orwellianTwo

Geneva has always been a proudly independent place, and a centre of the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century. Despite being Francophone, it was always destined to end up in the predominantly German-speaking Swiss Confederacy.

The leading figure in much of this was Jean Calvin, founder of the Republic of Geneva. In 1909, 400 years after his birth, the authorities built a Reformation Wall, as grandiose a celebration of Reformation landmarks and heroes as the Calvinist mindset will allow. It sits in the Parc des Bastions, against the fortifications of the Old Town, and in the grounds of the University that Calvin founded.

You’ll make out the 1602, if not the French. The Catholic Duke of Savoy mounted a sneak attack on the Old Town in that year. The plan was for an escalade, or a scaling of the walls, but, like most of the Savoyards, it fell flat on its face as the locals mounted a stiff resistance, sometimes accompanied by boiling soup. To this day the Escalade is celebrated here every December.

Other events in the history of Protestant liberty commemorated include our own Bill of Rights, shown – just about – here…

…and there are also heroes such as Oliver Cromwell, who brought his own individual sense of religious tolerance to the Catholics of Ireland, and please just look! Look at the lovely sculpture! And the water!

The centrepiece of the wall are Calvin himself and his three key allies.

From left to right, William Farel, Calvin, Theodore Beza, and John Knox.

What the Wall doesn’t tell you – apart from Drogheda – is what an austere and joyless place Geneva must have been under Calvin. Before then the region was known for its superb jewellers. But jewellery became seen as ungodly frippery, and the jewellers had to turn their products into something wholesome and functional. And what could be more useful than something that told God’s hours…

But time moves on, and time has the last laugh. The group of four are situated so they look straight across the small ornamental park, and down the entrance of the university building. And when I was passing it looked like they were holding a Fresher’s Fair. And doing it to the sound of some hot Latin dance grooves. At least one student was out there throwing shapes, beer in her hand…

The sights wafted over to Calvin and chums, on the back of those Latin beats…

Knox looks horrified. Beza looks terrified. While Calvin has some new, and rather nasty edicts in mind.

And Farel, well it might just be me, but – doesn’t he look like he wants to be over there too?

That’s Lake Geneva we’re rounding, on our way to Geneva and our final stop.

What’s Paris’s great icon? The Eiffel Tower. London has Big Ben, New York the Statue of Liberty. Geneva? A safety valve in the water mains.

Just like in Paris and that radio mast, the locals were quick to spot the appeal of the pressure flow when it was first installed as a 30 foot jet in 1884. A couple of moves down the years, new pumps and more oomph, and the Jet d’Eau now majestically climbs to 140 feet.

That’s if it’s on. They switch if off in high winds. You’d be surprised by how often that happens.

Like Zurich, Geneva sits on a gorgeous lake and river, like Zurich it’s full of money, like Zurich it’s frighteningly expensive. But while Zurich has its banks and enjoys spending the dosh, Geneva plays the more earnest and high-minded cousin, creator of humanitarian institutions like the Red Cross, home to most of the UN bodies and to other major international organisations like the WTO.

Perhaps its most famous institution is a tram-ride away…

If you haven’t organised a special tour, there are two exhibition spaces at CERN. I was utterly engrossed by Microcosm, a detailed account of the design and operation of the LHC, including a full-size model of the actual beam line piping.

I also liked the sculpture in the grounds…

…but that tells you more about me than anything else.

The Harder Kulm mountain is a favourite hike of the locals. It takes about two hours to reach the top. I tried but I was on my own and it’s a challenge. I gave up after fifteen minutes.

The point where I turned back down.

Rather than the big struggle up the mountain, I chose the gentler- sounding 20 minute descent into the neighbouring community of Unterseen.

…riiiiiiight.

View to the side of the path ..

Pretty steep. Ooooookayyyy.

The path itself was fine…wasn’t it?

Looking back after I’d passed that dry rocky riverbed.

Eventually, if you’re a wuss like me you stop worrying about the sudden narrows in the path, the sudden rises, the sudden twisty bits – but only when you see the locals, Gran, Mutti and the kids, bounding up like they’re crossing the front lawn.

So we get down. Time to look back up.

Harder Kulm. (Can you see the face in the rock?)

This part of the world has a thing about dodgy monks. The 12th century monastery was important in the birth of the town. There was once a particularly powerful monk called Leonhardus. He was not one to waste the chance to exploit the people in the town, knowing very well how scared they were of him.

One day Leonhardus was out on the mountain collecting wood when he saw a young woman. Fancying the chance of some more exploitation he chased her until her only escape and chance of retaining her honour, was the cliff face. She did the honourable thing.

So why the long face?

However powerful a monk may be in his organisation, he’s answerable to an even more powerful CEO. When Leonhardus (or “Harder”) died, the fate of the young girl cropped up in his appraisal meeting. To this day, Harder is condemned to live on in rock, miserable, sullen eyed, droopy moustache, forever stony-faced.

