Spring Has Come to Switzerland

Siesta Across Southern France - Episode II: Bourdeaux to Saou

We had taken a wrong turn. We realized this as we turned another corner on a slow, gruelling uphill stretch of path. After asking an elderly man for directions and the equivalent of performing two Buns of Steel tapes, we reached the town of Le Poet Celard, another perched village. The chalet was in ruins and the town had taken it upon itself over the past 20 years to refurbish it. The views were amazing.

We headed out of town towards the direction of our goal for the night: a small U-shaped turn in a highway a few kilometers outside of town. We were told that our bed and breakfast would be right off the highway. Walking past farms, roaming cattle, and chicken farms (read: stinky), we discovered too late that we had been making one too many left hand turns. Over the course of about 3 hours, we had managed to circumnavigate a small mountain that we had intended to traverse. Standing 50 meters from the place we were 3 hours previously, we took out our cell phones and wandered around like the Verizon guy looking for signal. Our French-speaking American made the call and attempted to sound as pitiful as possible - low and behold, the owner piled into her car and picked us up. On the drive back to Le Debat, we discovered that we were nowhere near where we needed to be.

The bed and breakfast was beautiful. Surrounded by a small stream, fields, and a whole lot of open space, we sat down at the dinner table and hungrily devoured the homemade meal of local (read: slaughtered less than 2 kilometers from where we sat) lamb, inhaled the potato/cauliflower/cheese casserole, and downed two bottles of red wine. Local strawberries, a cheese plate, and a lively debate about the French CPE issue finished us off and we headed straight for bed.

It was smooth sailing until sometime around 4am when my annoying habit of snoring awoke my American friend who was in the twin bed next to me. This wasn't an annoying gentle crescendo of a snore - rather a startling, sudden, and acute snore which emanated from the depths of my nasal cavity and caused my roommate to be roused out of a deep sleep, let out a huge, shocked "aaaaggh", get up on all fours in bed - staring at me. This, in turn, caused me to wake up and for a total of about 10 seconds, we shared a strange awkward moment staring at each other in the middle of the night. He would later tell me that it sounded to him like I had rolled out of bed and hit my head on the nightstand. Our Spanish siesta master stayed asleep through the entire ordeal. The next morning, we ate breakfast with our other B&B'ers, took a photo for the Drome Tourism Board a la Brokeback Mountain, and headed towards Francillon - our first stop of the day.

It wasn't that big of a dog. In fact it looked pretty cute. But the way the muscles were rippling off of this uncollared, unleashed boxer/pitbull was frightening. In our infinite wisdom, we had determined that dogs could smell fear and attempted to appear as a jovial, laughing group as we marched down the road to Francillon. It was at this moment that our Spanish friend showed his one true hate: country dogs. It followed us into Francillon. It followed us into town. It even picked a fight with another dog, then returned to us to continue wandering through the village. We managed to ditch it amongst a group of local children who seemed to be familiar with it. We didn't stick around to see the carnage that might have ensued.

Our hike got immensely more interesting on the road to Saou. We crossed scarred rock faces and followed paths built from the falling debris. We wandered into Saou fell in love with a restaurant called "Cherries and Vinaigrette". Don't let the name fool you - it doesn't suck. Established by a chef who worked and saved in Geneva for two years to buy the location, it looked like a converted gas station. It's large bay doors had gigantic curtain partitions to separate the outdoor patio from the indoor dining. The food was fantastic and cheap, although its marketing campaign could have used some work. You couldn't have asked for a better lunch or view.

We stumbled up from the table, wandered through fields for about 15 minutes, and found a suitable siesta location in the middle of a remote field and fell asleep on top of our bags. As the bright, hot sun pounded down on our sleepy-from-the-Rose bodies, I thought to myself, "this is what every Easter Sunday should be like". We had one more day in our vacation and we had intended to make the most of it.

Siesta Across Southern France - Episode I: Geneva to Bourdeaux

Two Americans and a Spaniard hiking and siesting around remote areas of the Drome valley in southern France. No, it's not the start to a bar joke, but my Easter holiday and I highly recommend it to everyone.

From Geneva, we took a short train across the border to Lyon, France then continued on another to Valence. From Valence, our Fellowship ran to catch the last bus going to our next destination: Die ("dee"). We nicknamed our bus driver, who was apparently agitated that he had missed the auditions for Mad Max, "Mr. Die" out of sheer respect (or maybe fear). Perhaps it was the way he looked at us as we threw ourselves in front of his bus or maybe it was our Spanish friend's long, wavvy hair - either way, Mr. Die allowed us to board the bus and saved our butts from having to wait hours for the next bus.

