How to say goodbye
Dearest readers –
I know that some of you thought I was dead in a Geneva ditch somewhere, having starved to death because Migros closed at 7pm and I got there at 6:58pm and they wouldn’t let me in; the rest of you haven’t given my absence a second thought whatsoever, and that’s cool (jerks). But for the interested few, I thought I’d jump on board one last time to bid my farewells properly, as I am leaving – in fact have left – the warm confines of this blog and the slightly chillier confines of Geneva for bigger and better things, on both fronts. Indeed, I’m no longer a Genevois and now am proud to call myself… a New Yorker!
Now, there are some difficult transitions in life – from childhood to adolescence must be one (all those pimples… all that hair), from autumn in Geneva to winter in Geneva would be another one. But let me tell you, none of those compare to the transition of living in Geneva – the smallest, quietest, quaintest town in Europe – to living in New York, the loudest, meanest, craziest, most exhausting city in the world. I literally cannot catch my breath in this place. I had no idea how far down the Geneva rabbit hole I’d fallen until I arrived here and freaked out at having more than two supermarkets to choose from. Seriously, I lived off food from Starbucks (which also provides a confusingly large array of food choices in this city) for my first week because I was too scared to commit to any one grocery store. When I finally entered one and saw how many different types of cereal were on offer, I think I passed out for a second.
I’ve been going shopping at 10:00pm, just cause I can (that’s a lie, I’ve been going shopping at 10:00pm because people work seriously late here, but that doesn’t make it any less fun). I’ve been taking taxis at home at 4:00 in the morning because I won’t have to sell my entire wardrobe to do so. I’ve been gorging myself on museum exhibitions and gourmet food markets and quirky underground restaurants galore. I think I’m going to have a coronary with all this excitement.
For now, let me say that despite my repeated, and sometimes cruel, criticisms of that little town on Lac Leman, I was desperately sad to end my time in Geneva. Not, of course, because I would miss paying 5 CHF for bad coffee and spending every Saturday Night at SIP. Rather, I met and made the most wonderful friends that a girl could ask for while I lived in Geneva, and for that I suppose I should give the town a little bit of credit. It does attract some amazingly motivated and passionate (if a little delusional) people. I will always be thankful that I spent the time there that I did, if only for those people.
Thank you for your dedicated readership!