Geneva has the sleepy tidiness of a man who combs his hair while yet in his pajamas.” — Lewis Mumford

I visited Geneva for the first time in winter 2013, unaware that one day it would become my home. I had been to Switzerland before; Luzern, St. Gallen, Lausanne and Basel. All of these cities had something that made me remember them. Geneva, however, made me never forget her.

The magic of Geneva is that it makes you believe time can stop, even in a city whose mastery is to invent time, over and over again.

Like two lovers or friends separated for too long, Geneva and I built a bond that only grew stronger. I love her with admiration, discipline, respect, my words and photos, and she—with all the elegance, openness, and protective embrace. Both of us, eclectic and extroverted, yet by necessity shy and discreet, coexist in unison without suffocating each other.

One of the first feelings of belonging was when I wandered through the narrow streets of Vieille Ville, or the Old Town. Countless small and large stones distributed through the paved passageways, the tall buildings, cafes and restaurants. Each stone pressed in its perfect place, in a very Swiss way of precision. Shades of grey with tan hues of dark beige, oyster, oatmeal and hazelnut stones take you back to Medieval times. Every building is a history class in itself.

The narrow and intimate Grand Rue filled with picturesque display windows, the wooden and woven chairs on restaurant corners, the passages of the Town Hall and the wide, always vivacious, cobblestone Place du Bourg-de-Four made me want to come back, again and again.

Every visit, every stroll down the streets feels like an out-of-this-era journey with endless mysteries and stories to discover.

Interestingly enough, as much as I love fashion, art and elegance, it took me some time to grow an affection towards Geneva’s luxury.

As I spent more time in the city center, I started noticing its courageous mixture of architectural styles; from Classical and Neoclassical, to Art Nouveau and contemporary, modernist buildings. Les Rue Basses, Rue du Rhône, Place du Molard and Place de Longemalle, together with the surrounding streets, passages and squares are the very realistic testimony of Geneva’s eclectic beauty. Hundreds of brands, all positioned to keep one’s attention, whether it be with their luxurious display windows, bold designs, chocolate and pastry artistry, statue-like vigilant security guards, or elegant Christmas decorations.

Some of the fast fashion brands have their stores’ displays hidden deep within these architectural gems, and if you’re a perfectionist like me, who cringes at a bad seam or a color-based eye terror, you can always avoid it by refocusing your eyes to the building.

The streets of Geneva have the ability to turn you into a wanderer—an insatiable one that refuses to go back inside and live between four walls, because there is always another view waiting to be discovered, absorbed, to be photographed and turned into a story or an everlasting memory. There is always another corner, another restaurant, another park, a beach, a forest, a set of chairs, a bakery, an elderly couple or people whose language you haven’t heard before.

Geneva is the city where I want to go anywhere but home inside, because I’m already home. I can take pictures and feel that I’ve arrived. I can watch the sunset from Quai Turettini and drown all worries in Rhône.

I can stand by the lake in Jardin Anglais and exchange smiles with the curious tourists or admire Jet D’Eau. I can stand amidst Parc de la Grange and believe everything is achievable.

And the lake? It’s a love story of its own. You can experience it as a huge water body, or as an independent piece of Geneva’s encyclopedic character. Sometimes it exists with almost abandoned shores, other times with shores as lively as a carnival ending. For me, it’s the ideal place to get to know the locals. Some will open to you, others will send a shy and welcoming smile. Most of them, however, will let you exist without interrupting your peace—just like what they probably expect from you.

Whether you’re sunbathing on Genève-Plage, strolling down by the Bains de Paquis or letting yourself experience the big calm by the shore of La Perle du Lac, you will start understanding Genevians better. Like the lake, they’re both a community and an individual, reserved and silent just as much as easygoing and relaxed. Like the shores, they’re always welcoming and willing to accept you, with a gentle protective attitude towards what’s deeply rooted in them—the cheerful silence, discretion, and tidiness.

My place-to-go when I want to feel like it’s only me and Geneva is the Perle-du-Lac park. It is exactly what the name tells—the pearl of the lake. It’s a pantone heaven of mostly green, blue and beige tones of lavishing fauna and flora, elegantly interrupted with a lively floral garden.

In winter, you don’t get to see much of this greenery, as it can hide under the fog and the clouds, but you can always stare in the open dark blue and turquoise horizon.

In spring and summer, you can enjoy God’s most elegant creation, the swans, hide under the large tree shades, or enjoy the fascinating view to Cologny, Mont Blanc and the yachts gliding through the turquoise. Personally, on days when I’m left with a fuzzy mind under the oppressive warmth, I often end up wandering through the Botanic Garden—my meeting point with calmness and God.

As much as I love La Perle du Lac, I never allowed myself to label it as my favorite place. The moment I think I’ve found that place, a new monument, a new building, a new cafe or a sunset view pops up during one of my lengthy walks across the city to remind me that I’m on a long-term quest. There is so much more to be explored, so much more to be discovered, learned about and seen. There are nations I haven’t met yet, people I haven’t crossed paths with, lakeside hiding spots I haven’t sat alone by, pastries I haven’t savored yet.

I’ve always struggled to define myself in one word, as I don’t like definitions and names. Who knew I would find my character’s double in a city rather than a person. Maybe because that’s what Geneva is: a human settlement turned into an ever-growing eclectic human being.

So I learned, there are cities to which you don’t want to return, or rather, you want to leave. Then there are cities to which, no matter how many times you go, it will never be enough—unless they’ve made you their own. These cities are never to be abandoned, because they have given you a home when you have felt abandoned by the world.

This kind of city is the one you return to, and maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you get to make your nest somewhere in its safe streets, away from what you once were forced to call home. That’s what Geneva gifted me with—a sense of belonging, without a birth certificate locked away somewhere in the chambers of its government. 

Song of the day: Goin’ Down Geneva – Van Morison

Visit the gallery for a walk down Geneva.