Die is a picturesque village on the edge of the Drome river. It comes with the standard accoutrements of a small French town: narrow streets, a church, Saturday market. A leisurely Friday was spent discussing politics in a sunny restaurant courtyard, skipping stones across the river, debating the identification of Albanian hookers that we had seen in Valence, and taking the first of what would be our recurring theme for the trip: a siesta. We dined that night at a pizzeria (that did not serve pizza for lunch, oddly enough) and had our tongues seduced at the hands of homemade ravioli. We woke up the next day to rain and the dread of walking 20+ kilometers wore heavier on my shoulders.

After taking another siesta to wait out the storm, we ventured from our room at the Hôtel des Alpes and took a bus to Saillans, a village due north of our next destination, Bourdeaux. Here, our archnemesis Mr. Die had planted a son: Die Junior. Die Junior took French roundabouts at three-quarter the speed that his father did, but deadly nonetheless. Saillans was considerably more "perched" than Die and upped the ante on the degree of difficulty. After hitchhiking outside of Saillans for a half-hour, tucked under a single umbrella, we knew that we had a problem.

From a sheer logistical standpoint, the trip from Saillans to Die is a nightmare. Following paved roads, it's approximately 39 kilometers (24.2 miles). As the crow flies, it's more like 15k. This, however, would require traversing a mountain pass and navigating through mountain valleys that may or may not have marked paths.

In the midst of our indecision about whether to embark on our long hike or wait for another car, our boredom overcame us. We found a small, circular rock and played hackeysack. After the first few kicks, my brain had accessed those long-forgotten recesses of my mind that housed hack routines and began to execute moves that were only ever intended to be done to a 90s soundtrack of "You're Unbelieveable" and "Are You Gonna Go My Way". We were attempting a record of six consecutive hacks when it all went horribly wrong, or right, depending on who you ask.

In a moment that seemed to be played in slow motion, the downward-accelerating hackey (rock) sack made contact with my American friend's head (after attempting a head-hack) and he immediately recoiled. I can still hear the low-monotone scream played back in my mind. As I doubled-over, laughing hysterically, something miraculous happened. A car pulled over. A small car. With a hippie couple and their black lab puppy. As it turned out, they were rock climbers on their way to climb the Trois Becs. They could take us as far as the summit between Saillans and Bourdeaux. We jumped at the offer and piled into the car.

We got out of the 2-door hatchback near the summit and started our descent towards Bourdeaux through the valley on a marked trailhead. The scenery was fantastic. We neared the valley floor and the temperature rose. We broke for lunch at a stream and attempted our own renditions of the Charlie Rich song "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" (check out the badass karoake version here), although the only part that any of us knew was the three-tone, one-word chorus beginning: "Hey". Bobby Vinton's "Blue Velvet" was also incorporated into the playlist, only as a follow-on to Charlie in the absence of any other memorable music from the Time-Life music series.

A few kilometers into our trek, we identified another hitchhiking opportunity: a giant, white, rumbling recreational vehicle being driven by a French couple on holiday. For the second time, we thanked our transporters and boarded the vehicle. As our American translator made smalltalk with them, the Spaniard and I investigated the 1970s interior, complete with the bed-over-the-cab. We were deposited in Bourdeaux and began to wander around the first example of a true French perched village. We burned off hundreds of calories walking up the ruins and paths until mid-afternoon, then followed a rough, narrow, unmarked path up another mountain towards our next destination: Le Poet Celard.

Little did we know, we had only begun to sweat.


Soundtrack of the Day:

• Charlie Rich, The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
• Bobby Vinton, Blue Velvet
• EMF, You're Unbelieveable
• Lenny Kravitz, Are You Gonna Go My Way
• Tina Turner, We Don't Need Another Hero
• Willie Nelson, On the Road Again

Calvin & the Reformists = Nazgul?

You decide:

Skiing in Klosters

The trip to Klosters represented the first long-distance experience I had with the Swiss rail system. I had expected the worst, but found that the rumor was true: it was easy to figure out and the trains were ALWAYS on time. I had taken the 7AM train out of Geneva on a weekday with the rest of the suit-and-tie Genevois and by mid-morning I found myself amongst the rest of the overstuffed backpack crowd with wallets in their front pockets.

After Lausanne, the train made short stops in Fribourg and Bern. I switched trains in Zurich and saw the smaller towns of Sargans and Landquardt, before finally taking the regional line (practically) uphill into Schiers, Jenaz, Saas, and Klosters. All of the towns had read the Quaint Village Instruction Manual thoroughly: wooden houses perched on the sides of hills with a 2-animal minimum grazing in front, check. Red tile roofs with smoke billowing out of chimneys, check. Church, check. Obscenely beautiful scenery, check. Equestrians riding their horses to the station to meet friends, check. Massive rock faces during an ascent into the mountains, check.

