In Frankenstein's Footsteps, part II

After spending a few days in Geneva, I felt like I had mastered the public transportation system. Buses and trams were frequent and punctual, and before long I was helping a couple of lost American tourists figure out the system. I tried to fit in like a local, partly for camouflage and partly for entertainment. Pro tips: wear sunglasses, act cool and unfazed by everything, and carry an H&M shopping bag with you.

The day after my Cologny adventure, it was time for a special treat: my dear friend Sarah came to meet me in Geneva! I’m usually happy to experience things by myself, but the long hours of isolation were starting to wear on me, so having Sarah around was like having a little piece of home. This was the last day of her Magellan project; she spent time in parts of France and Switzerland for a cultural comparison of francophone countries.

Can you see the sparkle of pure joy in my eyes?

We got ice cream by the lake, shared tales of our adventures, and went wherever our hearts desired. She wanted to see the UN headquarters and the Red Cross museum, both of which I really enjoyed. I even explained a few things about  the public transportation system to her, which was great until we took the bus to the wrong station! I guess Bel-Air is different from Petit-Bel-Air . . . so it turns out that neither of us are experts! And I’ve decided that that’s okay! I guess I just wanted to be the source of knowledge for once, since she's always the practical and logical one of the two of us. I really loved seeing her and being able to experience a different culture together.

At this point in my trip, I needed a break from the constant bustle of the city. I can get a little overstimulated when I’m surrounded by people and busy bus stations all of the time, so I thought I would take a day to enjoy Geneva’s wildlife. Luckily, I was only a short bus ride away from the base of Mont Saleve, also known as the “balcony of Geneva.” I was determined to reach the top because I like to experience things thoroughly -- I didn’t want to say “I hiked around the bottom of a mountain a little,” I wanted to say “I hiked to the top of a small mountain!” Also, I loved the part in Frankenstein when Victor Frankenstein decides to hike a mountain by himself because “the presence of another would destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene.” Of course, his monster interrupts his sublime reverie a couple of paragraphs later, but luckily I didn’t have that problem.

Once I actually found the start of the trail (harder than it sounds, since most people opt to take the cable car up and down the mountain), I was soon surrounded by beautiful greenery and the sound of chirping birds and insects. A natural escape, indeed. 

I took a lot of short breaks, got lost, and felt pretty discouraged at some points, but I knew that the only way to go was up. Maybe that’s an apt metaphor for life! I almost felt like I was climbing the spiral staircases of Old Main for hours, and my fellow W&J peers might know how unbearable that would be.

After about three hours of climbing and trying to decipher the trail markers, I finally made it to the top of Mont Saleve. I was almost ready to pass out because I had finished my water bottle about halfway up, but that didn’t matter! I had made it to the top, and I decided that I deserved a nice picnic lunch and a smooth ride back down in an air-conditioned cable car. I ended up doing it again two days later, too, just  to make sure it wasn’t a fluke the first time!

I also wanted to take a cruise on the lake while I was in Geneva -- the Romantic writers definitely did that! Towards the end of my stay, the weather grew cooler and rainy. This was nice not only because it was a break from the heat, but also because I was able to get a taste of Geneva the way Mary Shelley and John Polidori saw it. Under a thick layer of clouds, the lake turned from turquoise blue to an opaque grey-green, but it was still lovely. I even got to see the front of the Villa Diodati in a totally legal way.

The old Geneva lighthouse on the edge of the Bains des Pacquis.

One of my favorite things in Geneva was a little silly by anyone else’s standards, but I loved the statue of Frankenstein’s monster in Plainpalais. I visited it a couple of times because it was cool and also because I wanted to see if other people stopped to take a picture. The statue is located in Plainpalais, on the outskirts of central Geneva, because that was where the monster killed Victor’s brother in the book. I had a real English major moment when I sat near the statue and read a few pages of the book, just for fun.

You meet the coolest people when you travel.

