D and I did all the planning for this trip ourselves (which is to say:  I said that I wanted to go to X, Y and Z, and D figured out both the logistics and the attractions), so when we were deciding where to fly and where to go, looking at TGV routes and trying to be independent grownups, I said, roughly, why the fuck wouldn't we go to Switzerland, given the opportunity?

He's like a freaking model or something.

Guys, go to Switzerland.  But don't go to Geneva.





I'm sure there's something amazing about this city and I'm just missing it.  Or, missed it.

We stayed at a little, quaint hotel called the Excalibur.  It was another opportunity for me to practice my mangled French.  It had this adorable hard-wood lobby and actual physical keys that we had to turn back in when we left the room.

A photo posted by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Sep 21, 2015 at 8:49am PDT

As par our norm, we dropped our shit and hit the town almost immediately.  There were neat things to see, like super expensive stores at which we could never shop because the body guards inside have higher incomes.  And a giant fountain in a lake.  And a clock made of flowers.  Oh, and a swan.  But the city was pretty much done in half a day.

Here you go, Mom. #swissswans are super friendly. #genevaswitzerland #ohcrap

A photo posted by bekaburke (@bekaburke) on Sep 22, 2015 at 2:53pm PDT

We did go to an older part of Geneva for dinner.  We sat outside this little restaurant and drank beer and lingered, like the Europeans are wont to do.  That was one of the absolute highlights of that city.

It's that thing that looks like it should be apple pie.

It's not the same.  Don't go to Europe and order a slice of apple pie, expecting a small boat of caramelized apples, tender from swimming in their own juices mixed with a bevy of cinnamon and sugar, topped with a crisp, flaky layer of breading.  Don't.  You'll be disappointed.  They, like.. slice the apples and layer them into an uncovered pie.  This is not the American apple pie.  Just trust me on this.  Go for one of other 80 million desserts/pastries at which they excel.

Sad lion.

After eating at this little bakery, we realized that we were going to have a problem getting D the proper coffee.  Cafe au lait is milky and amazing, but a cafe is a little espresso shot or something.  Poor guy.  This theme pretty much continued for the entirety of our trip.

And then we discovered Manor.

Manor is a magical place, a sprawling means of blowing a paycheck on almost everything the heart desires.  Like groceries.  And clothing.  And electronics.  And books!  And chocolat.  It was like four or five floors of madness, taking up nearly a block.  We walked briefly through the grocer on the bottom floor and then took the escalators up through all the other floors.  This is where I found my French horse comic.  This is where we found a ton of food and started sampling the amazing French flavors of potato chips.  No shit, we ate like a bag of chips a day.

Manor is also where I discovered A Cheval (the photos of which are the reason this post was delayed):