It was a busy first day. I was greeted at the station by my American friend and his wife who had just broken the land-speed record for a descent down the Klosters mountain. Their bloodied jackets were a testament to the hundreds of ski school children they had left in their wake. Within 45 minutes, I was changed, outfitted with boots and skis, and riding a gondola up to the summit. The first 100 feet was considered a warmup and we proceeded to get into some heavy-duty snow plowage. Although the snow that day wasn't fantastic, skiing in Klosters on a bad day beats skiing in the Poconos any day of the year. We finished the day on the slopes with an après-ski thirst quencher at the Grass-Dröchnie bar and my friend's wife almost failing to yield at a gorge crossing in the rented Peugeot.

The subsequent days were a blur of skiing, drinking, eating, more skiing, and karaoking to the local anthem at bars like the Rössli Bar: K.L.O.S.T.E.R.S.. Day 2 was akin to the mountain scene out of Lord of the Rings: nearly 0 visibility, wind coming at you sideways, cinch-up-your-jacket-drawstrings kind of cold. Think of it as a version of the movie K2, as produced by National Lampoon. The lower elevations provided more visibility and improved our spirits - we developed a PR / Marketing campaign for the Gotschna Bar called the Got Schnaut? kleenex campaign. Interested parties can send their proposals here. All proposals will be considered.

The evenings were idyllic in an Alexander-Calder-paints-Norman-Rockwell way: fireplace chats woven with shots of Koltiska and Swiss wine, 8-12 inch snow accumulation out the back door, dry sauna debates punctuated with plunges into frigid ice showers, tasteless going-straight-to-hell baby jokes, hearty Swiss meals of Rösti and Fleischkäse with touches of Thomy mayonnaise, topped off by falling asleep in warm-as-hell duvets. Traveling west back to Geneva, I looked longingly back towards Klosters, looked down, and realized the toilets in the train dump out onto the track. Well, I guess that's quaint in some strange way.

(Mellow As All Getout) Soundtrack of the Day:

• Emiliana Torrini, Sunny Road, Fisherman's Woman.
• Jack Johnson, Sing-A-Longs & Lullabies.
• Indigo Girls, 1200 Curfews (Live).
• Nick Drake, Pink Moon.
• Norah Jones, Come Away With Me.
• Iron and Wine, Such Great Heights, Garden State Soundtrack.
  

Random Comment on European Fashion Trends

Haute:
The Equestrian: Tucking one's jeans into one's boots.

Not So Haute:
Der Roxanne: The combination (during winter) of wearing capris and fishnet stockings to make one look like an East German hooker.

Lausanne and Mt. Saleve

We (a Spaniard and an American) started a sunny Saturday taking the bus south out of Geneva to Mt. Saleve in France. From there, we took a cable car to the top and had some fantastic views of Geneva and the valley. We arrived early enough in the morning to have the entire summit to just ourselves and the tram operator for a good two hours. The "half-hour" trail loop to the east of the summit was deceiving - the "trail" was even more so. If you ever decide to go "off piste" and walk around the summit, just realize it takes you twice as long to ascend as it does to descend. We learned this the hard way. We glimpsed a vision of our early deaths at the slope where hanggliders conduct lessons and decided to take the tram back down.

We were looking to get into some more trouble and decided to hop back into Geneva and take the train 50 minutes east, along Lake Geneva, to Lausanne. We had a quick lunch on the lakefront (which I would say kicks the Geneva lakefront's butt) and a siesta on the cement retaining wall, surrounded by rollerbladers and skateboarders. We woke up an hour and a half later hungry and slightly sunburned.

We stumbled towards the bus to catch towards the old town and in 5 minutes found ourselves overlooking the entire city from the Cathedral of Notre Dame - by far the nicest example of a cathedral I've seen thus far. The expected narrow, cobble-stoned streets adorned the old town area and were a pain in the gluteus to walk around. Definitely more of a vertically-challenged city than Geneva. Before catching the night train back, we topped off the day with a waffle smeared with Nutella at the local kiosk that was blaring Bob Marley. Perfect end to a perfect day.

Just returned from a ski trip to Klosters - working on post. Leaving tomorrow for Easter holiday in southern France (Die, Bourdeaux, Crest).