It seems like, when visitors pass the statue when walking through Plainpalais, they often stop to take a picture with it. It was especially funny to see the people try to mock the monster’s position, with his clawed fingers and twisted scowl. Hilarious people-watching. But I thought it was funnier when I gave him my H&M bag.

Poor Frankie trying to fit in with the locals.

I enjoyed my time in Geneva. I wish it had been about twenty degrees cooler for most of my stay, but I was still able to enjoy the lake’s beauty and the rich culture that surrounds it. Unlike my stay at Loch Ness, it’s clear that the literary gems that I sought in Geneva are mostly unknown and do not contribute to Swiss tourism. People typically come to Switzerland for lake views and expensive dining, not the ghosts of writers and the monsters that they created. That certainly didn’t hinder my enthusiasm, though; if anything, I preferred that my adventures were a little off the beaten path during this leg of my journey.

Lake Geneva: In Frankenstein's Footsteps

Bon soir from Lake Geneva, Switzerland (and also from just across the border in France)! From the moment I stepped off the plane in Geneva, I knew I wasn’t in Scotland anymore. This part of Europe has been affected by a heat wave for a few weeks now, and it has been over 80 or 90 degrees and humid every day. I’ve learned the hard way that, no, sheer stubbornness doesn’t work as a proper sunscreen.

This is the garden clock in a popular park in central Geneva.

Geneva is ridiculously expensive, so I’m staying across the border in Gaillard, France with an airbnb host instead of in a city hostel. It’s only a twenty-minute tram ride from the city, and public transportation in the Geneva area is excellent . . . but it took me a few days to learn that! My first afternoon in Geneva was terrible; I was dehydrated and tired from traveling, I couldn’t find the bus I needed at the massive Gare Cornavin bus station, and it was about three thousand degrees outside (I’m sure of it). When I finally asked a few different people, speaking in bits of French and English, how to use the TPG (Geneva’s public transport system), I found my bus and eventually my new home. Did I almost pass out on the bus and resultingly guzzle water straight from a sink at a random business that I barged into upon leaving the bus? Absolutely not, because that’s what an unseasoned traveller would do.

My host is wonderful -- she’s a German teacher, her native language is French, and she also speaks English. We speak almost exclusively in French because she wants to help me practice, which is awfully nice of her. On my first full day in Switzerland/France, she took me with her to a precious little French town called Yvoire. I didn’t even know it existed, but it’s such a picturesque spot on the lake!

I didn't only come here for beautiful lake views and good ice cream. I'm here to study the roots of two popular monster tales: Frankenstein's monster and Dracula! It seems counterintuitive that such gruesome stories could be inspired by the clear skies and jewel-toned lake, but things were very different here two hundred years ago.

In the summer of 1816, a band of young people congregated on the shores of the lake. Mary Shelley, soon-to-be-husband Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairemont, poet Lord Byron, and Byron’s personal physician John Polidori rented a couple of lakeside villas in Cologny for the summer with the aim of enjoying Geneva’s beautiful weather. However, the summer of 1816 is now known as the Year Without a Summer due to a severe climate change after a massive volcano eruption in 1815. Cold temperatures, rain, and snow plagued regions that were normally sunny and hot. The stormy weather greatly influenced this scandalous entanglement of Romantic thinkers and changed the world of Gothic literature forever.

I’ll keep this short for blogging purposes, but I’d be happy to talk to you anytime about the ridiculous mess of relationships between these people. (Let’s just say that the radical, free-love ideals of Byron and P. Shelley were certainly the talk of the town in 1816.) One fateful night in 1816, when the group was spending the night at Byron’s rented lakeside villa to escape the stormy weather, Byron proposed a ghost story contest: each of them would have to write a ghost story, and the best one would win. Aided by the eerie weather and hearty doses of laudanum, the Romantics produced several significant scraps of writing during this summer, some of which were prompted by Byron’s contest. For the purposes of my project, I’m focusing on two of those fragments: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (which was soon developed into a full-length novel) and John Polidori’s short story “The Vampyre.” Polidori’s story is little-known, but it was actually a major influence on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It was arguably the first appearance of vampires as we know them today.

