Going Swiss: Winging it

Suzi and I were in our hotel room, relaxing after our earlier activities, when she had an idea.

She suggested we head over to Geneva. It was only a half-hour train ride away, and our Swiss Travel Pass would cover it, so why not?

We didn’t have any kind of a plan; which is highly unusual for us, but we’d figure it out when we got there.

We got off the train and headed down the main drag. Geneva’s a nice city, and a lot of people were out and about. We walked down toward the lake until we decided to get something to eat.

And that was where the problems started.

Remember how I said we didn’t have any kind of a plan? That included looking for dinner options, but hey, Geneva’s a big city, right? Surely something would pop up.

Except it didn’t. I assume fighting for human rights and other vital work would be hungry stuff, but we were at a loss for where any of these people ate.

Buy expensive stuff? No shortage of options. Eat something? Who needs food?

As we were on the verge of circumnavigating Geneva, it was getting hot, and nerves were getting frayed. Plus we were, you know, hungry.

But then, a solution revealed itself … as if out of a dream.

We can’t use our cellphones when we’re out of the country — for some reason our provider doesn’t allow for it — but Suzi’s phone can still track where she is, which is creepy, but also helpful sometimes.

And it was telling us that restaurants were near, including one called American Dream Diner. Sounded like a plan.

Not only was it a diner, it was a themed diner, with a 1950s feel, decor and music. As someone who loves diners, I found this very cool, but as I ate my chicken tenders, I realized it wasn’t just a fun, kitschy themed diner.

On a street with a pizza place and, I believe, a Singaporean restaurant across the street, American Dream was an ethnic American place.

Want American food? This was the place to go. My root beer was even American, sweetened with high-fructose corn syrup and not sugar. The restaurant also has a shop were people who want to buy American food can get their Cheerios fix.

I’ve never thought of American food as ethnic food, and not just because I’m a self-centered American. It’s just … food, and you can find it in all sorts of places. For example, I had chicken tenders (the list of things I eat is pretty short) in an Irish pub the other night.

But clearly it works, since we weren’t the only people there.

Fortunately for us, the food was good, we were satisfied, and our lack of plan turned out just fine in the end.