Reflections on Renting a Flat in Geneva

So after an exhaustive (and exhausting) search, I've relocated to a new flat in the Champel region of Geneva. Like every town, Geneva's boroughs have a reputation of their own. A sampling by postcode:

• 1201: Paquis. Red-light district. Urban Geneva with hip places to go to. Not dangerous, but kinda sketchy after dark. If you're lucky, you can score some great places along the lakefront.
• 1202: United Nations-land. Where all of the NGO staff want to live (if they're workaholics). Prime real estate along any of the major bus lines that feed into the "Nations" bus stop.
• 1204: Jonction. This area includes Old Town (Vieille-ville). The place to be. Hella-high rents and hella-small rooms. Be willing to drop dime on places up in this J.
• 1205: Plainpalais. The "hip" folk who don't want to live in Carouge. Good nightlife and restaurants.
• 1206: Champel. Where people who cannot live in old town live. Associated with the upper middle class DINKs who don't want to live in suburbia.
• 1207: Eaux-Vives. The folks looking for proximity to Jet d'Eau. If you're lucky enough to score a place along the lake, this is a great place to be.
• 1209: Petit-Saconnex. In certain areas, "like living in the French countryside, but in Geneva." Fabulous single family houses with yards alongside 10-floor megacondos.
• 1227: Carouge. Mini-me Geneva. It old town was modeled after Nice and has proud. Urban-esque living in the suburbs.

Reflections on getting an apartment in Geneva:

• It sucks. Prepare yourself mentally for it. Some people spend months doing this.
• Know what you want. The Geneva rental market is no place for the hesitant. If you can't articulate your requirements, your dream rental may be gone.
• Know what your resources are. Don't rely solely on uber-aggregators like Immopool, Immostreet, or Homegate/Swissimmo. Oftentimes, the listings they have are identical. Desperate owners will post on multiple sites (and often multiple times on the same site) to increase traffic to their post. Don't fall for it. Use the aggregators (together) to find listings that have been around for too long or are listed mutliple times. It may be an indication that there's something wrong with the flat and that the owners are very motivated to get it rented. Instead, go directly to the websites of the agences or régies. The listings are more updated and more reliable than the aggregators. A good listing of regies with a web presence is here.
• Scour the listings. Pound each individual site and get listings that you're interested in. Call immediately.
• Be relentless. Don't let the fact that someone else snagged your "perfect" flat get you down. You will, in fact, face more rejection than acceptance in this game.
• Move quickly. Once you've found a listing, set up an appointment to see it ASAP. If you like it enough, move on it right then and have papers in order and money available to secure the deposit. If your gut is telling you something is wrong, it probably is. Walk away.

Annecy Ici

Annecy, France was my first exposure to French "quaintness". A town set on canals at the edge of a lake, it's picturesque views were not lost on this Rocky Mountain kid.

After a 70-minute bus ride and performing a comedic inquisition of one guy in our party who is studying to be a Lutheran Minister (excerpt: "So are there any strange things they make you do before you become a minister? Like, do they haze you?"), we arrived in Annecy. The old town is a mazework of passages and cobblestone streets that shelters dying boulangeries next to fashionable clothing stores. It is a town where you can run up a mountain for a jog, jump into the lake on the way back, dry off outside at a cafe, eat lunch along the canal, and listen to accordion music until you fall asleep. Although the weather was shi-tay when we there, rumor has it that it's a ridiculously beautiful place in the summer.

We attempted to hike up a nearby mountain, got caught in an afternoon rainstorm, handmade a few sandwiches from a baguette, slices of salami, and wheel of cheese under a rain-sheltering rock, and decided to walk back into town forty minutes later. The only thing that seemed to get us through the hour-long walk back into town was yelling American 80's lyrics from Culture Club, Nelson, and Warrant in crackling, pre-pubescent tones. We somehow married this with Swiss French radio commercials for Carrefour and SBB (the railway system).


Drenched and defeated, we sat at a local cafe to dry next to dry, smoking locals who were laughing (on the inside) at the wet tourists ordering lemon tea. Afterwards, we wandered around a more modern-looking mall to gaze at chocolate creations that apprentices had entered. Some of these kids were only teenagers - amazing.

Towards the end of the day, a large protest walked through the streets of the city, counter-protesting against the student-led CPE protests happening across France. While a majority of the protestors were older (not shocking), a notable few were under the age of 26. The law, if passed, would make it easier for French companies to hire and fire people under the age of 26.

From The San Jose Mercury News: "...the striking feature of the latest protest movement is that this time the rebellious forces are on the side of the status quo. Unlike the rioting youths in the impoverished suburbs, or banlieues, the objective of the students and public-sector trade unions is to prevent change, and to keep France -- with its worker protections and generous social-safety net -- the way it is. Indeed, according to one astonishing poll, three-quarters of young French people today would like to become civil servants, and mostly because that would mean ``a job for life.''"