Thanks for sticking around for my brief lesson on an interesting chapter of literary history! I’m trying to experience Lake Geneva in ways similar to how Byron and the Shelleys experienced (or at least wanted to experience) it; taking walks, cruising on the lake, hiking the mountains, etc. However, it seems like 2017 is the Year With Too Much Summer (hello, global warming) -- most of my time in Geneva has been sunny and hot instead of rainy and gloomy, so it’s difficult for me to try to grasp Mary Shelley’s true perspective. I spent some time in the oldest part of Geneva (La Vielle-Ville), where everything is made of worn tan stones and uphill climbs. It’s a lovely area lined with cafes and tiny shops. I even stumbled upon a music festival that stretches from the old town to the local park. I guess I picked the right time to come to Geneva.

After finally learning the ways of the public transportation system, I decided to reward myself with a beach day! You know, for research purposes. If Byron and the Shelleys had been here in 2016 instead of 1816, they probably would have done the same thing. I went to the Bains des Pacquis, a popular spot for locals and tourists alike to lie in the sun and escape the heat by swimming in the turquoise waters of the lake. This was a great idea in theory. However, after being unable to peel myself away from the area for eight hours, I realized that I had just received the worst sunburn of my entire nineteen years. I was simultaneously cold, hot, fatigued, and nauseous, and I didn’t know that those four things could happen at once. I was either on the highway to Hell or to melanoma.

Miracles do exist, though, because I woke up the next morning a less alarming shade of red. I decided to go to Cologny, the small town where the Romantics stayed. My first stop was the Musée Fondation Bodmer, which is basically a collection of rare books and manuscripts. The museum has a permanent exhibit as well as a temporary exhibit that rotates a few times per year. Last summer, in honor of the two-hundredth anniversary of the writers’ summer in Geneva, the museum featured a Frankenstein exhibit with original manuscripts. Naturally, I decided to come to Geneva on the two-hundred and first anniversary of the event, so I didn’t get to see what was sure to be an amazing exhibit. However, the museum was still incredible. I saw first-editions of works by Milton and Spenser, second-editions of Shakespeare, first-edition collections of Hume and Kant, papyri dating back to around 200 A.D., a copy of the Gutenberg Bible . . . I think my favorite was the original manuscript (!!!) of a Sherlock Holmes story, “The Adventure of the Abbey Grange,” by Arthur Conan Doyle. There’s something about seeing the handwriting of an author, with tiny corrections visible in the text, that is simply magical.

The original manuscript from a Sherlock Holmes short story

The museum also had a first-edition copy of Byron’s first two cantos of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, a lengthy narrative poem. Byron wrote the third canto during his time on Lake Geneva, but there was only a tiny silver plaque to commemorate the summer.

After spending a considerable amount of time here, I set out for the second part of my Cologny adventure. As much as I would love to do a full tour of the Villa Diodati, it is unfortunately private property. Maybe I’ll live there when I’m an English professor and I make seven figures per year (ha!). I decided to make do by getting as close to the house as possible. It wasn’t long before I was surrounded by mansions hidden within stone walls, wrought iron gates, and signs that proclaimed the vigilance of the 24-hour security on duty. Challenge accepted.

With each residence that I passed, beautiful hedges and gardens peeked out from behind the gates. The air smelled like flowers and money. I soon arrived at a large, grassy hill with a sign proclaiming it as the Pré Byron, or Byron Meadow. The sign told the story, in both English and French, of the Romantics’ fateful summer, noting that the Shelleys’ residence once stood there and that Byron’s Diodati was located to the left of the meadow. After admiring the beauty of the lake view and failing to catch a glimpse of the villa through the trees, I decided to get a little closer. I walked down the hill just as a car slid out from the road where I thought the mansion was located; I thought I’d try it because I had nothing to lose! I remember thinking that it was strange that the massive wrought iron gate was open if the path led to a private residence.

