A story about old Geneva and a bike. pardon some incoherence
i want to meet the person taking the photos of Geneva. This one captures some of my evening yesterday. i scrambled awake in the latter part of 9am, after having gone to bed at 4am. I have had 2 four am sleeps in the last two days and they are two of the healthiest ones ive spent: friday night i cornerd myself and started finally producing some doccumentation that might draw some scholarship eyes, or at least will help my reference letter writers comment on my "whole applicant" self. This takes effort. Although the exercise of writing about your "accomplishments" and being able to write "with distinction" after "october 2004 Undergraduate, Arts, McGill University" or how ever i formatted it,can be a healthy recap on four years of intens high speed blured living. i wonder i f i can impress some UNhigh commison for Human Rights employee that this makes me a good candidate to be exploited to do research in english in Geneva...
my major outing of the evening was a drive into the mountains at dusk to tutor a Terminal (last year of highschool) student in English in his parents home, which is an old converted barn. I really had to reatrain myelf from calling out Horses! and cows! and being overly awed by the clouds draped-ove- the-upper-tree-line phenomena. This is rolly-hill alps-basin land around the back of the Salev mountain. sigh. THe evening was economically fruitful, and also provided me with useful information about the local alpine club, which is apparently down the street from my house. I havent found it yet, but i think its a good idea to add it to (cough; cough) one of my priority goal lists. The quiet evening of cidre poiree and cheese following my dinner of chickpeas and some vegetables was capped off by a 3-lost-loves-in-one-location phone call. I napped around midnight so i could make it, almost m issed it but am so glad i didn't. its so startling to realize how many facets you have to yourself and how old voices bring back parts of yourself in a way that hanging out alone or with new-maybe-friends just doesn't. Its the same feeling that comes from a letter in the mail or an email that isnt about logistics, or catching sight of something familiar in a blog, sometimes even finding yourself there too.
Due to friday lateness, saturday began late too- my bum is getting tired and i still have to buy a ticket to paris so i can get to montreal,so im going to be brief- A was having a birthday party. So i stayed in town. I was feeling restless. Cant call c everytime i feel restless, or miss the closest of my loves, even though its usually a sure fire way to return to a healthy mental state; laughter is important, so are people who know you well enough to know the resonances in what you say... or dont say. [unrelated side note: it can be scary too (especailly when you've griown more comfortable hiding out just under the wires-- Enough anonymity among painfully new relationships and miss understandings because of this very essential missing element (the i sometimes see more than you think element) is enough for me to be ok with people (specifically those i really have no intention of letting out of my life) knowing more about me than i like to think they do. ceeding control over all things, taking control of small things.]
THIs brings me to a joyful 2 hours: after spending the day inside; and having not gone to a little town in germany to see a real christmas market that strasbourg is also famous for- becaus it was As b-day party and if it was my birthday in a new place id want my new aquaintance-friends to show up too. IN the mean time part of my rational for staying in town was to go to the escalade- an event that is now a race in 3 parts; but which actually comemorates the boiled soup throwing by the citizens of geneva when they were invaded by the savoyards and conquered for a few months. THE three stages are a race by children, one by profesional athletes from all over the world; and a costumed run. THat i would have stayed home all day only to miss the event would have left me severely pissed with myself, not to mention too embarassed to talk to my collegues to whom i;d announced my escalade viewing intention.
