From Geneva to Milan: Questioning America’s Place in the World

I’ve always found the question of feelings towards a place interesting. So much of our perception of a new country is shaped by where we’re from. What is familiar to us and what is not. What we value and what we don’t. So all this to say, in talking about my travels, I intend to share my perspective, with an attempt at objectivity.

My first impressions of Switzerland were of discomfort. It is odd that for a country well-associated with ease of life, I was met with frankly oddly complicated public transport, exorbitant taxi prices, and no roaming. You see, unlike the rest of Western Europe, Switzerland is not part of the EU, and you can surely notice that. It’s an odd choice but one I respect for the country’s commitment to neutrality, I presume.

Geneva, while clean, orderly, and expensive, felt suffocatingly pretentious to a degree. The streets were practically ghosted after 7 pm, shops mostly closed at 5, and the sun went down at… 9? This is an unfortunate theme across most of Europe, where unlike America, people completely shut off after work, which ends rather quickly anyways. However, Geneva then was loathingly European in that sense.

Of course, it was not all bad. Actually, my aim is not to make the reader think of Switzerland as uninhabitable. It has beautiful nature, a lot of culture, and as one Swiss French person told me at the UN cafeteria, it is a city built on many tears and blood. You can feel that in the atmosphere of the city. There are always scenes of castles and old cities. Cultural feelings that were built on top of years and years of people living. The old city in Geneva is literally the most beautiful place I have ever visited anywhere. The marvel is second only to when I first entered Hagia Sophia.

I would say it is a wonderful place to visit for 2 weeks; anything more or less, and your experience is going to be not ideal. Then again, I wasn’t there with a sense of permanency and honestly, I didn’t feel as though it was temporary. I didn’t feel the need to make a life, and I also was not looking forward to anything after.

The next country I visited was Greece. I was looking forward to this because so far, I didn’t feel like I had a comprehensive picture of Europe. Both England and Switzerland were obviously known for being very different parts of Europe. England is known to be rich, cold, chatty, and well, incredibly multicultural. Switzerland, on the other hand, to me had always felt exclusive, desirable, rich, and unreal–also incredibly beautiful.

Greece, on the other hand, had always been rather overtly romanticized, poorer, cultured, and a lifestyle that prioritized hedonistic tendencies over long-term anything really. Greece was perhaps the only place I have been the least surprised by. It was really everything I expected it to be. Which was great because it is the least concerned with “trying to be something” and more about what it is. There is no pride or shame in Greece. One can only have such perspective when you’re genuinely enjoying life, and it seemed as though everyone actually was enjoying their life.

Now to what degree, I obviously can’t say. I was there for three days and a tourist with only where to find food and nice beaches in mind. When I was trying to observe people, I mean, it was not as though restaurants were empty. Or that you could tell people were being cautious with how much they ordered. It seemed as though again there was transparency because there was no reason to not be what you are.

Greece was authentic and beautiful. I think the one thing that was somewhat disconcerting was American tourists. It was just so overwhelming to see Americans who treated the country like an amusement park. It’s like every American tourist I see had a perception of what they would feel and just felt that. I honestly could not tell if it was their dehumanization of the place that bothered me or their genuine lack of effort to actually feel based on what was going on.

The last country I got to visit was Italy, or I guess more specifically Milan. It all happened rather quickly. I had always wanted to go to Italy but there was something holding me back. Then when the right hitchhiking opportunity arose, and the fact that my visa was about to expire, I knew I had to go. It was such a rush to go to Milan that I had almost forgotten where exactly I was going. I was unsure of practically everything and with no plans, I ended up somewhere right outside Milan.

It was quite surprising because in my head Italy had always been cleaner than both Greece and Turkey. I was surprised to find the city almost unbelievably “out of shape”. Unlike Greece, it was a bit harder to find people who were interested in helping rather than just chatting. So many times when I thought I could rely on people’s kindness to charge my phone I ended up going around an entirely new city with a dead phone. Milan was beautiful in some parts and in other parts insanely… unlike what Milan looked like in my head. 

I was also surprised by how such random things were so fancy. For example, there were no normal Ubers. There were only Uber Blacks. There were other instances but I will save you the drag. I think what surprised me the most is how social the people were. There were almost no times where I could sit on a bench and someone would not come up to have a chat. It became so regular that at some point I couldn’t help but look at myself in the mirror to see if I had a “I need help please come talk to me” shirt on.

I would say though that it is genuinely surprising to me how everywhere I’d go, it was the American tourists that tainted my experience. Actually, one time while in line to get gelato, I was talking on the phone and this American old man looks at me and goes “Quieter, please.” Reflecting back, I can see how I was kind of loud. I can also see how he probably assumed I am American and felt the need to let me know. It is almost exhausting how hard Americans try to make their views of a place or their stereotypes be true FOR them. None of which was grounded in reality—or at least the reality I was witnessing.

All this to say: The time I spent in Europe—more specifically, mainland Europe—felt like a pleasant dream I wasn’t eager to wake up from. Maybe one where I wouldn’t mind falling back asleep, but definitely not one I would not want to wake up from. I am not sure if I could ever live there. Uprooting my entire life once has already scarred me enough that I can no longer imagine going through that again. It also doesn’t help that Europe, sadly, just isn’t that exciting. It really isn’t “happening” anymore. It’s a dying continent with an incredibly rich history and a monotonous lifestyle.

Unlike Europe, America is significantly more thrilling. Frankly, I can’t remember anything culturally significant or world-changing that has come out of Europe since I’ve been alive. Beyond that, I can imagine how living in many European countries could feel like a nursing home. Sure, your needs are met, and it’s wonderful. But I just don’t think I’m broken enough to want to live in a nicely decorated nursing home yet. The place is fabulous for a throwback, but it really isn’t the moment.