Geneva Diary Part 4

This morning it occurred to me that I have taken no photos! And yet, we didn’t really visit anywhere worth photographing today. Oh well.

Today was for shopping.

First stop was Manor, a department store along the lines of Paris’s BHV, with a large food hall on the ground floor. I bought gifts: ten bars of chocolate, a stolen and a bottle of olive oil which I later realised I wouldn’t be able to take back because it is over the draconian 100ml limit – bah!

Compared to London (and even more so the rest of Europe) prices here are quite high and some of the weirdest things are ridiculously expensive. Food probably balances out in the sense that some things which are expensive in the UK are cheaper here and vice versa, but I was shocked to see a packet of J-cloths going for more than 12F (about £8). Souvenir items are also extremely expensive despite being worse tat that you’d find elsewhere.

In the afternoon we visited Rue de Paquis in search of more exciting shops, but the area turned out to only have African food shops, brothels and hookers marching about the streets in search of trade.  

I insisted on visiting a charity shop we passed. It was full of shoes, knitwear and underwear – thermals I’m guessing. Amongst the small selection of books I found both volumes of Les mandarins and flipping through discovered a love note left there by some previous owner.

Geneva Diary Part 3

Day three in Geneva. I spent the morning trying desperately (and perhaps pointlessly) trying to rescue the lace shawl I’m knitting and then we walked to the park, one of those large, manicured affairs of which they are fond on the continent. The park is home to one of Geneva’s most prestigious restaurants, in front of which is an ice skating rink. I was amused to see children skating with the help of small plastic zimmer-frame constructions – and even more so to see an adult slipping around with one. The park also features a huge and elaborate monument to religious and political freedom commemorating events such as the translation of the Bible into English, the sailing of the Mayflower, Magna Carta…all events with which the people of Geneva apparently feel a kinship due to the city’s 1602 victory against the Duke of Savoy, which allowed it to preserve its political and religious independence.

From the park, we wandered on to Plainpalais, which is a huge, flat, concreted area which is presently home to a fun fair and a rather bedraggled market. Most of the stalls held cheese, greengrocery and overpriced market stall clothing, but the one that caught my eye was a Lebanese stall where a gentleman was baking rouch flatbreads on what looked like an upturned wok. The breads, made of dough which is either spiced or flavoured with olives, are rolled out flat, cooked, and then spread with any combination of houmous, spicy spinach, baba ghannouj and ‘lebanese spices’. Absolutely delicious and a great way to warm up on a cold day! I wish I could remember what they called them.

Next stop was Café Remor, which I loved, it was so delightfully eccentric and olde-worlde-y. They keep the cakes and pastries in a hollowed out piano and serve homemade ice creams in fascinating flavours. I tried saffron flavour, which came with a delicate lemon wafer. Definitely somewhere I intend to visit again!
Our ultimate destination was a chess open. I had never visited one before. It was held in a really retro building, with a mass of tables laid out. The players were of all ages – but overwhelmingly male. I was amazed to see pre-teen boys pitting themselves against adults. At the head of the room was a platform with just two tables – the big players, one of them, I learnt, a Grand Master.

Of more interest to me was the nearby synagogue, which is so large and famous that the road on which it sits is called ‘Rue de la synagogue’. Geneva is not particularly diverse, so I’m guessing this one building accommodates all the city’s Jewry.

Home, dinner, more Toy Story :)

Geneva Diary Part 2

So today, apart from lovely food and knitting, we went for a walk to the lake and beyond. I am staying with a friend who lives a few minutes’ walk from everything so getting about is easy.
Like most European cities apart from the UK, Geneva has buses, trains and trams running on 25 Dec. There are even some tabacs and cafes open. The lake is beautiful, and from there you can see that Geneva is almost completely enclosed by mountains – well, mountains to me and to most, though some might designate the flatters ones ‘dodds’.

The cold was fierce – perhaps the base temperature alone wasn’t too bad, but the wind sliced at my cheeks rather uncomfortably.

Over the river, one comes to the Old Town, though all of Geneva seems old to me, stuck in the whites and greys of mid-twentieth-Century architecture. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but it did make me expect to hear Claude François playing on the radio every time I entered a shop.

Up steep, narrow cobbled streets to the Old Town and the Cathédral St-Pierre which we entered. It’s a beautiful 12th-Century structure with a high, vaulted central corridor and some nice little carvings. Nothing ornate, but very lovely. Sat for a while warming up and watching an orchestra rehearse for a concert in the evening. My cheeks thawed first, then my hands, then I started to feel the cold in places I hadn’t noticed before. My whole body was implicated. Sitting in the warm cathedral, listening to music being played and halted and taken up again was quite soporific. It made sense to leave for a coffee and come back later for the concert.

There was a curious little crêperie round the corner, open, and decorated in a very bizarre Tropi-suisse style. I had an overly sweet mulled wine and eavesdropped on the very disorganised staff who had to have a panicked conversation about what each customer had consumed (they never wrote anything down) every time a bill was requested. It may have been a family business – the brother and mother of one of the girls came in at one point and took a table.

As we were leaving, an American couple came in and asked what time they served ‘til. 2am! Thought about returning there at midnight for crêpes just for the fun of it, but it was so cold after the concert I decided to make some instead. This led to a bit of a treasure hunt for brown sugar (to make caramelised bananas to go on the crêpes) and the discovery that some grocery items have different names in France and Switzerland (kind of like the way English and American differ). I never thought of that (though, like the Belgians, they do say ‘nonante’ here for ninety).

Concert, walk home, thawing period, dinner, Toy Story. A very pleasant day.

Geneva Diary Part 1

My flight was only (only!) one hour late and I fortunately had knitting and books with which to amuse myself during the wait.

As the plane descended I got talking to a very friendly gay couple, Nevin and Peter, also spending the holidays in Geneva – practically everyone else on the plane was heading elsewhere to ski. They were so nice I wished I’d started talking to them earlier, and after saying goodbye I wished I’d exchanged email and Facebook details with them. I am so rubbish at that.

Transport to and from airports is radically different in Geneva. Whereas in London it cost me £8.90 to get to Gatwick on a train that ran every thirty minutes or so, Geneva airport hands out complimentary train tickets to all air passengers travelling to the city centre. Geneva has one (rather dingy, I thought) Central station.

At this point I was collected from the station so that, my friends, is what saw of Geneva my first night.