The Journey

"So what do you think of Geneva?" one of my Roommates asked me as I struggled to fit my bright orange duvet into the considerably less interesting cover.
"It's dark," I replied. And, my natural wit notwithstanding, I was right. I had arrived into Geneva, Switzerland, about 45 minutes earlier from London Luton, and the time was about 9:45pm. Taking the train from the airport, then a tram two stops, back two streets, left and then on the left at the end of the road had all been accomplished with only minimal checking of direction, which had given me maximum time to try not to look terrified of anyone who came within five metres of me, as travellers on their own are wont to do. I had made it to the city hostel, where I was staying overnight before getting a train to Kandersteg in the morning.

The journey had, I reflected, been revealing in showing how I travel. Usually a continental adventure, of which I have done a fair few, would have been undertaken with friends from the University Scout and Guide Society, or my girlfriend. However, this trip was solo. I was journeying to the International Scout Centre in Kandersteg (KISC for short) to help run the centre for three months- my longest stay outside the UK ever. Whereas normally on a trip the details of flights, accommodation, transport and so on would be diligently written down, I was not sure what my hostel was even called, and had only brought one piece of paper with instructions with me instead of the usual three. It made me question what exactly it was that we had been writing down and referring to on previous trips. No panic had beset me at the lack of paperwork though; a fatalistic sense of calm had invaded my being, a faith that someone, somewhere, would tell me what I had to do. Either that or I hadn't slept well enough the night before to have the energy to worry about things like where I was going, or sleeping for the next night.

Anyway, my blinding attempt at humour was followed by an amicable chatting session during which we all discussed the usual things one discusses in hostels: the weather, where everyone else is from, what prompted them to travel to wherever you are, and so on. There was a travelling Australian, a Liechtensteiner student attending a conference, and a guy also attending the conference of an undisclosed nationality. We discussed how expensive everything is, which gave me a sinking feeling in my heart and a deflating feeling in my wallet. Then, just to spice things up, we all picked up our various books and engaged in that time-honoured tradition of ignoring everyone else around you and reading. Soon after that, things got even more exciting. Two more guys came into the room. We were literally speechless with surprise- we said not a word to them. And then, when the tension in the room was at fever pitch, the grand finale happened- we all went to sleep. It was at that point that the evening took a turn for the stranger, as the noise of the city gently lulled us off to sleep...

I awoke a few hours later, unable to breathe. This was not quite as dramatic as it sounds, as I suffer from a common disease called "OH GOD WHY CAN I NOT BREATHE THROUGH ONE OF MY GOD-DAMNED NOSTRILS?!" Some people call it hay fever, but most of those who suffer from it use the first name. Often they call it the "OH GOD WHY IS MY NOSE FILLED WITH CEMENT?!" disease, because not everyone always has the luxury of breathing through one of their nostrils. Those who do have obviously made some sort of agreement between their brain and the pollen, which states that only one nostril will be blocked in exchange for the brain refusing to use any antihistamines which you put into your system. However, that doesn't stop us, like ancient man desperately sacrificing goats to appease the uncaring gods and lift the drought which is slowly killing their village, from stuffing pills, sprays and olbas oil into our bodies like we are corpses being stuffed with pot-pourri.

In any event, I got up to go outside to the locker where my things were kept safe. The locker was opened by a keycard that works wirelessly, but alas lived outside the room, so in getting up, going outside, rooting around in my bag for the pills, and closing the locker again (my two bags didn't quite fit properly so closing the door was a bit of a mission) I managed to come fully awake. And, as I lay down again, I noticed a low rumbling that was getting slowly louder, like a storm approaching. It took me a while to work out what it was.

Snoring.

HGOOOOAAAARRRR" rising above the radiators and the aeroplanes overhead, leaving you with the kind of helpless fury that one only usually experiences when watching 'The Glee Project'. So this was the state I found myself in. Unable to breathe. And then, from out in the hallway, came another noise- one that chilled me to the bone.

There were two lifts in the hostel, down to the reception, and each one made a noise when it opened: "bing, bong!" That's fine. However, each lift had a slightly different tone to the other, and because neither of them arrived at the same time, what you ended up with was a tune. But this was not a happy tune. No, it was the kind of tune that gives small children nightmares. The kind of tune that makes people wet themselves in fear because they think creepy little girls are going to set them on fire. And you could only hear the noise when everything else was quiet; say, for example, like when the snoring beast of Geneva was on a break.
This was the position I found myself in; for half an hour it was horror music, followed by "HGOOOOAAAARRRR", followed by creepy lift music, followed by "HGOOOOAAAARRRR", with some more lift music to follow. And then, I realised that I had lost my keycard. Probably shut it in the locker, but equally likely that a robber was now stealing all twelve pairs of my underpants. Obviously I needed to go and get another keycard from reception, and now- before the robber made it away with my underwear. But I was on the top floor, which would mean that I would have to go down three flights of girls wanting to set me on fire. How I managed to find the courage is still beyond me, as is how I managed to get myself to sleep once I made it back to my bed. I suspect I hit myself with a brick, or something.

The morning arrived, sunny and with the promise of being warm. Leaving behind me the ordeals of the previous night, I clambered back onto the tram and then onto the train to Kandersteg. That was a week ago nearly now. In my next blog I will cover what happened when I arrived, and more about the centre, and training.