The shitty pics are thanks to the wonderful disposable Kodak camera. Digital on its way soon! Other people's pics of Annecy are here.

Went to Mt. Salève (France) and Lausanne yesterday. Working on post.

Pre-Post: Annecy, France

With the loss of the digital camera, I'm having to resort to disposable camera film development for the time being. Until the pictures are developed and I can get over my writer's block on how to string the events in Annecy into a witty dialogue, enjoy a YouTube posting of Annecy in summertime - just to whet your appetite. WARNING: If you have an aversion towards whiny-white-guy acoustic (a.k.a. Damien Rice) turn your speakers down.

I'd stop drinking the coffee, but I'm no quitter.

Over the past six weeks, I've been going through my own personal, liquid, Reformation while in Switzerland - rebelling against the strict doctrines of Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts. The coffee in Switzerland is outrageously good. Even the DIY (do-it-yourself) coffee is good. The leaders in this sector, from what I can see, are Cafe Trottet or Nespresso, both of which have machines where you can make your own espresso from tiny little caps of coffee or little pillows of coffee. Against this, Safeway Select French Roast just has no game. Even Nestle's Nespresso site seems inject the sex back into coffee, with the sultry mp3 background and the smooth flash animation. To add to the seduction, the Swiss like to provide an option of either cold milk or HOT milk. I can hear the customer feedback cards at Starbucks writing themselves now.

Soundtrack of the Day:

Temperature. Sean Paul, The Trinity.
You're Beautiful. James Blunt, Back to Bedlam.
Jazz (We've Got). Tribe Called Quest, Anthology.
Hurts So Good. John Mellencamp, The Best That I Could Do, 1978-1988.
I'll Rise. Ben Harper, Welcome to the Cruel World.

Went to Annecy, France yesterday. Working on post.

2 Legit

I received my official Confederation Suisse "legitimation" card today and am considered a "collaborateur". Not as old-timey as the one in the picture. It's basically equivalent to a work permit for ex-pats in Switzerland. It's an "L" class permit, which is also used for cabaret dancers and other "artists" up to a maximum of 8 months in a year. I'm glad to know that if this information technology gig doesn't work out...

Madrid

The trip to Madrid was fantastic. I definitely think (and I believe my European counterparts will agree with me on this) that Madrid is a more vibrant and active city than Genva. Companies, stores, restaurants, and even the people rotate around a later schedule and seem happier for it.

I stayed at the Hotel Tirol, right off of one of the main arteries into the heart of Madrid, Calle de la Princesa. Great location, okay accomodations. If you go, opt for the refurbished rooms (for 10-20 euros more). Others who can tolerate older rooms and acoutrements can opt for the cheaper unrenovated rooms. Beware that the rooms facing the street can be quite noisy at night.

There were a few interesting fashion trends that I saw in Madrid: the resurgence of the mullet, the popularity with Carhartt industrial clothing, and the burgeoning popularity with the surfing culture and its associated clothing like Quiksilver or Billabong.

This place is a haven for the Atkins followers. Heart attacks on a plate were being served up everywhere, with a side of fried eggs or plain old fat being sides with a lot of dishes. But no place endeared itself more to me than the Museum of Ham. Although some people believe that its competitor, the Palace of Ham, may cater to a more "uppity" clientele, this place was hilarious. Not much on the menu aside from the three "magical animals": bacon, ham, and pork. For Muslims, this place must be equivalent to a Starbucks in Salt Lake City.

Although the Spanish have been known the world over for having a GDP one-twelfth that of the US, they can't blame it on the siesta. Yes, the world-infamous siesta is a gigantic myth. Corporations, restaurants, and everyone else in Madrid do NOT observe any kind of siesta (which sucked after having a gigantic plate of paella and carpaccio). Although stores don't open until later hours for lunch and dinner, it's not because of siesta. It's because most of the population of Madrid are vampires and only emerge in the cloak of darkness.

More of my Madrid pics are posted on my Flickr site. Click on my Flickr badge on the right.

