Dispatches from across the pond: weekend in Geneva

My preconceptions of how I would be treated as an American seem to be all wrong. Most people don't even look at you on the street never mind judge. It is amazing how many people in London don't even speak English.

Some people are outgoing, like the maintenance man who hangs around the bathroom picking up girls. Or this little Italian man who tried to persuade me while standing in line for the grill, that the next big diet trend lies in mouth condoms. I would have left right there, but the grill master had just turned my chicken, I was committed. His idea was that if people can't taste the food, they won't eat. Fifteen minutes later I left with a sandwich and a new business plan.

It was a good thing that I was leaving that weekend for Geneva, Switzerland. Another girl and I thought we had planned enough time to get to our flight

We would have had if trains were running properly. Then we wouldn't have had to split a 90 pound taxi ride. The road scheme in London is ridiculous and it takes forever to get out of the city because it's a mess of old roads laid on top of each other. I can just see some ancient conniving city planner with his jodhpurs and frills, screwing all of us trying to make the 3:40 p.m. flight to Geneva.

We were in a bit of a pickle, or as they say over here, a bit of a gerkin. If we missed our flight, I would have lost not only the money for the flight and hostel, but have wasted a cab ride as well. Travel lesson number one: Plan more time than you need, check.

It was 2:30 p.m. and we were still in the city. The reality sunk in that we might not make it. My first trip would be a bust, and I would have to mope around all weekend trying to avoid both the bathrooms and refectory.

Somehow the car cluttered streets parted and we reached highway. Somehow we made it. With our backpacks sloshing , my shoes untied from taking them off for security, and my wallet 50 pounds lighter, we booked it to the gate, with time to spare.

In the air we were fine. With it being such a clear day we could see every corner of France, boxed miles of green and gold that rushed out of the white and urban bounds of Paris. Then the green Jura Mountains rose up like heartbeat from the previous plains that had flat lined for miles.

Because it was so clear, we could also see the Alps from the plane. It is impossible to explain seeing the Alps for the first time. The only thing I can say is that if you ever get to Europe, somehow get yourself to the Alps. French, Swiss, Italian, just get there.

Geneva is in a valley hugging a small corner of Lake Geneva that sits right on the French border. Though it is Switzerland's third largest city, it doesn't have the urban sprawl of London. Huddled around the mouth of the Rhone River are warehouses titled with neon signs for Prada and Lacoste, and all make an audience for the giant Jet d'eau, water fountain that shoots up 140m.

We stayed at city hostel right in town - it was safe and clean, a good first hostel experience. My advice is to spend a couple of dollars for some sort of private room at a hostel with positive ratings. Peace of mind is priceless, for everything else use your MasterCard and worry about it later.

After meeting up with the two other girls, the next morning we walked Old Town. Just across the bridge, Old Town has cobbled stoned narrow streets faced and expensive café's and boutiques. At its center, is Cathedrale de St. Pierre, a gothic hodgepodge of a building, where John Calvin preached from 1536 to 1564. If the Protestant Reformation doesn't get your heart pumping, the view from the north tower will, with the mix of red tiled roofs, the soft blue water, you really feel like you are in Europe.

Most spoke English, and when in doubt the international finger point in combination with an enunciated "I want that one," does the trick. Geneva is very expensive, and though you are paying with the Swiss Frank, which is close to the dollar, the prices are jacked up. If paying $1.50 for pizza at DHOP gets you twisted, try stomaching a 10 frank green salad.

That night the four of us took a sunset cruise that gave us a taste of Western Europe's biggest lake. With some cheese, bread and all the chocolate we could carry, we picnicked on the stern of the boat. We had the deck to ourselves, watching the sunset and planes fly into the city. The next day we traveled by bus an hour and a half to Mont Blanc, the highest peak in Europe, and the French Alps. Out of the city there is a gradual procession of landscapes. There are craggy mountain faces growing trees that cling like mossy beards, ragged tops alien from the thriving surrounds and snowbound peaks pinched and drawn up as if with careless fingers. All of it so big that you could see the striations in each barren face, where the elements have eaten hungrily at the earth to shape jagged teeth that gnaw at the blue sky.

That sounds ridiculous, and I can't even begin to give credit to Mont Blanc and the surrounding panoramas. Everything is so beautiful that as I took pictures throughout the climb and at the top, I felt like a professional photographer, though pictures are as inadequate as words. Looking at them now, they seem so dull because at the "roof of Europe" every molecule was humming. Everything was in high definition. You need to see if for yourself. It was, forgive my English, wicked awesome.

Kristine King is a TNH staffer spending a semester abroad in London, England.