The warmth of the bus was welcomed after Geneva's icy cold. I sat next to a young woman.
I adore public transportation bus and train. In Geneva with its traffic hangups it is often faster than a car. Sometimes I find the most interesting people and if I don't there's always the window to inspect the scenery city or country.
This young woman was disabled, but worked 35% as a secretary. She confessed to being afraid of tornadoes and dreamed of being a doctor. Having just finished work, she was finding time to visit her granny who had a stroke. "Most people can't understand Granny, but I can." We spoke mainly in French, with a smattering of English.
She asked me if I were English and accepted my explanation that I was born in America, but was Swiss, and learned French starting at 48 when I moved to Neuchâtel.
We talked about following dreams and even if one never reached their goal, trying was an experience one might never have if they didn't try.
We both descended at Rive and crossed the street. At the French macaroon store, she went right, and I went left to catch the next tram.
I had a single seat the rest of the way, but felt warmer than the weather deserved for a brief friendly encounter, with a person who had dreams and the hope to take some steps toward achieving them while being aware the chances were slim.