Some other Madrid observations:

• El Corte Ingles: Gigantic megastore (with several locations around Madrid). Great if you want designer names for 10-15% more than what you would pay on the street.
• Slot machines are everywhere. Apparently the old people here are on the same global radio frequency as the elderly in Vegas or Atlantic City. Walk into any bar or arcade in the middle of the day and you will find elderly Spanish spending their pensions away.
• Retiro Park. A fantastic 300 acre park, just south and east of the center of the city. A must-do for any person looking for a walk through Madrid on a good day.
• Zara stores. These stores are almost on every other block of the Grand Via. Although considered upscale NYC boutique-y, the prices in Spain are not that unreasonable.
• Madrid is not immune to urban sprawl. From the 20 minute taxi ride into the city from the airport, you can see how Madrid is sprawling into its great undeveloped surrounding. Building cranes are everywhere - erecting apartment complexes, corporate buildings, etc.
• Chocolate Bar (article on right of page). Near the Plaza Mayor, there was a "chocolate bar" that served churros with a cup of dipping / drinking chocolate. Absolutely decadent. Although you could drink the choclate, several patrons were seen doing the Chris Farley heart attack/chest pound afterwards.
• Madridians speak with a noticeable lisp. This changes the pronunciation of "gracias" to "gra-thee-as" and even "plaza" to "pla-tha". The urban legend about the lisp having developed from Spanish monarchs who lisped is false. It apparently has something to do with how Spanish evolved from Latin.
• Puerta del Sol rocks. Considered the "center" of the city, Puerta del Sol is a section of town that is jam packed with shops, restaurants, and people. Fantastic people watching and shopping. It's a great place to walk around and feel paranoid about pickpockets.
• The metro only costs 1 euro. And it's pretty efficient too! Compare that to the 3 CHF bus fare in Geneva.
• God love the Spanish - they installed a bottle opener in the bathroom of the hotel.
• Spain is God's waiting room in Europe. Apparently, many Germans retire in Spain. It's like the Florida for aging Euruopeans.

Beyond Cheese and Chocolate

So this week hasn't been my best - I returned to my flat yesterday to find that my digital camera, camera case, international drivers' license, 400 euros, and a leather belt were missing. Fingers seem to point to the cleaning lady - hired for years by the landlady (who lives in Spain) - who had entered the flat yesterday to pick up laundry. But I've come to find out that close to 4 other people have access to my flat - landlord, cleaning lady, "concierge" (or building supervisor), and perhaps even PAST tenants. According to my 81-year old landlady, the locks have never been changed on the flat, although it's been rented by multiple tenants. This place is like the Jenna Jameson of Geneva - everyone has a freaking key. It could also possibly be a savvy ex-tenant who knows when the cleaning lady stops by and pins circumstantial evidence on her. Either way, I'm getting the HELL OUT of there. For the next few nights (until a more secure and permanent residence is found for me), I'm in fabulous 2.5 star accomodation.

Aside from making me believe that this will result in some kind of pre-paid good karma in the future, this experience has allowed me to see something that most Genevois don't frequently see (at least so they say): the inside of a police station.

Geneva police are said to have one of the most stringent and rigorous selections in Europe. For some reason, one of the most rigorous tests candidates must pass is in written French grammar. But don't be fooled by the fancy French writing - the Geneva police are apparently plagued with the same bureaucratic problems that other police departments in the US have. Investigation of my missing loot mandated that I contact multiple offices, set appointments with other investigative branches of the police department, and file lots of paperwork. The light at the end of the tunnel? There may be insurance coverage for items that are pilfered (with no forced entry) out of flats that are rented if a police report is filed and investigated.

The weather's warmer, I'm getting a haircut tomorrow, and I managed to pocket the 1G memory card with the Madrid pics before the camera was pilfered. Plus, the camera has about 200 pictures worth of a charge without the docking station (which I still have - suck it whoever you are). Things are looking up.

Back in the Saddle

Returned from Madrid on Saturday night - getting the post and pics together. In the meantime, enjoy these webcams of Geneva and Lac Léman (Geneva).

Bisquits in the Basket

I made my first covert penetration into a true "local" event: the Geneve-Servette Hockey Club game between the Geneva Eagles and the Zurich Lions.

The night started out with a simple dinner of spaghetti and Rivella. The prior, I've come to find, is pretty good (I think proximity to Italy is a big plus). The latter? Well, after much encouragement from my roommates back in the states to try Rivella, I snagged a bottle of it from the refrigerator in the restaurant. Rivella, apparently, is made from whey. It's clear in appearance, non-alcoholic, carbonated, and branded as a "sports drink". It tastes much like a flat Sprite would, with an energy drink aftertaste. Wasn't terrible, but I won't be running out to buy a case to bathe with either.

The hockey game was awesome. The game was played in a rink with a capacity of around 6000 people. In the Geneva rink, the sponsor / VIP seats are on the other side from the rest of the crowd - so on one side of the rink, you have 4500+ screaming fans opposite from a few hundred sponsors and their sycophantic friends. The Swiss announcers (speaking in both French and German to appease both the Geneva and Zurich crowds) seemed to be enrolled in the Michael Buffer "My First WWF Ring Announcement" class. Screaming "let's get ready to rumble" in French never sounded so amusing. So is hearing an entire crowd chant "PUSS-SSAAYYY" (poussez). I held back laughing out loud so that I wouldn't blow my cover.

