of the WCC and address their concerns. There are always concerns. The politics in that organization run so deep. I think by the end of the afternoon we had heard about all the drama in Christendom.

After our meeting, and after Daniel walked us to the door to say goodbye in his very Romanian way, we stood outside and pondered life for a bit, staring out across the Alps. "Do you want to get out of Geneva tomorrow?" I asked. "Go hitchhiking in the mountains? It'd be free." "Let's do it," Pip said.

The next morning, we woke up early, packed a small bag, and walked to France. It wasn't far. When we crossed the border, we immediately went into a café, bought some coffee (so cheap), some fresh bread, some cheese, and a bottle of wine for a total of 3 euro or something incredible. We also bought an entire rotisserie chicken which we devoured like animals on the side of the road. Classy.

We didn't have a destination in mind, but the plan was to hike into Switzerland, toward a place called Interlaken. We walked a few miles onto an on-ramp of a highway, and planned to take the first car that was driving eastward. That's when we saw a sign for Milano. "Milan!" Pip remembered. His friend in Italy could maybe house us for the night. Why not.

Hitchhiking in the suburbs of Geneva is hard. It's not exactly a hotbed for Bohemianism or that sort of thing. I've hitchhiked in Scotland, Italy, Greece and Ireland, many times. This was the hardest of all.

Pip and I alternated our attempts, watching as BMW after BMW drove past. Finally, finally, a young guy pulled over in a beater car, wound down his window, and said to us something in French. It didn't matter what. We jumped in. Merci!

The guy knew a little English, but most of the time we just pointed at the scenery and said, "Magnifique!" He told us a bit about himself. He was a mix of French, Swiss, Italian, and a dozen other ethnicities, and he lived in the French countryside outside Geneva. It was there that he dropped us off, half an hour later. The middle of nowhere. We waved goodbye, and watched as he pulled away, leaving us surrounded by the French Alps in a place we had never seen. With no map. (My Google Maps printouts didn't show enough detail to figure out where we were.)

So we stuck out our thumbs again. This time, it didn't matter to us where we ended up. Just so long as we got somewhere.

The next guy to roll up was a hippie from Normandy, with bright red hair, a frizzy beard, two cigarettes behind his ears, and a beer in his cup holder. He spoke English fairly well.

"Where are you guys going?" he asked. "Doesn't matter," we said, getting in the car. "Wherever you are."

"I'm going to Sallanches," he said. My ears perked up. Sallanches. That's where Mylene grew up! A tiny village in the French Alps in Upper Savoy. My mind was blown. "Sure, take us there!" we shouted.

And half an hour later, sure enough, there we were, in Sallanches, France. The town is surrounded by breathtaking mountains, including Europe's highest mountain peak, Mont Blanc. Sallanches sits a 20-minute drive from Italy and Switzerland, and, due to its geographic and historical seclusion from most of France, it has developed its own unique culture. Our friend dropped us off in the center of town, and we just stood there for a minute or two with our mouths gaping. A beautiful creek rushes through the center of town, bringing fresh cold water from the mountains. Old storefronts line the creek, with pedestrian bridges and benches. The historic town church stands in an open square. It its shadow sits an old public drinking fountain that still works, and we used it to fill up our water bottles with fresh Alpine water.

We walked into the local bibliothèque and got on the computer and sent Mylene a facebook message. "You won't believe where we are," I typed. "Could we possibly stay with your parents?" She wasn't online, so we decided to take a stroll into the mountains until later, and then come back and try to message her again. Our phones were dead.

So we walked up into the mountains. We stopped at the little church and went inside to look around. We walked up the winding road far above the town and looked down on the houses of Sallanches, dwarfed by the mountainscape behind. After a couple hours of walking, we sat on a bench and drank our bottle of wine.








When we came back down off the mountain, it was getting dark. The librarian was locking up. We ran over to her in a panic. After a few minutes of Pip's French, we learned there was an internet cafe down the street. We ran down the road, searching for the only internet cafe in town. When we found the sign, we walked in on what looked like a bar. The entire room turned and stared at us. "Le internet?" we asked. The owner shook his head. "L'internet est kaput kaput." WHAT? What do you mean kaput??

