A tale of four breakfasts

IThe annual pilgrimage to the Eurovision Song Contest has begun. It all started on a Wednesday afternoon at the Jacksons International airport in Port Moresby. And such an auspicious start it was. No sooner had I checked in for the first of three flights did the dulcet tones of the fire evacuation alarm ring throughout the terminal. One aborted evacuation attempt was followed by a second round of alarms and assurances from security that there was no fire. So I was on my way.

Upon arrival in Brisneyland I was met with a four hour transit time. Nothing a little trip to the Emirates lounge could not fix. I spent those four hours undertaking a demographic analysis of the mid week European traveller (retiree - and not the under 40 'I took a VR' kind of retiree, more their parents, or even grandparents of those folk...) and try to convince my Dad on the phone that there were ten people in the Ten Tenors (apparently the name doesn't give that away). I saved some time to try the culinary offerings (the smoked salmon cakes got a gold star - I went back for seconds).

Soon, I was settled in on board for the 14 hour trek to Dubai.

My loyal readers would know that I have learnt the hard way previously that Emirates concept of mild spice and my idea of mild spice in food are worlds apart. Turns out I didn't really learn anything last time. See that red soup on my tray below? Liquid lava. I was breathing more fire than one of Daenerys' dragons whilst I waited for my flight attendant to come and take the devil soup away. 

After cooling off the inside of my mouth with barramundi, lemon tart, a movie (The Big Short), and a drink at the inflight bar with a fellow pilgrim, it was time for some sleep (after all, it was almost 2am in Moresby by this point). There was just one obstacle. 15F. After snoring through take off and meal service, he had chosen the point where every other passenger in the cabin wanted to sleep as his opportunity to complain loudly about the inflight entertainment system to his travelling companion over the aisle. 

At this point I recalled the wise pre-take off words of Sally-Anne. Sal had suggested I try out the Emirates sleep cycle radio channel (she described it as '...all weird tinkly bells and electronic whales. Like the cult MindHead from Bowfinger' - how could you not want to try that, even without 15F?). Well, it turns out electronic whales are no match for an Australian with an axe to grind about the inflight entertainment system. So I tried a more direct approach. I told him to shut up. Slept like a baby for five hours after that. 

Before I knew it they were waking us up for first breakfast (twice baked soufflé on an aeroplane, who knew it was possible!) and we were in Dubai. I hit the lounge all over again, and given it was only 6am, and I hadn't eaten for a whole two hours, I went for a second breakfast.

Soon, I was on my way again for flight number three. After a debacle of a boarding process (hell hath no fury like a first class passenger told to sit and wait whilst they load the economy class passengers on the bus to the plane first as it turns out) we drove to the far reaches of DBX to find our aircraft. We drove so far I swear we were halfway to Switzerland before we boarded. Surely this would cut flying time? Did I accidentally sign up for a bus transfer to Geneva? Can you see the terminal in a desert far, far away?

In a surprise twist, the flight was delayed almost an hour (who knew it would be Emirates and NOT Air Niugini making me late to get somewhere?) when the cargo got stuck being loaded. Yes, stuck. Part of me was entertained watching it from my window seat. We got it loaded eventually and before I knew it we were in the air and third breakfast was being served (seriously). The movie Spoltlight and about 5 episodes of iZombie later and we were in Geneva. The view as we flew into Geneva was amazing. A sea of snow peaked mountains poking through the clouds...

I got off the plane, headed to my hotel, and was excited about getting out and about and doing something. It was an amazing day - sunshine, clear skies. What should I do?!?! Nothing. Because NOTHING is what was open. Having spent the last 7 years worth of months of May in Europe you would think I'd have worked out there are a LOT of public holidays in Europe in May. And guess what? Arrival day was one in Switzerland. I decided to do what every man and his dog (literally) was doing. I went for a walk around the lake. It was gridlock.

I learnt two things on this walk. Firstly, everyone in Switzerland has a dog that looks like something Paris Hilton would have owned in 2002, and secondly, the young men of Geneva are modelling their hairstyles on Dolph Lundgen circa Rocky IV (the youngsters might need to google that).

I proudly recalled enough French to order a speccolous gelato and check out the Jet d'Eau. The latter being a fancy French name for what Canberrans would call the Captain Cook Jet.

Apparently no trip to Geneva is complete until you have seen the two main tourist attractions - the Jet and the flower clock, and I knocked them both off on day 1.

I had grand plans of just hanging out in my hotel room for a few hours waiting for a suitable dinner time. Rookie mistake though, I laid on the bed. That was 6:30pm. Next thing I knew it was 1am and there I was, fully clothed, all the lights on, CNN blaring and my phone clutched in my hand mid-candy crush level attempt. Jet lag -1, Belinda - 0. 

The next morning I decided to try out the Swiss interpretation of an Eggs Benny. Something must have been lost in translation because this was an Eggs Booby.

Time to head out from the hotel in search of more coffee. Now for the record, I am staying at a very nice hotel in a good part of town. Yet I walked past three strip clubs between my hotel and the nearest coffee place. Guess we know what those UN types do with their travel allowance. On second thought, the Eggs Booby makes more sense in context...

Google told me to go check out a church tower, which when climbed gave you the best view of Geneva. They left out the fact that the tiny spiral staircase was terrifying, but I made it to the top and the view was close to worth it.

Once back at the bottom I discovered there was an archaeological site under the church, showing the excavations of the previous incarnations of the church from the 3rd century to the 12th. 

There was lots of interesting commentary about the way that construction evolved (the work got shoddier over time), the creation of the earliest heating systems in Geneva, and the evolution of baptism facilities over the centuries (surprisingly interesting). They had also built a number of wells, which tourists were filling with coins and drinking straws. Anyone with any insight on the latter, let me know.

Because it it Europe you have to go IN the church (no trip to Europe is complete without a church or 73). This is what it looks like in its current incarnation.

The other must do in any European city is to find the food hall at the cities fanciest department store. I discovered some inspiration to change my preferred champagne...something about the bottle.

I headed off to the marathon village in the afternoon to collect my bib for Sunday.

Before you ask, no, I am not crazy enough to run a full marathon immediately before Eurovision week. I am merely doing the semi marathon (the cute French term for a half marathon). Having said that I still may not be able to walk come Monday. What was I thinking? 

The finish line is already up. Fingers cross the weather on Sunday morning is as lovely as it was today.