They have cheerleaders, but they danced FACING the ice in the aisles of the lower levels and had moves apparently on loan from a local junior high. Watching these women slow-grind with their pom poms to I'm-so-depressed-please-lock-me-in-a-closet songs like those from Evanescence made me want to send them all anonymous Carmen Electra tapes or send them to XFL cheerleader camp. Apparently, it's an epidemic across Europe.

Unfortunately, Geneva and Zurich were playing in a series called the "play-outs", not to be confused with the "play-offs". The latter is reserved for the top teams to compete for the title of top Swiss hockey team, the prior for the bottom-most teams to determine who is going to be demoted to the lower leagues. Geneva won game 2 of a 7 game series, 4-3. Interesting Swiss hockey fact: only a certain percentage of hockey players on a team can be foreign nationals.

Big DUB

The Geneva International Auto Show was awesome. It’s really the CES for cars. Although I know crap about cars, it’s nice to be surrounded with all that gleaming metal and be constantly reminded of our dependence on oil. The Swiss really know how to throw a party – an eight minute bus ride to the expo center and a CHF 14 entry fee for an all day pass; can’t complain. I can complain, however, about the “mozzarella and tomato” sandwich that was sold to me that consisted of 5/8ths of a jar of mayonnaise, hidden with a leaf of lettuce. Where were the cheese and tomato you ask? Apparently, the small amounts of true ingredients were strategically placed in the visible parts of the sandwich bag. Zoot.

The square footage footprint was probably a little smaller than CES overall, but a very impressive layout overall. There was a huge difference between the auto sections of CES and the Geneva Auto Show, however. There was MUCH less gratuitous T&A. In this case, most of the T&A was presented in a respectable, naughty librarian-esque fashion. The champagne rooms were respectfully located just beyond the food court.

Since I’ve already admitted the fact that I don’t know much about cars, don’t assume that any of the specs below are the result of my investigative work grilling the well-dressed help. They are, in fact, stolen mainly from the program. My reviews are going to be broken down into simple groupings and are completely subjective: coolest cars (including prototypes), gayest cars, coolest booths, and best booth babes. Check out the new Flickr badge under the links - I've already met my allocation for uploads this month with the pics from the auto show, but will post more as I have space available.

Cars:

1. BMW 650i: Bad ass convertible. Heads up display, night vision.
2. BMW Z4 M Coupe: Unveiled during the show, this is a two-seater, 3.2 liter, straight six cylinder engine that generates 343 bhp.
3. Saab Aero X prototype: 400 bhp, ethanol fueled, six cylinder.
4. Ferrari 599 GTB: 620 bhp, 5999 cc engine, v12.
5. Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder: v10, 520 bhp, permanent 4 wheel drive, 1-100 km in 4.3 sec, top speed of 314 km / hr.
   
   Notable Mention: Opel GT: 260 bhp, 1-100 km/ hr in less than 6 sec. I think this looks suspiciously like the new Pontiac Solstice that was on The Apprentice.

Gayest Cars:

1. Toyota I-Swing: Looks like a cross between Timmy’s wheelchair and a Segway. This one requires no witty comment. The guy in the pic over in the Flickr badge seems to say, “You and I both know that Stephen Hawking has a better whip than this.”
2. Nissan PIVO: The advantage to being inside this 2001 A Space Odyssey-like cabin? It pivots 360 degrees, so you can park in a space nose-in, rotate the cabin 180 degrees to leave, and drive straight out. Imagine driving this thing in a Wisconsin ice storm, having the mechanism stick at something like a 90 degree angle, and waiting while Nissan ships the mechanic out from Tokyo.
3. Toyota Aveo: Through some sort of sinister form of kaizen, the Japanese have finally figured out a way to maximize death potential by removing major parts of the car, like the doors, ceiling, and rear. With these cars, Nissan and Toyota seem to be betting on global warming.
   
   Notable mentions: Toyota Hybrid with Intelligent Parking Assistant. Okay, so I understand the product demographic – people who suck at parallel parking and 98% of the state of Florida. But I would like to see this thing beta tested in San Francisco or maybe Cairo. On their test demo, the car actually parked on TOP of the white line. It’s like Fruit of the Loom investing in an auto-aim functionality in their tightie whitie product line. The Mini Cooper that was outfitted like it was ready for the Dakar Rally got gay points for being a Mini, but alas, it looked kinda cool.

