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Olympic Torch Day! This is what I learned while breakfasting on a defenseless yogurt around 8:15 AM, a time when I really should have been on the metro speeding closer to the office within which I toil. Talk about an opportunity – the Olympic torch, parading around a multiple mile route through the city where I lived! I refused to be fazed by the main purpose of the newstory that I was reading, which described the trials and tribulations of the London police and their battle with protestors amid slight to average chaos the day before. It seems that minor atheletes and celebrities running around with a flame is the perfect stage for Tibetan freedom protests. That may sound trivializing, but I do understand the timing – among a suppressed people and an issue that has been muffled for years, the entire world now has no choice but to at least recognize there is something going on in western China… 

Regardless of where my personal opinion lies, I was excited at the prospect of seeing an Olympic Torch. I’m not sure why. It seems like an outdated tradition. Sure, the flame is still lit in Greece, home of the original Olympics, but then they put the torch on a plane and fly it all over the place. Seems kind of silly. The purpose is to get the offical fire from Greece to wherever the Games are held, and using a huge flying machine seems like cheating.

After translating a daily Parisian newspaper I was able to pinpoint the route and the time when I could see this flame. The journey would begin around 11:45 AM, when I would travel down the 1 metro line, jump over to the 2 line and exit at the XYZ metro stop. There I would maneuver my way down to the Seinne in front of the Eiffel Tower. I even convinced Missy to come along. Perfect! I had so cunningly put together this plan in such a short time that I even allowed myself a chuckle or two.

The fatal flaw in my plan was that I didn’t think like a Tibetan freedom protestor. As I emerged from the metro congratulating myself on yet another grand idea I found myself in the midst of the main anti-China protest. There were throngs of people, news cameras, Free Tibet t-shirts, a stage with microphones (in use by an unintelligible orator), a friendly sandwich vendor to feed the protestors, banners, and even barriers that separated me from the stairs that I had planned to use on my jaunt to the Eiffel. These were guarded by a trio of police, which meant the popular “leap-and-run” over the barriers was a bad idea. With a deepening realization that this ordeal had more disaster than success written all over it, we took the longcut around a museum and eventually found ourselves at our destination – the bridge across the Seinne, which the first runner would be crossing after leaving the Eiffel Tower starting point.

Someone beat us to the spot. When I say “someone” I mean a large quantity of Chinese. Also, there was an assorted pro-Tibet crew. I say assorted because there were people yelling in French, English, and languages that sounded perhaps Chinese (my apologies, but I live in Paris now and I still don’t know French, so to expect me to know what Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, etc. sound like is simply asking too much – please, no offense intended). The two sides were separated by a relatively busy street, which maintained mostly a calm atmosphere. There was a lot of flag waving, a bit of singing, and some jeering every now and then. We had actually wandered into the middle of the street by this time, taking up position on a traffic island in order to get a prime view of this torch we had now been waiting an hour to see.

More jeering. More flag waving. Here is 17 seconds of what I saw down there, recorded by my trusty camera.  Protestors beginning to mix, people getting in the way of cars, and finally the long column of police cars lining the bridge pulled out and descended upon our intersection. Everyone was pushed to their side of the street, a separation enforced by lines of police officers. We stayed down there for a good two and a half hours, but we never saw the torch. Later we learned that somehow in the scramble – probably when all the cop cars were moving out and everything started getting shoved – the first runner had actually crossed the bridge only to immediately meet several people intent on grabbing the flame that I was waiting around to see. It’s not clear to me if the runner was whisked off with additional police escort or shoved into a bus to avoid the madness, but somehow the torch passed probably within thirty feet of where I was and I didn’t see it.

I’m not going to try to convince anyone who is right and wrong on this whole Tibet thing. Honestly I do not know enough to have an intelligent debate. I will just say this: I doubt very much there are many Americans – or anyone else in the world – who think positively of my country’s treatment of Native Americans. It’s a horrific thing. I only hope that China will not be facing the same regret in the near future.

“Paris defends human rights everywhere in the world.”

Here is the CNN excerpt on the Olympic Torch in Paris the day after…

“The last part of the Olympic torch relay in Paris was canceled Monday after a day of chaos in which anti-China protesters forced authorities to extinguish the flame at least five times, take to a bus and skip some scheduled stops, including city hall.

There were confrontations between the authorities and demonstrators throughout the day as the relay attempted to crisscross Paris, birthplace of the modern Olympic movement, passing landmarks including l’Arc d’Triomphe, the Place de la Concord, The Louvre and Notre Dame.