We walked outside and crossed the street, our heads hanging low. We were upset. We realized we'd probably have to go sleep in the mountains. Really. As we were trying to figure out how that might work out, we crossed an intersection... and a car pulled up. Out jumped a girl. "Alex, Pip!" It was Mylene's younger sister Florianne.

And there we were. In Mylene and Flo's house, visiting her parents, eating dinner, drinking wine, trying to understand each other. Their parents didn't understand English at all really, but Pip was brilliant. He was pulling French out of thin air, and it was working. Her mom made us a delicious dinner with fresh bread and dessert, and all I could say was "très bien, merci" which isn't how you're supposed to say that anyway. But Pip was carrying on an actual conversation, and with Flo translating, we were able to make it work. I was even piecing together bits and pieces of it. I've never wanted to learn another language so bad.

The next day we woke up to more fresh bread, and a delicious breakfast, and then we hopped in the family car for a road trip into the Alps. I still can't believe this actually happened.

We crossed the border into Switzerland driving toward Martigny, where we drove up a steep steep road as high up as the mountain road would take us, before stopping to get out and admire the sights. The mountains surrounded us on all sides, and we peered down into the valleys and listened to the occasional gunshot echoing through the mountains. Mylene and Flo's dad explained to us what we were seeing, and gave us a history of the old rock walls that scattered the cliffs (very much like Ireland's prehistoric walls). We hopped back in the car, and drove back near Chamonix at the foot of Mont Blanc where we sat at a picnic table and ate a delicious lunch with more bread and more wine and even some very special "contrebande" homemade liquor. Her dad put some on a sugar cube and we popped it into our mouths. And then our faces exploded.

We walked around Chamonix for awhile, basking in a village that seemed more beautiful than a French storybook. I couldn't believe my eyes. We wandered for awhile, taking pictures, admiring the mountains, wearing off our midday buzz. I don't know how to describe it. The weather was perfect. The scenery was perfect. The company was perfect. It was so... French. Their parents are just absolutely fantastic. And Flo was so wonderful. She helped us understand what we were seeing, and helped us communicate our most simple-minded thoughts in a way that didn't make us seem totally idiotic. We had so much fun!








On the way back, Pip and I were absolutely beat. The whole family took us back to Geneva, and we got there by nighttime and checked back into our hostel. I can't believe their generosity. And I can't believe our luck. Flo was back in Sallanches just for that week on a break from college. If she hadn't been there, we would have been completely stranded, not able to understand a word. Also, their parents were supposed to be meeting Mylene in Dublin, but they missed their flight because of the volcano! They were going to stay at Pip's cottage in Kilbaha, but as they said, "We were going to go to Ireland, but Ireland came to us!" Just the fact that her parents were so willing to take us in, when we had never even met them before, is astounding. If you guys are reading, please know that you are welcome in Pittsburgh or Ireland anytime!

We did finally make it back to Ireland, but only after visiting the Romanian Orthodox church in Geneva for their parish's 35th anniversary, in the accompaniment of Father Daniel, who invited us to the party afterward where the entire parish brought food, wine, and dessert--before rushing off to catch our plane back to Dublin. The volcano had subsided! ...but Pip lost his passport. That was nearly an international incident, as he tried to explain to customs that there was a technicality which allowed him to fly from a non-EU airport inside Europe to an EU country as an EU citizen without an EU passport. I don't know... but it worked.

So now I'm back in Pennsylvania. I'm working on my thesis from home, in order to save money. My thesis topic is "Anti-Catholic Sentiment in Appalachia: The spoken and unspoken religious prejudices in contemporary Pennsylvania and West Virginia." The deadline is in August, so I have a little time to get some research done. I think it's a fascinating topic.

But this isn't the end of Europe for me. I'll actually be back there in a week! Pip and I are going to another WSCF conference, like the last one in Berlin, but this time in Kiev, Ukraine! Then we're going to Armenia to visit friends, then Georgia, Latvia, Norway, and finally Dublin to properly say goodbye to all my friends. Stay tuned!