Upon looking at the calendar and realizing there are only three weeks left in my fall semester studying abroad, I decided to use my few remaining weekends to explore the hidden corners of Geneva instead of cavorting about the rest of Europe.
One of the best parts about living in Geneva is the vast international community. But every now and then, it's nice to return to your roots and socialize with some good ol' fellow Americans.
When Australian Aborigine males reach adolescence, they have a rite of passage called "walkabout," during which they leave their homes and journey across the wilderness to forge a deep connection with the Earth.
The Americans have military power and McDonalds. The French have baguettes and Carla Bruni. What do the Swiss have?
After several disastrous encounters working as a camp counselor during the summer, I swore off any outdoorsy activities involving copious amounts of mud, bugs or giant rocks.
Upon arriving in Geneva, I walked out of the airport and hailed a taxi. "18 Rue Muzy s'il vous pla
Several weeks ago, I revisited my childhood by watching a rerun of Mary-Kate and Ashley's "Passport to Paris" with my 13-year-old sister.
The roasted turkey has been carved and the spiced eggnog poured, yet instead of being filled with the holiday spirit, you are engulfed with dread as you take your seat at the dinner table.
A bus stops on McCormick Road, and students board. One is reading a newspaper, some are talking animatedly on their cells and several look like they just sleepwalked out of an 8 a.m.
