Geneva, Switzerland

The rumour is, that apparently one needs a million dollars before than can even think about opening a Swiss bank account, that, or one must be gainfully employed within Switzerland. At this point, I'm not sure which task would be harder to accomplish, as the Swiss are rather tight about who they hand out work papers to.

Going to Geneva was like going on a blind date, albeit, a good one. I did little to no reading about this city, as I was certain to only come around to see my dear friend Mélanie. Things got off to a rocky start, as the moodiness that often defines me had sunken in, and I was for a few days already homesick. I know... I know... who could be cranky when vacationing in Europe? ... I can. Anyway, I picked myself up and went out determined to see the "sights".

Admittedly, I had judged this book by it's cover, but after I had gotten through with the first pages, I had begun to really get into it. Very little had been written in my lonely planet about this city, so it was under Mélanie's direction that I discovered the true Geneva.

My first taste of Geneva was it's main drag, beginning with a Starbucks on the corner and a McDonalds on the other, and I thought... greaaat. (McDonalds by the way posting prices on combo's as high as 11 CDN dollars!!) There were expensive stores that lined the pedestrian street, Armani, Esprit, etc. you get the picture. The expensive stores had inturn produced expensive looking people, they looked as though they had been plucked from the pages of a magazine and brought to life. I found myself sometimes blatantly staring at the faces of some of the women as they passed because they were so flawlessly made up that they looked like walking manicans. In a word, scary.












The Geneva Jet d'eau, with a silent t in the Jet. This is what the city boasts of, a stream of water that shoots up into the air. Hmph... I had to laugh, but went to check it out nonetheless. It was like going through the mindless drudgery of being a typical tourist. So, I took photo's and filled the role, I'd even gotten sprayed by it in the process -- oh the excitement of it all. It boasts of shooting water high into air and wasting a lot of energy in the process.... the write up says it shoots the water up at a speed of 200 km/h, with 2 main pumps operating at 500 KW (2400 volts), rotating at 1500 rmp, and illuminated by 12 flood lights consuming 13,5 KW of power...seems rediculous to me.




















If there was one thing that there was no lack of in Geneva it was clocks. In fact, they had a flower garden turned into a clock, Jardin Anglais. They had turned a flower arrangement into a functioning clock. There is certainly no excuse for being late in this city.


















And of course, Old Geneva, amazing. I found myself strolling through its streets during the evenings. There was something about being lost in its streets only after sunset that was both appealing and soothing to me. The streets are cobblestone and the are buildings tall and full of history. As I wandered the streets it was as though I could hear the hoofs of the horses and the wheels of the carriages that I imagined had frequented these streets.





















Within the maze that was Old Geneva there were many interesting little shops. One of my favorite thing to do was to gaze into the windows of the shops that occupied the main levels of these buildings and peer into the elegant but charming little pubs, restaurants, and café's to see the company they were keeping on a particular night. I think Geneva it much better after dark perhaps it is the glowing streets... nevertheless, the day time too had its own treasures.




As I made my way to the end of Geneva's affluent downtown main street just about to denouce this city of any real character (apart from the old city) I had stumbled upon a park tucked away just around the corner, Parc des Bastions. This would be where I spent my days in Geneva, hidden within it's gates, its charm would prove to be unmatched by any place that I've ever been.

















This park doesn't look like much upon first glance, and may be it isn't even much to the average onlooker or tourist passing by. But if you are patient enough to sit down and to take in what it has to offer I dare say that you too would become enchanted with this hidden treasure. It is a Chess park, but it isn't like you would like to imagine. The chess boards are not on the faces of tables that are bound to the ground, rather, they are oversized chess boards painted onto the pavement where chess pieces, black & white, stand knee high. Let me tell you about my time at Parc des Bastions.

...some of them move their pieces with their feet sliding them across the painted on chess board. Throughout the park are the sounds of the hallow pieces sliding across the concrete. Others pick up their pieces and place them carefully --

















This park is one without colour, apart from the green paint on the wooden benches. The rest of the park is in shades. It is also without borders or perhaps with borders, depending on how you see it. Within the gates of this enclosed space men are men. Business men to blue collar workers saddle up for a game of chess -- some of the games have bigger audiences sometimes reaching 10-15 onlookers. It resembles the crowd watching a golf event -- onlookers are whispering their tactics or commenting on the strategy of the players -- everyone is hushed while the players reach out to make their move.


I know little to nothing about chess -- so I just sit and admire. I've only been coming here for three days now, but from what I've gathered there aren't many women who hang around. That's not to say that I'm always the only woman. Tourist or passer by's sometimes stop to look and may be even snap a photo's, but not truly seeing what they've found. I've only noticed my own presence today and found it interesting that I've found myself at peace amongst a group of men playing chess. There are a few that I've seen here each day -- others I'm not sure about. Whatever the case, they allow me to be amoung them watching, writing, and quietly snapping photo's of my own.


The smell of cigars is in the air today. A man with dark rimmed glasses, dress pants, and a beige three quarter coat hasn't stopped smoking since I've arrived. There is the noise of children playing in the background...a metal pole with small ladders attached to metal chains dangle freely from it. The children run around the pole hanging onto the ladders seeing how far they can make it around, the noise of the chains hitting the pole has become a part of the white noise. There is also the lulling murmur of traffic in the background, and people greeting one another in their own language.


Charlie the banker is back...I only know of him because of a very loud acquaintance that I had made on my first day at the park. Charlie is German -- he stands at about 6'3. I recognize him because of his black coat and demeanour. He is well dressed. It looks as though he's having a tough game, he stands there and scratches his head and looks at the board from different angles -- he is in deep thought about his next move. He alternates between placiing his pieces with his hands and shoving them with his feet -- more of the latter as his game wears on.

There is an old man who is sitting across from me has noticed my presence and my book. He asks the guy to his right about me, a regular. He tells him something in French to reassure him that I'm okay, and we all then return our focus to the game at hand.

...sometimes I lose myself while I watch the players contemplate their next move or reorganize their chess pieces on the board to begin their next game -- but I guess may be that's the point.