The torch was eventually driven by bus to its ending destination, where it was displayed again during a public ceremony at a stadium.

Numerous protesters, some armed with fire extinguishers, were taken away by police, The Associated Press reported. At other times police used tear gas to remove demonstrators who lay in the road and tried to block the route.

The chaos came one day after human rights activist demonstrators made the torch’s journey through London more like running the gauntlet than a journey of celebration, as UK police made more than two dozen arrests.” 

The last day of the Geneva adventure was quite random.  There wasn’t much left on the sightseeing list, and most of Switzerland’s shops maintained the maddening European practice of closing down on Sundays.  When presented with such a scenario one cannot help but wander – and so wander I did!  The day started off, as all days in Geneva should, with a brief stop at the ever magnificent Jet d’Eau.  Despite having seen it a mere fifteen hours ago I was still overjoyed to see it again.  There is just something so ridiculous about it.  It has none of the grandeur and elegance of the famous fountains of the world – the Buckingham in Chicago, the Trevi in Rome, and the Kauffman Stadium fountains in Kansas City – and yet it demands to be an attraction, a landmark, something worth taking about a dozen pictures of.  Nice work, Swiss.

The big three.

When in a wandering state of mind it’s best to purchase a cigar.  You never quite know when it will become useful.  Perhaps you’d like to sit outside with a frosty beer, or maybe on a bench where you can mock the upstart pigeons.  Whatever your choice, the experience is enhanced with a cheap cigar.  Since I have been living here in Europe I have had numberous opportunities to purchase Cubans (the cigars, not the individuals), and sadly I admit that a (supposedly) good cigar is wasted upon me, similar to a nice bottle of wine.  I am apparently an ignorant and simple gentleman, as content with a Swisher Sweet and box of Franzia as I am with a pricey Cuban and expensive bottle of wine.  That’s not to say I won’t continue sampling, and I spent much of the day traipsing about the streets of Geneva with another Cuban cigar in my pocket.

After a surprising lunch spent dining on Thai food – the only restaurant open, and besides Geneva is the world’s most international city, right? - the wandering turned back toward the city center.  The morning had been spent attempting to find a suburb named Carouge, which was finally found but turned out to be a slightly disappointing place, the only items of interest being a perplexing complex of tents and the previously mentioned Thai spot.  My spirits were instantly raised by the appearance of two things – one, a giant sausage (no jokes please) bought off a street vendor next to a skateboard park, and two, an intriguing little cafe where I could smoke my cigar and sip on a Guinness.  It had the most comfortable furniture I have sat in while at a coffee shop, and the tea they were serving to other patrons looked amazing.  I don’t often say that about tea, but you should have seen it.  If I happen to venture back to Geneva – which I really don’t see myself doing, unless I begin a job with the International Red Cross, UBS, the World Trade Organization, or one of the many other international organizations or companies headquartered here – I will definitely return.

Sadly, I failed in my wish to dine at the Restaurant au Carnivore, although it was not for a lack of trying.  I must have walked by it at least four or five times.  As so with many other times in life the stars refused to align correctly, instilling within me this shame which I will now be forced to live with for many years.  Someday, Geneva…someday I may be back.  With a reservation.

 

I am told that the things to do in a place like Switzerland is gorge upon chocolate and search for a new timepiece.  Or, if you have extra time, track down the headquarters of the bank which employs your financial advisor and complain of never having seen the financial gains which were so gallantly promised at the time the account was opened.  Another option is to hop aboard a boat that will float you around Lac Léman, the name which replaced Lac de Genève (that means Lake of Geneva, of course!).  Hopefully you will have a pair of binoculars or a camera with stellar zooming power, because some of the things that are pointed out along the ride are quite small.  For example, the little bronze mermaid that is hanging out in front of someone’s mansion.  Apparently Geneva is attempting to duplicate the success of the Copenhagen mermaid.  On an interesting note – to me, at least – you will also pass by several estates that belonged to some of history’s movers and shakers – the Empress Josephine (Napoleon’s wife for thirteen years) and the guy who invented Colgate toothpaste.

The crown jewel of Geneva is the Jet d’Eau, which literally translates to…Jet of Water.  It is a remarkably simple fountain, as the name implies, but it will be my enduring memory of the city.  We had a chance to see it from the boat (impressive) and very near (impressive and hilarious).  For an example of my expert camera work and the pure power of the Jet d’Eau, click this.  Here are the statistics that I’ve been able to dig up on it:

• The fountain uses 132 gallons of water per second.
• Water skyrockets upwards to a height of 459 feet.
• The speed at which the water shoots up is 124 miles per hour.
• At any given moment 1,849 gallons of water are spraying around in the air.
• And, copied directly from my good friend Wikipedia: It would take more than 5,500 years of continuous operation for the Jet d’Eau to pump out the volume of water contained in Lake Geneva.