Booths:

1. Opel. This joint had 3 waterfalls and video projection. Can’t outdo that.
2. Audi. Glass, steel, and awesome lighting.
3. Lamborghini. Maybe it was spillover from the Audi booth or its proximity to Bentley and Ferrari, but when you add +10 million hit points for the booth babes, you can’t kill this thing, even with a +10 Slick Italian Salesman Orc Sword.

Booth Babes: A Lesson in Sexual Alliteration

1. Ladies of Lamborghini: Elegant Eveningwear Eves. These ladies were DECKED OUT.
2. Babes of BMW: Lovely Librarians. “I lost my library card in the champagne room. Can you help?”
3. Mistresses of Mini Cooper: Showroom’s Sporty Spices. Looks like they came out of an Urban Outfitters. Very brit, very hip, and very haaaaaayyyyaaaaahhhhtttt.
   
   Effort Award: Femmes of Fiat. They have apparently color-coordinated areas on the uniform that, if touched, will result in a lawsuit.

Soundtrack of the day:

• Mas Que Nada, Sergio Mendes, featuring The Black Eyed Peas, Timeless
• That Was A Crazy Game of Poker, O.A.R., 34th & 8th
• Open Up, Dispatch, Gut the Van vol. 1
• Walk Away, Ben Harper, Welcome to the Cruel World
• Superstar Punani, Sublime, Second-Hand Smoke

Ipoddin' in the Rain

So it's one of the rainiest days in Geneva and what does your boy Ben do? I decide to visit one of the single largest outdoor, water-based attractions in Western Europe. Think the Geneva equivalent of Splash Mountain. I was determined to get some touristy stuff under my belt; what can I say?

Jet d'Eau is located in the center of town near the point where Lac Leman flows into the Rhone. It is probably the single landmark that everyone immediately identifies with Geneva. The rain and wind were blowing sideways (the spray from the jet didn't help) and I thought I saw at least one dead duck in the lake (to add the H5N1 hysteria here), but all was made right. As touristy as I realized the moment was, it kicked ass to see water go that high. Not as much ass kicking as this guy is doing, though. It's like Jackie Chan was reincarnated as a French dude. Now that I've seen jet d'eau, I have officially arrived. Tomorrow, I head off to the Geneva International Car Show.

So the ipod has become a critical piece of my experience here in Geneva. It adds a soundtrack to the sights which (excluding the jackknifing Michael Jackson car) would be woefully quiet. Here's the soundtrack for today (links to amazon.com MS media player samples):

• Talk of the Town, Jack Johnson, Sing Alongs and Lullabies
• When You Come Back Down, Nickel Creek, Nickel Creek
• The Importance of Being Idle, Oasis, Don't Believe the Truth
• Things Are Getting Better, N.E.R.D., In Search Of
• Hell Yes, Beck, Guero
• My Sexual Life, Everclear, Sparkle and Fade
• Angel, DMB, Everyday
• Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots pt.1, The Flaming Lips, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
• The Fallen, Franz Ferdinand, You Could Have It So Much Better

Flat Pics are UP

Pics of the sprawling one-bedroom studio:

Walk in closet (facing SW). Note the stuffed aviary.



Formal dining room (facing SE).



Library / study (facing NW)



Place de magique: Master Bedroom (facing NE). Take note of the TWIN bed with PINK sheets. Email to Martha Stewart: I am currently seeking asylum.




Eat-in kitchen with views (of the formal dining room). Note that towel on the wall is a load-bearing towel.



Entree des artistes



Master bath

Something the Swiss Suck At

So the Swiss actually suck at something. Ironically, it's snow removal from streets. It's nonexistent in Geneva. This past week, a storm dropped around 3 inches of snow and in the morning it looked like the movie The Day After Tomorrow - with French subtitles.

I witnessed two buses (including the one that I was on at the time) break down in the MIDDLE of intersections and tie up all four directions. In typical Genevois fashion, no one honked or even shouted - a handful of drivers actually got out of their cars and started to joke with the bus driver, who had decided to leave his stranded rig and observe the hijinks from the corner while having a cigarette. I saw an Opel, with its brakes apparently locked, begin to franticly drive towards the median and jackknive until it was nearly perpendicular to the direction of traffic. The funny thing? The cars behind it followed suit like lemmings and at least one of them was jamming a Euro remix of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean". It was as if someone had shut off their ability to think independently or maybe make U-turns. The more successful ones had cars not developed by General Motors. The smarter ones turned off the street. The dumber ones took out their mobiles and started to call their insurance companies while sliding.