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This, from the Lonely Planet guide:
"It marks the occasion in 1602 when one of the invading Duke of Savoy's soldiers was thwarted by an unhappy housewife who poured her boiling cauldron of vegetable soup over him and then smashed it over his head. Several times.
"In Genevan homes the vegetable soup has been replaced by Switzerland's famous sweet (and patented) cocoa perfection. In the town there are torch-lit processions in historic costume and a huge bonfire in the cathedral square." I mention this because on 11 December, I was in Geneva (a) waiting patiently for someone to pour chocolate on someone else and (b) wondering what marzipan might be.
Merriam Webster's Unabridged defines marzipan thus:
That being the case I'm sort of glad the marzipan and I never crossed rues.
It is helpful, in understanding the nature of the Swiss people that they - as of this year - will have celebrated for four hundred straight years the pouring of soup on someone's head.
And you thought the Swiss were not a fun-loving lot.
This L'Escalade business became a hot topic at the office because of the very wonderful and thoughtful gift I brought home for all the women:
When I say "brought home" I mean I actually checked my very excellent roll-aboard so that I could carry a bag with five boxes of chocolate L'Escalade cauldrons home to my adoring colleagues which, along with my computer case and my very manly shoulder bag already exceeded the two-bag limit.
I had to make certain that no dope put his 30-pound briefcase on top of my bag of chocolate L'Escalade cauldrons, thereby reducing them to cocoa shards. AND I had schlep my other bags without the benefit of draping them on my roll aboard.
Having placed a boxed chocolate L'Escalade cauldron on each and every recipient's desk, I sat back and awaited the cries of glee, the squeals of delight, the shouts of joy.
I, quite frankly, would not have been the least bit surprised to see the women come dancing - hand in hand -
into my office, mountain blossoms braided in their hair, singing songs of praise and gratitude.
This was not exactly what happened.
What I received was a silence, I can only describe as sullen, as each woman opened her specially packed chocolate L'Escalade cauldron (with a separately wrapped little chocolate lid, I might add) while glancing - too longingly, I thought - at the not-very-attractive cigars I had brought for the men.
One women went so far as to inform me it would no longer be necessary for me to bring gifts back from my travels.
Three of the women held a ceremony in which they broke off the tiny little chocolate cauldron legs and ate them.
They (with some disappointment) said that the little legs were very tasty. But now one of the women has a legless chocolate L'Escalade cauldron which, I now note, is no longer visible on her desk.
I bought these gifts during my walk-about in Geneva.
As Mark Twain wrote in the brief section on Geneva in A Tramp Abroad, "I got lost in a tangle of narrow and crooked streets, and stayed lost for an hour or two."
I didn't actually get lost, but you have to keep an eye on the Rhone River and remember how many times you may have crossed one of the bridges to have a chance of finding your way home.
Here's a link to the very amusing section from Twain's book.
One of the first things I saw were two guys walking a bass fiddle.
This is a little hard to see, but it's worth looking at:
It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke: These two guys walk into a bar carrying a bass fiddle ...
The streets in downtown Geneva are as Mark Twain pointed out "narrow and crooked." But along those streets are some very unique shops.
As an example, this is the façade of the Franck Muller shop "Master of Complications," which sounds like a
Seinfeld episode. I apologize for not having actually gone over there to see what The Franck was selling, but I was trying to get back to my hotel by then and it was too ... complicated.
On the other hand, there were typical Swiss statuary such as this:
I apologize for not actually having gone over there to see what this was all about, but I was trying to get back to my hotel by then and it was too ... complicated.
Swiss statues are not at all like statues in Washington, DC which are more or less all the same: Some guy, in a uniform, with a sword, on a horse, being heroic.
Most of the Swiss stuff looked like the one above which is complicated. It's as if the Swiss used the same attention to detail they use in making fine watches and their banking system in making these public statues.
Speaking of watches, you may remember I mentioned to the Mullings Director of Standards & Practices that
there was no need to stop at the King Street Jewelers in Alexandria, Virginia to buy a new band for my
Swiss Army Watch because I was going to the homeland - Switzerland - and could buy one there.
Two words: Wrong-oh.
Not only that, but let me give you two little traveller's tips: (1) If there is a store which displays in its window watches selling for more than 3,000 Swiss Francs, they will be less than hospitable when you waltz in with your $129 Swiss Army Watch.
(2) There is a difference between a Swiss Army Watch and a SWATCH Watch. Much handwaving and loud talk in a foreign tongue greeted me when I attempted to purchase my new watch band in a store which had the word SWATCH in 2,000 meter letters across the front.
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I was getting hungry walking around, looking in and getting thrown out of, stores and I was trying to decide where to have a bite.
One of the problems of traveling alone is eating. Not the eating part per se, but what you do WHILE you are eating.
When I eat alone in the Good Ole U S of A I almost always have a book to read. If you are with someone - even your spouse - you can enter into some level of conversation.
If you are by yourself it is frowned upon - at least in the better spots I frequent - to appear to be having a
discussion with no one else at your table. The other choice is to stare down at your plate while you are trying not to be unbelievably obvious about listening in on a conversation at the next table.
I had no book and I had no companion so I looked for other choices.
This was an option:
Inasmuch as I had passed up Botswanan cuisine at the UN Children's bazaar, I resolved not to walk into a McDonald's in the old section of Geneva.
In the background of the photo, if you look just over the railing of the ice rink, what you are looking at is a series of structures which reminded me of the kinds of shacks you might see in a fishing area on a frozen lake in Minnesota.
In these structures they sold everything from cheap tourist tshochkes to food which locals appeared to be eating with gusto, but with some difficulty.
Picture an overstuffed steak-and-cheese sandwich on a wide, flat roll which allowed a significant proportion of the filling to leak out on all sides, across the hands and down the arms of the person enjoying (and to no small degree wearing) this feast.
The revelers were unmoved by the mess they were making, but I decided hunger was the better part of valor and moved on.
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I decided to head back toward my hotel. On the way I saw this:
I thought there were two possible reasons for the side-view mirrors to be turned up like this:
2. The guy is either a little too late or way too early to be signalling that the purple shrouds and
white sneakers are ready
for the next appearance of the Hale-Bopp comet. I found a cigar shop in which I purchased enough Cuban cigars to stink up the office for a decade
if everyone lit them at the same time
Then I found the chocolate shop where I bought the L'Escalade caldrons.
I would have been better off eating an overstuffed steak and cheese.
Next: A quick ride home
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