As soon as I entered, the gate began to close behind me. Oops! It must have been opened for the car that left as soon as I came near. If you ask me, it was fate.

I walked along the path, praying that no terrifying security guards were going to catch me, and got as close to the Villa Diodati as I could without cutting my way through very expensive hedges. I could see the top of the creamy yellow mansion and its green shutters, and I kept thinking Byron looked out of those windows! Mary Shelley hung out here and thought of Frankenstein! John Polidori lived here and penned his vampire tale! 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before a car rolled up beside me and an intimidating Swiss woman asked me where I was going. I half-hopefully told her that I wanted to see the Villa Diodati, and she *kindly* informed me that it was private property and that I could press the green button next to the gate to leave. So I pressed the green button and I left, and she didn’t turn her car around the corner until she saw the gate close behind me. Goodness! I’m a literature student, not a vandal.

I went back to the meadow and sat for a little while, and I made sure to swing by the back entrance of the mansion. I caught a glimpse of the beautiful private gardens, as well. If only someone had opened the site to the public instead of turning the mansion into a luxury apartment complex . . . 

At this point I probably would have taken a selfie with a trash can that said "Diodati" on it.

It was fun to see the physical place where these tales were born. Places hold a lot of meaning for me; even though the writers are long gone, I like to think that a little bit of magic still lingers. Next, I plan to see how these writings impact the culture around the lake today.

On the Shores of Loch Ness, part II

Surprisingly, during almost all of my time in Scotland, I experienced very little rainy weather. However, the weather often changed in mere minutes . . . from sunny and clear to windy and overcast. It’s a good thing I’m learning to embrace change.

In order to experience the culture surrounding Loch Ness’s famed monster in as many ways as possible, I took a boat cruise of the loch. To get to the dock for my cruise, I had to buy a ticket for the giant red double-decker Sightseeing Bus. In order to do that, I first had to swallow my pride and accept the fact that I am a tourist, and sometimes being a tourist necessitates the loss of dignity that accompanies riding an obnoxious red vehicle with a pre-recorded guide. 

Once I arrived at the Jacobite cruise center at Dochgarroch, I realized how streamlined and polished the entire process has become through years of growth in the loch’s tourist industry. I was even able to talk with an employee at the center, and she had some interesting information to share with me. She noted that there has been an increase in the number of people visiting Loch Ness; significantly, there has been a 40% increase in boat tours since last year. This could be for any number of different reasons, but the employee conjectured that it may be because Scotland feels a lot “safer” than other European countries at the moment.

The cruise itself was exhilarating! I wasn’t content with sitting in the lines of benches on the top level of the boat; naturally, I needed an unobstructed view of the loch with no one in front of me to protect me from the harsh Highland wind, so I opted to stand/crouch at the front of the boat to maximize my experience. (I was careful not to block anyone’s view!) The waters were choppy and the wind was strong, but it was an incredible experience. They were even selling hot chocolate with whisky in it. According to our guide, the more of these boozy concoctions someone has, the more likely they are to see Nessie! Go figure.

By the end of the cruise, tears were streaming down my face from the wind and my hair could probably have been mistaken for an actual monster, but I had a lovely time. The cruise dropped us off at the Urquhart Castle, so I was lucky enough to explore the ruins another time.

I also spent a lot of my time exploring Inverness, especially in the evenings. Let me once again stress how sweet the Scottish people are; I had a full conversation with the woman next to me in line in TJMaxx about the perils of buying pillows without being able to try them first. Everyone is so friendly and helpful.

