The Sybaritic Single used to enjoy Geneva, the place where the billionaires look down on the millionaires. Calm lakeside strolls, old money, luxurious chocolate truffles and all – what’s not to like?
It all changed a few years ago when he started visiting the city on business. It’s hard to imagine a more impractical and dysfunctional place on the planet. It almost feels like a time warp and a gateway to a helplessly provincial Soviet-era resort town – nothing works when you need it, everything takes time, weekends are sacred and restaurant reservations require numerous calls and e-mails.
The 1834 Four Seasons Des Bergues, the city’s very first and supposedly still finest hotel, is barely a modern-age benchmark of luxury. Redesigned a decade ago by Pierre-Yves Rochon, it is a curious kind of crossroads, at the point where the lake becomes a river again, with various bridges heading off in different directions, making it seem connected to everywhere else.
Right after his flight, the Sybaritic Single headed straight to the spa and slipped himself into the Iyashi Dôme, a giant scallop shell that purportedly burns 600 calories (equals to seven glasses of the in-flight champagne) in 30 minutes. One would expect La Prairie at the heart of Switzerland but here it’s Dr. Burgener and Biologique Recherche with a dedicated anti-hair fall treatment range. The latter might come quite handy after a few days in Geneva.
Less than impressed by the strictly timed sittings on the Japanese-Peruvian rooftop and a pandemonium in the main bar downstairs, the Sybaritic Single enjoys his bubbles and raspberries at his own pace in the salon across from the Ming-style vases, admiring Serge Marzetta’s florals from a distance – his own luxurious hideaway.
