It was the afternoon of the second day when I first realised there were hills at the back of Geneva. The sun came out between light rain showers, the pavements were slushy and there were black pools in the places where you crossed the road. A man stripped down to his trunks and ooohed and aaghed his way slowly about the lake. The water was so clear you could see right to the bottom. The city, so dour and prim the previous day, looked like it might have been designed specially for the lid of a biscuit-tin box, so pink and beautiful was it as the sun went down.