Tale of Two Treaties: Historical Journey Through Geneva and Maastricht's EU Legacy

Landing in Geneva feels like arriving at the diplomatic crossroads of the world. This Swiss city—nestled between the Alps and Jura mountains with Lac Léman (Lake Geneva) glistening at its heart—has been neutral ground for centuries, but its neutrality has never meant passivity.

My first stop was the Palais des Nations, the European headquarters of the United Nations. Walking through its corridors felt like cruising down an international highway of ideas. As a taxi driver, I've learned that the most interesting stories come from passengers who've traveled the furthest; similarly, the most compelling exhibits here showcase how distant nations found common ground.

The League of Nations Museum within the complex tells the story of the organization that preceded the UN—born from the ashes of World War I through the Treaty of Versailles. While the League ultimately failed to prevent another world war, it laid the groundwork for international cooperation that would later blossom into the European project.

After hours exploring these grand halls, I found myself needing a caffeine boost. My portable espresso maker became my diplomatic companion—allowing me to enjoy quality coffee while sitting in the surrounding Ariana Park, contemplating how the conversations within those walls shaped the world I'm free to explore today.

Just a short walk from the UN complex sits another Geneva institution that embodies the city's humanitarian spirit: the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Museum. If the Palais des Nations represents diplomatic theory, the Red Cross Museum showcases humanitarian practice.

The museum tells the story of Henry Dunant, who witnessed the aftermath of the Battle of Solferino in 1859 and conceived the idea of a neutral organization to care for wounded soldiers. This concept of protected neutrality—helping all sides without judgment—resonates deeply with me. As a taxi driver, I've learned to be a neutral observer of the cities I inhabit, serving everyone regardless of background.

The exhibits are powerful and often emotionally challenging, documenting conflicts from around the world and the organization's efforts to maintain humanity in inhuman situations. I found myself particularly moved by the personal artifacts—letters between separated families, simple items that brought comfort in refugee camps.

After such a sobering experience, I sought refuge in Geneva's Old Town, climbing the north tower of St. Pierre Cathedral for panoramic views of the city and lake. For this ascent, my collapsible water bottle proved invaluable—hydration without bulk is essential for these historical explorations.

From the diplomatic neutrality of Geneva, my journey continued to Maastricht—a Dutch city that feels like Europe in miniature. Cobblestone streets wind through a blend of Dutch, Belgian, and German influences, creating an architectural conversation across borders that mirrors the political one that happened here in 1992.

The Maastricht Treaty, signed in this charming city, transformed the European Economic Community into the European Union we know today. It created EU citizenship, laid groundwork for the euro currency, and expanded cooperation beyond mere economics into foreign policy and justice.

I spent my first day simply wandering the city center, letting the streets guide me as I often do when first driving in a new city. The Vrijthof square, bordered by the magnificent St. Servatius Basilica and St. Jan's Church, pulses with the everyday life that the EU project ultimately aims to protect and enhance.

For history buffs seeking deeper understanding, I highly recommend the travel power adapter with multiple USB ports. Maastricht's historical sites often have limited charging options, and I found myself documenting everything extensively, draining my devices quickly while researching historical details.

Later, I visited the Provincial Government Building where the treaty was signed. While not always open to the public, the exterior itself is worth seeing, and nearby information panels explain the treaty's significance. Standing there, I felt the weight of decisions that shaped a continent—not unlike the moment I decided to leave Denver for a life of global exploration.

The train journey between Geneva and Maastricht became its own lesson in European integration. Crossing borders that once would have required extensive paperwork but now barely register a change—save for a subtle ping from my phone announcing a new country's welcome message.

I opted for the scenic route through the Rhine Valley, where castles perch on hillsides overlooking vineyards and villages. As someone with a particular fascination for castles (they're like the luxury taxis of medieval transportation—exclusive, secure, and designed to impress), this journey was particularly rewarding.

During the 7-hour journey, my travel neck pillow proved invaluable for comfort, while my travel journal filled with observations about how the landscape and architecture subtly shift across borders—visual reminders of the distinct cultures that the EU works to both unite and preserve.

I spent a night in the German city of Cologne, breaking up the journey and allowing me to visit the magnificent cathedral that survived World War II bombing—a monument to persistence that parallels Europe's journey toward unity despite historical conflicts.

As a passionate explorer of vegan cuisine, I found both Geneva and Maastricht offering fascinating plant-based interpretations of traditional dishes—another form of diplomacy that bridges tradition and modern values.

Geneva's international character means exceptional global cuisine. At Ou Bien Encore, near the lake, I enjoyed innovative plant-based Swiss dishes that honor tradition while embracing change—much like the diplomatic work happening nearby. Their vegan fondue was a revelation that had me saying c'est incroyable with every bite.

In Maastricht, the Dutch-Belgian-German culinary influences create a border-blurring food scene. At Restaurant Côté Cour, I discovered vegan interpretations of Limburg specialties that respect cultural heritage while adapting to contemporary values—paralleling the EU's balancing act between national identity and collective progress.

For self-catering options while exploring these historical sites, I relied on my insulated food container to carry meals for long days of exploration. In cities where dining can strain mid-range budgets, this simple tool saved me countless euros while ensuring I stayed energized for historical discoveries.

Both cities also offered excellent working cafés where I could document my experiences. As someone who frequently uses coworking spaces, I appreciated how these European cafés have perfected the art of the lingering work session—another form of cultural exchange I've carried back to Mexico City.