Leaving Nyon

It’s time to go… aaagain.

The giddiness and the sense of belonging that I felt when I stepped off the train have been replaced with an empty feeling reminiscent of…… heart-ache. That’s the word.

Sunset in the Zurich Airport

I love Zürich airport.  The energy of the place is so calm and elegant. On trip where time wasn’t so dear, I would have taken the train across the country from Zürich.  It’s a beautiful four-hour ride on rails that are smooth as glass.   This trip, unfortunately, required a flight from Zürich to Geneva and then a quick 15 minute train ride.  Thirty-six hours ago, the train arrived at the end of a very long day. As I offloaded my luggage, I made a point to look for the NYON sign on the station wall.  It tells others the name of the city where the train is stopped.  To me, it welcomes me back with a kiss on each cheek and then another for good luck.

Keep the castle on your right

With a suitcase, a computer bag and nothing but cobbelstone roads between the train station and the hotel, I should have taken a cab. That would have been as unfulfilling as blowing a kiss to a person you passionately love.  My visits here have been few and far between, but I know my way around these beautiful curved streets that were once walked by the Romans.  Just keep going down the hill. If you keep the castle on your right then when you reach the lake, turn right and there is the best place to stay in town, The Hotel Real.

The view from the first floor of the Hotel Real in Nyon

This is Switzerland, I walked along the streets late at night with no concerns of safety. Nyon is one of those special places in my heart and mind that’s just safe on so many different levels.  The peace that I have felt in this city assumes its place in my mind and my heart.  All is right with my world.

A computer glitch cancelled my reservation. Luckily there was one room empty there waiting for me, one with a most beautiful view.  The staff didn’t know I was coming, but Nyon knew I would be there and that I would be tired when I arrived.

The streets of Nyon.

I slept in a bed that was unmistakably European from the shape, the firmness, the feel of the sheet and the weight of the duvet.  I was up early, dressed and down for breakfast. From there,  I walked back up the hill through the lovely streets of this city, me smiling and saying bon jour to everyone as if I actually spoke the language.  Nestled in the end of the French part of this country that is half-German,  this city is very French, yet it’s so distinctly not French.  There is a sophistication in Nyon.  It’s in the air.  It’s in the people. It’s in the architecture   Nyon bears no pretense, it just is what it is.

Later that day, when I was released from work, I slowly walked back to my hotel with a stop at the lake to stare.  I am not sure if I was looking at the lake or France is on the other side.  That’s a different country across the lake.  Just right over there.  I stare for what seems an eternity, I don’t know why.

Business and dinner commitments of my first day deprived me of the opportunity to run along Lake Geneve.   I wanted to get up early this morning and put in a few miles.

Click on image for the full effect

About 3am,  the rain forced me to close the windows.   About 5am, the alarm went off while the rain continued.  I had gear for running in rain, but decided didn’t want to pack wet clothes, especially in luggage heading in and out of Heathrow under the care of BA and Aer Lingus.  Fool me once, shame on you.  If I packed wet clothes, Murphy’s Law guarantees that I wouldn’t see them again until after they were thoroughly ruined.

À bientôt,

So on day 2, after a short morning meeting, I crossed the street back to the train station.  I looked up at the sign one last time to say good-bye.  I felt my heart drop as I left Nyon at the station.  I stared intently out the train window to suck in every part of this beautiful country, to hold her in my mind until our next rendezvous.

I find myself thinking about how quickly the trip was… aaagain.  I count the years since I was last here and realize how very  fast life is moving. I must find a way to spend a summer here with my family and experience Nyon more deeply.   As I fall deeper into my thoughts I am convinced that if Nyon were a woman, her eyes, they would be the most amazing shade of blue-green.  Her hands would be lovely and strong.   Her style, impeccable.

France from Switzerland
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Leaving Nyon

3 thoughts on “Leaving Nyon

  1. A lovely blog which left me feeling homesick, not for Nyon but for Switzerland where I lived for 33 years. I never visited Nyon but you made me wish I had, the nearest I got was Geneva. I understand very well that you can fall in love with a place and that leaving it can be as hard as leaving a loved one,

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