Hiking is one of my favorite things to do, but I never get to do it due to my schedule during the academic year. As a result, I decided to take advantage of my free schedule to explore the beautiful trails that surround the River Ness! Armed with hiking boots and a can-do attitude, I headed towards the Ness Islands, where water converges around small, tree-filled “islands” in the middle of the river. It was a great way to decompress after the hectic bus schedules of the city. There was even a fallen tree that someone had carved into a makeshift sculpture of the Loch Ness Monster. So it does exist!

On my last full day at the loch, I decided to go to the small town of Dores. I knew this to be the home of the Dores Inn, a precious bar and restaurant, and also the home of famed Nessie hunter Steve Feltham. Mr. Feltham holds the Guinness World Record for the longest monster-hunting vigil on the loch (over 25 years now, after leaving a steady job and girlfriend). I was supposed to pay him a visit at his small shop/base next to the inn, but he had a friend visit at the last minute, so I was unable to meet him. (I expect he just didn’t want to talk to another American tourist, and I can’t really blame him. I hear he now thinks that the "monster" is a massive catfish.)

I’m so glad I visited Dores -- it was easily my favorite location on the loch that I was able to visit. I arrived early in the morning, but the Dores Inn didn’t open until the afternoon, so I decided to find a quiet spot to sit by the loch. However, Dores is almost exclusively residential, so there weren’t many public benches or parks or even sidewalks, for that matter. The loch was lined with small, private cottages with gardens. I decided to maneuver behind one of the cottages, and I found a little grove of rocks and trees that hid me from view of the road. (What’s an adventure without a little trespassing on private property?) I actually sat here for a couple of hours because it was so beautiful; a heavy cloud of silver fog cloaked the loch and the hills surrounding it, and I felt the most peace that I have in a long time. Even when it began to rain. Especially then.

When the Dores Inn opened, I was ready for a hearty Highland breakfast. My server took pity on me due to my red nose and soaked coat and immediately offered me some tea (and darn if it wasn’t some of the best tea I’ve ever had!). I sat at a table with a window facing the loch, and it was a lovely experience. 

Perhaps the loveliest little place near the loch.

After breakfast (and dessert), I took a walk along the beach next to the Inn, where I saw Steve Feltham’s residence and also took a couple of cool rocks from the loch. Don’t tell the Scottish police!

Overall, I loved my experience in Scotland. The loch is an incredibly beautiful and haunting place to visit; on a cloudy or rainy day, the black, opaque waters certainly seem like they could be the home of a monster. I understand why tourists and locals alike flock to the shores of Loch Ness -- myth and monsters aside, it’s an intriguing place to reflect and absorb the beauty of the Highlands.

On the Shores of Loch Ness

Well, I've decided I'm moving to Scotland!

I’m just kidding. But I really do love it here. I haven’t had a lot of time to blog since I’ve arrived, but I’m taking a little bit of time to sit and relax with a (free!) cup of tea so that I can document my trip so far. After a full day of connecting flights and 

hectic bus stations, I finally arrived at my destination. My airport experience wasn’t terrible. At my layover at the Reykjavik airport, I accidentally bought an Icelandic smoothie for ten American dollars. Remind me to never do that again -- it tasted like spinach and regret. 

Once I landed at the Glasgow airport and made it through the ridiculously long customs line, a sweet elderly Scottish couple helped me find the bus station. This was only the first example of Scottish hospitality that I’ve encountered. Everyone is so sweet and willing to help. I was surprised by how incomprehensible the Scottish accent was at first. I spent a lot of my first day smiling and nodding and pretending to understand what everyone was saying when they struck up conversations with me . . . it has definitely gotten better since I’ve been here for a couple of days.

I’m currently in the town of Inverness, which is near Loch Ness. (Hidden golden nugget for fans of Shakespeare: this is the same Inverness as in Macbeth!) Scotland is so beautiful and green -- the 4-hour drive from the airport was lovely and full of rolling hills, trees, and grazing sheep.

