However much I loved Paris, I was itching to get somewhere German-speaking. I had studied German at school and also attended a year of my university course at a German university. However, that was seven years ago and I had hardly spoken any German since, so I was keen to get back in the saddle - or, perhaps more aptly, the lederhosen.
I boarded a rather shabby but very nippy train for three and a half hours to emerge in a new country: Switzerland. Granted, it was still officially French-speaking, but Geneva (Geneve, Genf, whatever) was an international breath of fresh air. All sorts of languages floated past as I wandered out of the station and saddled up for the ride along the yellow-lined roads to the hostel.
Geneva was immaculate - in the main areas, at least - and its setting on Lake, er Geneva was a sight to behold under the blue skies. Sailboats bobbed gently in the incredibly clear water and advert-lined buildings framed the water's edge. I wandered over the bridge into the again immaculately-kept old part of town, with steep, bricked alleys winding around leaning buildings lit by pretty lights and looping round a hum-dinger of a church. It almost looked too immaculate.
I had planned to follow the shore of Lake Geneva on the bike, as last time I checked lakes were generally flat and therefore an easy cycle, so I set off early the next day as it was a forty mile ride, the most I had attempted in one day so far. The first fifteen were a doddle, and at that point I broke for breakfast on a lakeside bench by a mooring of boats. About two-thirds of the way there, unfortunately, I started to flag, and my breaks became closer and closer together. I had hit a metaphorical wall and I had to limp into Lausanne pushing my bike.
I was gutted to find the interesting parts of Lausanne were up a huge hill, so I had to walk even further at granny pace to get to the hostel, yet another organised and clean affair.
Lausanne didn't capture my imagination as much as Geneva, so I pushed on - by train this time, to let my screaming muscles heal - to the mini Swiss capital and reassuringly German-speaking Bern.
The change was more surprising that I had expected it to be, one country, one train ride and suddenly it went from French signs and French speakers to German signs and German speakers, no halfway house, and very little dual-language signs. It made me wonder how such a country could have a unity with such a language divide.
Bern was delightful, with an ancient, cobbled old town tastefully housed by little shops. It was obvious that being politically neutral had its benefits, your cities didn't get bombed to shit. There was a Christmas Market on in one of the squares, so I made a beeline for the mulled wine stall; pricey but the best I have ever tasted.
Switzerland was painful on the old wallet, so I intended to skip through as quick as possible. I set off the next day, after another circuit of the old town, to Interlaken, the most "backpacker-friendly" destination in Switzerland. My saddle-soreness had abated somewhat so I was back on the bike, although the mountains seemed to be getting nearer and nearer and I was getting concerned about the gradients that might soon be involved.
Luckily, the route wound through the valleys, alongside the mountain-lined Thunsee lake, reminiscent of New Zealand but not as nice, and between that and another lake further along Interlaken was nestled (hence the name... "between lakes").
The popularity of the town amongst backpackers meant the hostel offered a ton of free stuff to woo you there. The town seemed to be incredibly popular with Asian tourists, and I shared a room with four Korean backpackers. They spoke little English and I spoke even less Korean (hello, thank you and... CHEERS!), but they communicated by the Art of the Orange - by handing me a spare satsuma one of them had. Very friendly chaps indeed.
Interlaken was the jump-off point for the Alps in Switzerland, including the Jungfrau region that I was keen on seeing, around 4000 metres and supposedly jawdropping views. Unfortunately, you couldn't see much with a ton of cloud blocking the way, so I had to linger another day in Interlaken in the hope that the weather would improve. Sadly, it didn't, and with snow and cloud forecast for the next few days I had no choice but to push on - but I certainly hope to be back to this region sometime in the future. With the plentiful availability of free flights from the UK on Sleazyjet et al, it looks to be on the cards.
My last stop in Switzerland was the large city of Zuerich, which surprisingly is not the capital. I imagine Bern was chosen due to its central geographic location. I had expected a dull, grey Frankfurt-esque, soulless wanker-banker city, but Zuerich had a certain charm, with an old town, a lake (albeit not as pretty as Geneva's) and plenty of life to itself in the evenings. And hardly a suit in sight. I can think of worse places in the world to make millions...
Switzerland, which was to me just a "may as well, it's on the way" destination, had really impressed me. What bowled me over more than anything was the feeling of absolute contentment that seemed to bubble about when in the cities: everyone seemed really happy.
And I suppose you would be, if you lived in a rich, beautiful country without any enemies.