 Our sturdy craft with the Jet d’Eau in the background and the Alps in the background’s background…

I was irresistibly drawn to this ridiculous contraption despite belittling it the previous night.  Ohhh, when will I learn that huge, unncecessarily powerful creations that do nothing more than spray water around deserve our admiration, not callous mockery!  Truth be told the fountain was to be my highlight of Switzerland, and I took about five videos of it.  The great thing about viewing the Jet d’Eau up close and personal is the stone pathway leading directly past it.  The proximity of this walkway to the jet leads to some inevitable results, namely that one is drenched with a fair bit of moisture while maneuvering through lines of tourists in efforts to snap the best photo.  Despite the obviousness of this particular inevitability - afterall, one can see which way the water is drifting – you still hear the countless (and amusing) cries of “Arghahwhahah#Qnd@#Y, now I’m wet!” from everyone running past the 459 foot tall geyser.

Without the overwhelming need to purchase the aforementioned watch or chocolates, the rest of the day was spent wandering Geneva.  The Cotton Club, may I recommend, is a very Swiss sounding bar that happens to be a very nice place to relax with several beers on an early afternoon.  St. Peter’s, an impressive cathedral completed in 1232, is the center of the Geneva Old Town and hosts John Calvin’s chair, from which he preached Protestant Reformation in the mid 1500’s.

At this point in my European experience I am relatively immune to the outlandish costs of just about everything.  However, from time to time I will still be surprised, and it is with this in mind that I warn you of the dangers of ordering fondue in Geneva.  Oh sure, the Swiss may be neutral on a military battlefield, but they won’t think twice about killing your ATM card in the battle of fondue.  For a remarkably bad pot of odd-tasting melty cheese it cost about $50.  I know melting dairy products is expensive but this still seemed a bit excessive.  Luckily the menu also offered liters of beer, which made paying the check slightly less painful.

The last item on the day’s list was to imitate a vagrant and fall asleep in a Swiss park.  My theory is that the multiple liters consumed throughout the afternoon had left me with a predisposition to napping (notice I’m not using the term “pass out,” as that would imply full inebriation, which was not the case).  I have wanted to do some slightly odd things in my twenty-seven years of existance – for example, visit Idaho, purchase a case of Red Dog on the streets of St. Louis, drink my way through a Crawl for Cancer after a marathon, and create an Untapped Alaska cocktail – but I can honestly say I never have strived to perform a homeless impression by drinking several beers and then falling asleep at a public park in the middle of the afternoon.

Switzerland as a country came into existance on August 1 1291 and it has taken me until April 4 2008 to visit it.  Simply a travesty, but I suppose it couldn’t be avoided.  Switzerland is a remarkable country in that it contains merely 7.5 million people and has four official languages – French, German, Italian, and something called Romanash (used by approximately 1% of the population).  Of course, this does not take into account the fifth (unofficial) language of Switzerland – English – which I am planning on using extensively during my weekend stay here.  It is remarkable that such a small country can handle five languages, whereas the United States – a country with 300+ million inhabitants – begins hyperventilating and frantically clamoring for constitutional ammendments when someone speaks Spanish outside of a classroom.  For any of you who may be one of these “English or get out” people, I assume that you have mastered (or are in the art of mastering) the language spoken in each country that you have either visited or plan on visiting.

We all know the Swiss are neutral folks, and in fact they have not been engaged in any war since 1815.  Impressive, given the two massive conflicts of World War I and II.  They were in fact never invaded during either war, although both sides blockaded the little country in WWII.  The Swiss may have managed to avoid getting blitzkrieg-ed out of existance by some less than scrupulous economic policies toward Germany throughout WWII, but any details would be pure speculation on my part.  Swiss neutrality continues to this day – the country is not part of the European Union.

Arrival in Geneva was late on Friday night, and thankfully the hotel was ridiculously easy to find.  This is one of the major benefits of crashing at a place near train stations.  Although the neighborhood is not usually what you’re looking for – the historical center of the city is typically a decent walk away – it’s nice for getting in and getting out.  The most intriguing thing I found in Geneva walking around tonight was the name of the restaurant below, which happened to be closed at the time.  Nonetheless, my goal of the trip was now established!