A rare beautiful day in the Highlands. (Drumnadrochit)

I think I was a little surprised when I arrived in Inverness -- I expected it to be smaller and quieter, but it’s actually a busy, thriving town! It’s right on the River Ness. There are so many pubs and coffee shops and small businesses.

On my first night here, I immediately met new friends at my hostel, which is conveniently sandwiched between the river and the Inverness Castle. I’ve already met people from all over -- Tomás from Spain, Stella from the Netherlands, some people from France and French Canada, Chile, England . . . luckily, my hostel has a cozy common room with a fireplace and free tea, so it’s a great place to meet people.

I spent my first full day at the loch. My new friend Tomás and I took the bus out to Urquhart Castle (and I am forever grateful to Tomas because he showed me how to navigate public transportation, which was like another language to a simpleton like me). This was the first “touristy” thing that I’ve done since arriving. It’s the most famous castle on the loch, and rightfully so -- the ruins are beautiful! This was my first experience with the unpredictable Highlands weather. It was warm and sunny when we left Inverness, and by the time we forked over a steep 9 pounds each (!!!) and meandered our way down to the castle, it was foggy and spitting rain. I didn’t mind, though, because rainy days are my favorite, and the clouds seem to suit the dark waters of the loch better than sunshine. The wind was WILD. I’m glad I brought my hiking boots, because my usual thin cardigans and ballet flats just won’t do the trick here . . .

Here I am at the staple Loch Ness landmark, Urquhart Castle.
(It's pronounced "ERK-ert," depending on who you ask.
I had no idea for most of my visit.)

I’m really glad we spent the day at Urquhart Castle. I learned a lot about the history of the loch and the evolution of the castle, the first version of which may date back to as early as 580 A.D. It’s clear that this is a major tourist attraction; I encountered countless different people speaking countless different languages. The gift shop was ridiculous! There were souvenirs ranging from notebooks to clan scarves to tiny bottles of scotch (here, it’s just “whisky”). There was even a little theatre with an 8-minute movie about the history of the castle, so that made me feel a little bit better about the admission price.

The food here is delicious. I haven’t had something that I disliked. Everything seems to be hearty and filling -- think lots of creamy soups, chowders, gravy, buttery bread, and some really good coffee. Cullen skink (no, I didn’t just insult you) is a type of traditional Scottish soup, and it consists of smoked haddock, leeks, and potatoes. There are so many incredible restaurants around Inverness and in the other towns surrounding the loch. I’m not sure how I’ll ever go back to eating at the Commons again.

Yesterday, I visited the most touristy place of all: the Loch Ness Exhibition Centre, along with the famed Nessieland. I took the bus to Drumnadrochit, a town near Urquhart Castle. You should have seen the grin on my face when I approached the Exhibition Centre -- a whole exhibit about Nessie, and a parking lot filled with other dewy-eyed tourists like me? I was so excited. 

However, interestingly, the exhibition was quick to shoot down everyone’s dreams. With a series of short videos, the exhibition navigated through the history of the loch and of Nessie sightings throughout the years. Newspaper clippings marked sightings and stories all the way from 1933, and there was a small section with information about water monsters from around the world. While the recordings and videos encouraged visitors to be "naturalist and detective," there isn't much of a case if, as the display claimed, there is not nearly enough food to sustain a creature of the "monster's" size. Sometimes it's more fun to ignore science and keep the dream alive. The end of the exhibition was marked with a giant gift shop. I may or may not have bought a Nessie key chain.

Nessieland, a separate gift shop near the Exhibition Centre, was a bit of a disappointment. There was one small alcove with monster souvenirs, and the rest of the shop was filled with other Scotland-themed tourist gimmicks. The outside of the shop was better -- there were three massive plesiosaur-ish sculptures for kids to climb and take pictures with.

That was how I spent my first couple of days. I'm trying to balance the life of a tourist (for the purpose of my project) with the life of a local -- after all, the culture of Scotland certainly is something that I want to experience in the most genuine way possible.