Well Trained.

Shutter to think.

Lausanne, Switzerland — Hustling into the charcoal-tinted underground with a mere minute to spare, I feel French flow from my lips like an unknown water source.

It's surprisingly fluid after all these years.

A weary man with a cumbersome keychain replies, saying I've found the correct train and points me toward the second-class car. After nine hours of flying, the hour-long inter-regional 90 will carry me from the airport in Geneva to Lausanne for about $25. It's handy.

And, it's sweltering. This isn't a region that generally has much need for air conditioning.

Like faded stitches across the landscape, the tracks ring the turquoise of Lake Geneva, which rests like a jewel in the Alps. The mountains, in soft focus, hem us in.

Throughout the journey, bubble graffiti rises up walls to scalloped tile roofs and tiny-peaked homes. A face has been painted around a grate, making it bare teeth at passersby. Taking a sharp corner, a vintage green Citröen makes an equally bold statement on the narrow streets below before heading into the countryside.

Vineyards cascade down the growing slopes as we near our destination.

Unsurprisingly, we arrive on time.

This is Switzerland, after all.