I fly home on Sunday so I’m literally here all week. Anyway, that’s the story they told us on the guided tour. And if you’re wondering why a medieval monk has such a fetching 19th century ‘tache, maybe it’s to let the passing Victorian traveller know they weren’t off the hook, or something…

…or he was a time-traveller, or…I don’t know – oh just look! Look at the lovely mountains!

Some pictures from around town on the first day here

In the distance, covered in snow and cloud – the Jungfrau.

A generous portrayal of the over 60-year-old General Guisan, the leader of the Swiss forces in the Second World War.

A view towards Lake Thun.

(But weren’t the Swiss neutral in WW2?

Well yes, but they were surrounded by the Axis and Guisan figured you could never be too sure and beefed up their defences…now look over there, look at the lovely mountains!)

The following morning and it’s time for a day trip to the famous mountain village of…

Another incredible journey up into the mountains to reach it, but unfortunately I was too spellbound to take any pictures until the train reached the little station.

Grindelwald is surrounded by mountains, but one snowy peak particularly looms over it.

We’ve seen the Jungfrau, or young lady or Virgin. It is one of a row of three snow-covered peaks. To its east is the monk, or Monch. The monk has nobly (or ignobly, as some believe) got himself between the damsel and this mountain, the ogre.

The Swiss German for Ogre is Eiger.

You’ve noticed that one half of the peak is covered in snow. Apparently that’s easier to climb. The other half is the Nordwand, the notorious, iconic North Face, only conquered for the first time in 1935. The Swiss jokingly call it the Mordwand, the Murder Wall.

Hmm, at least 64 climbers since 1935…how many before that…maybe they aren’t joking?

Gulp.

We won’t be going anywhere near that thank goodness, but we have our own challenge. Up the main drag, turn left…

…been a while since I’ve been in one of these…

At the top is the outdoor activity area of Grindelwald-First, from where you can ride bikes, trip-wire, do scary cliff walks – or just hike. Which is what we’re going to do. An easyish walk up to Bachalpsee, 50 mins, a 300-foot climb in total, but well worth it.

The goal…

…a couple of rather lovely mountain lakes

Eventually I went back down and got the train back. No more photos though. Well how do you follow that?

So I wasn’t expecting to do a blog this time. But Switzerland is experiencing an exceptional period of weather this September and the glory of the lakes and mountains is being shown off at its best. So here we are.

So we’re off. The train has to get down to Lucerne first…

and from there we have another train to catch, which is a bit of a chore…

…but someone has to endure it…

Thankfully we reach Lake Brienz…

and we’re nearly there.

(This might not be Lake Brienz. There were so many stunning lakes I might have got confused). Anyway, we do make it to…

and we’ll be spending a couple of days here.

One of Switzerland’s premier tourist resorts, lying snug between two lakes and loads of green and craggy peaks, it’s a magnet for paragliders, rock-climbers, whitewater rafters, and other certifiable people. Chinese tour groups come here for the Swiss watches, Arab tour groups for the Koranic references to the lakes and mountains of Paradise, Indians for the Bollywood movies that have been set here.

And the Brits? They sensibly stay away. Switzerland is always pricey but because we are taking back control from them Euro-furreners and we’ll be great again, the pound has sunk against the Swiss franc. Things here can cost twice what they cost in London!

Will I survive the week? Tune in to my next post to find out!

Next door to Santa Monica beach is Venice Beach, which plays the hippie dropout cousin to Santa Monica’s staid respectable member of society. They share the same vast sandscape, the same lines of waving palm trees, and to be honest, the same waves of homeless people. But Venice has the street performers on its boardwalk, the Rasta-themed street stalls facing the colourful souvenir and T-shirt stores, and it has the blocks of meat working out at notorious Muscle Beach.

The guide books promise that Venice Beach is the place where the beautiful people come to flaunt it in some of the best people-watching in the world. But when I got there, most of the promenaders seemed to be disappointingly normal and well-balanced – and disappointingly numerous.

The town of Venice is also known for its murals and street art, which is no surprise.

So that was Venice on a mild but grey Thursday.

The following morning, the clouds melted and I headed back to the beach. Southern California had started to happen.

Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade marks the Memorial Day weekend.

The flat, dreamy expanse of sand that typifies the two beaches. But this particular spot of Santa Monica beach has a sadder side…

Looking back to Santa Monica Pier and, in the far distance, Malibu beach and its super-duper-stars.

Baywatch was actually filmed on Santa Monica beach.

Enough of the beach, because someone has asked me why it’s called Venice. Where are the canals? For this we need to head on past the beaches and push on to Venice town.

The man behind the development in 1905, one Abbot Kinney, wanted to create a place which was a cross between the real Venice and New York’s Coney Island fun beach. Vegas did Venice with the fake architecture and a big pool in front of the resort with gondolas.

Kinney did Venice with canals.

And they’re stunning.

