Not yet light upon our arrival.  Leaving the train station, a winter gray sky gives a cold welcome. Early risers with a purpose in their movements appear on the streets of Geneva.  We are no more than a blur in their consciousness, a family of foreigners either passing through or, in our situation, here to stay for a few years.  One way or the other, at this hour on a workday, we are not their concern.

refueling
in a smoky café
coffee and croissants