Punting and rowing around here was quite the attraction when they were constructed but the coming of the motor car caused them to fall out of fashion – the plaque I was reading didn’t explain why. But over recent decades people have seen sense and restored them, maybe to beyond their former glory.

I don’t know how much these little canalside properties go for, but I know what my lottery winnings might be going on if the impossible happens.

Lovely lovely, nice canals. You get the picture.

On the walk back to Santa Monica I get to answer a question that’s been bugging me. Venice…Venice…why does a Venice in California ring a bell, why has it done so for years…Venice…then I see it. Venice Place!

I was a big Starsky and Hutch fan as a boy. Venice Place was Hutch’s bachelor pad, and it appeared in the series as frequently as the police department or the Gran Torino with a white stripe itself.

Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. To celebrate, just before we get back we grab a bite to eat at SaMo’s original firehouse, which by the looks of it seems to be the haunt of choice for the Muscle Beach set.

Probably the worst pub in the world in which to spill someone’s pint.

Let’s leave the beach and head into the western heart of LA, 15 miles away.

On the way we pass another city that’s separate the the City of Los Angeles – one you may have heard of…

Very plush. The stars live in big houses far from the road, here and in the hills to the north and west.

Now into LA.

Can you see it yet?

Note how grey it all is. Apparently May can be like this, misty in the morning and maybe sunny later on, like today.

How about now?

Yes, we’re in Hollywood. The studios have now moved out to other parts of LA, but this district still draws in the tourists as there are plenty of attractions here.

It originally said “Hollywoodland” and was meant to advertise real estate during Los Angeles’s property boom in the early 20th century. The “land” bit eventually fell off and as the movie industry grew, the sign became its iconic symbol.

Part of the long, winding Walk of Fame on Hollywood Blvd, recognising stars of the silver screen, music, comedy, radio, and TV, behind the camera as well as in front. You get one star for each genre you excelled in (Bob Hope has a few).

Following the stars leads us rather neatly to the Dolby Theater, the new home for the Oscars ceremony. Let’s pop into the foyer.

The displays nicely demonstrate Hollywood’s recognition of its long and storied heritage…

…as well as it’s weakness for gratuitous bombast

Well that’s enough movie stardust for me. Back on the bus, down Sunset Strip, past a rather strange ceremony outside a store in West Hollywood (which turned out to be for Stormy Daniels), and to the beach.

Next up, a rather more chilled type of LA…

After three nights, it’s time to move on. I’d love to tell you more about what happened in Vegas, but you know what they say…

So it’s onto the short flight to sprawling Los Angeles, the second biggest city in the nation, with 11 million people in the city and 18 million in the urban surrounds. We’ll be on the beach in the popular tourist destination of Santa Monica.

A delightful and historic old pier that’s sometimes described here as the greatest entertainment pier in the world, by people who’ve never heard of Southend.

We’ll see more of it later.

I don’t want to get into explaining the complex of cities that make up this huge conurbation and how they all relate to each other – the sun’s out and I’d rather hit the beach. Just to say that Santa Monica is a city in its own right despite being surrounded by LA proper on three sides. It’s a relaxed, liberal, upscale town which prides itself on its commitment to environmentalism (they even have a facility to clean off the street runoff and reuse it).

Santa Monica Blvd marks the end of Route 66, America’s most famous road – and is also the end of Sheryl Crow’s most famous chorus.

Lovely. But there’s more to LA isn’t there?

Caesars Palace, synonymous with what we think of as Vegas – iconic boxing showdowns, Celine, mega-resort-casinos on the Strip.

A stop on the new railroad out of LA at the turn of the 20th century, a gambling town that grew when thousands of single men moved down to build the nearby Hoover Dam in the 30s. And so did the Mob, who built and ran many of the new casinos and hotels in time for the Rat Pack era of the 50s.

Over the 60s and the 70s the Mafia moved out and the big corporations moved in, and the Strip became the insane celebration of the completely-over-the-top that we have today.

Vegas legends Siegfried and Roy.

The local ice hockey team, the Golden Knights, were only created at the beginning of this current 2017-18 season.

A couple of hours before this picture was taken, they reached the final of the sport’s most prestigious competition – the Stanley Cup.

It’s as if Ibiza decided to put together a football team one year and they somehow got to the Champions League final. Incredible and bizarre, just like this city.

We’ve seen Ancient Rome, Venice, Paris (I didn’t snap New York), and now here’s sunset over the Andalusian mega-resort

Except that this isn’t a mega-casino…

… and it’s midday, and we’re inside a shopping mall.

This place.

Bonkers.

The Piazza San Marco in Venice is one of the glories of Renaissance Italian architecture and design, and an immortal testament to the power of the Venetian Doges.

The Campanile of St Mark’s Church dates back to the 12th Century.

All these facts are true.

But this isn’t Venice.

And the Trevi fountain in Rome isn’t just across the road.

And that thing over there isn’t the real Eiffel Tower.

As the sign down the road says…

Vegas baby, Vegas!