here is where the bike comes in: it is my freedom when the busses run every hour and stop a 8pm. WIth the mislead intention to arrive a few hours early at A's house, who lives next to a border corssing, and then take a tram or bus in, i found myself infront of a darkened house with no one home (A hadnt arrived yet) and armed with information that enlightened me to the fact that the tram is only accessible from the Mossulla crossing. on the french side this douaine (customs stop) is 30 minutes away by bike, on the swis side it is 15. After a few trips towards my bike, the phone booth, mty bike, the border guards; my bike; the bus stop, finally i had enough information and confirmation by a local passerby who gave me direct biking instructions to geneva prpoper. go past the border; turn right at the Feu (lights) go straight and then youll hit the tram lines, follow them unti ll you hit geneva. yep yep yep it worked and in 45 minutes or less i stumbled upon a lit centre: the pedestrian street ih avent see at night yet, and cheering crowds- and honking and laughter. I may have been the source of the laughter memory; because i sang most of the way there very happy with myself for not only making it to geneva on my bike but also for having enough time to do so; and finally even more joyous to see the city so festive; and again to be drawn up the crowd lined hill into the old city to watch fish tanks and cross countryskiers and Commentary on the search for weaposn of mass distruction and the war; along with aids ribbons runnign next to bunnyrabbits and babystrollers converted into ships. I laughed so hard. it was one of my favourtie alone moments. Geneva's character is reflectd in the juxtaposition of croweded streets with still enough space to pass; al be it a little akwardly with my lovely bike: the streets were dark but the photo is a good sense of how this part of the city looks. it is particularly memorable because i kept looking for places to stash my bike ( i still dont have an anti-vol/an anti-theft:lock) and so my eyes were drawn to the street cracks where walls and cobblestone meet so that i could find a grate to make it look like my bike was locked up. in teh end i didnt find a place to not-lock it up and so made my way through the crowds past the calvinist church in the gently lit streets trying not to trip and fall; biting my lip and widening my eyes every time my bikepedal got jabbed into the back of my calf, soothing myself with the sight of the old buildings and the different languages that flowed aroudn me. Turning off away from the crowd lined street, statisfied with the energy and success of my bike ride and desperately wanting roasted chataignes (chestnuts), I found a passage in the old city behind what is now a university or museum. i made my way down a quiet set of stairs lit by yellow lights, and found myself heading back towards the street i had made my way up earlier, though the runners and the people lining the streets were fewer. I was enchanted by the the sight of costumed figures crossing on the other side of the archway i was heading towards--and on my quiet yellow-lamp light and beige-stone side of the wall i hung out a self-consciously mischevious "if these arches could talk" on the papery line of baraided memoryandtime--[in a way to hang in the threads of time so that when you stumble on these sights, the memory like a thin spiderweb filament caught on your cheek, will tug at the corners of your lips and crinkle the corners of your eyse as you hear an echo with warm love-filled teasing laughter.] I was very satisfied to be alone soaking up the old stones and thier reflected yellow light but it would have been lovely to share with familiars. I did buy the chestnuts, to the tunes of latin music in a telethon stall on the street; and the sound of the people behind me speaking a latinamerican spanish; If i hadnt had to head back to make it to the party, i would have invited them out for a drink. One more reason to walk with no expectations down a festive international centre.
The party was food filled, and smoke of various sorts filled. i arrived on time. Most importantly i didnt feel too akward. the two dark rum, lime and sugar drinks and a little orange vodka after a brief lesson on the basics of wine appreciation (for real; and i laughted the whole time because it was too clished, and the three of us involved all knew it was; except they were both very enthusiastic)may have helped. I may have exposed my non hegemonic dominant attraction trends in conversatin with some of my "future ex colocs" (roomates i dont have--from the House). We'll see what that means. MA was trying to set me up with a pottery kid from her atelier. I knew it! This is what made getting a ride home from geneva the other night very akward, and now my suspicions are confirmed . jerks ;). THough neither of us could remember his name.lol. and thats ok: see the chicken see it runnnnnn. i should have joined the race; i wouldnt even need a costume.
Why being attracted to people scares the shit out of me and so i have thousands of mechanisms that leave me paralyzed in the middle of my kitchen some mornings or just speachless unskilled in the task of dealing with it is un known to me.
i also like dancing in the kitchen to my radio. even if the music is 80s bad or rap lyrics that i just barely stand; or torch mucis i just barely stand. good lighting; heat and some dancing is akin to singing on a bike ride. It reminded me of riding a bike with a basket and a bell. and of a midnight bikeride by a kight in woolen mittens. And woolen mittensmake me think of you; and the girl with the bike and the scarf and the long jacket and teh glasses and no hat reminded me of you; and made for a moment of suspended joy at being able to now ride with out holding the handle bars-- for short distances-- and i dropped into missing you, again.
It is like getting bike gears to work properly; adjusting both sides until you can love and miss and live all at the same time with out loosing your balance.
love
always,
me.
my major outing of the evening was a drive into the mountains at dusk to tutor a Terminal (last year of highschool) student in English in his parents home, which is an old converted barn. I really had to reatrain myelf from calling out Horses! and cows! and being overly awed by the clouds draped-ove- the-upper-tree-line phenomena. This is rolly-hill alps-basin land around the back of the Salev mountain. sigh. THe evening was economically fruitful, and also provided me with useful information about the local alpine club, which is apparently down the street from my house. I havent found it yet, but i think its a good idea to add it to (cough; cough) one of my priority goal lists. The quiet evening of cidre poiree and cheese following my dinner of chickpeas and some vegetables was capped off by a 3-lost-loves-in-one-location phone call. I napped around midnight so i could make it, almost m issed it but am so glad i didn't. its so startling to realize how many facets you have to yourself and how old voices bring back parts of yourself in a way that hanging out alone or with new-maybe-friends just doesn't. Its the same feeling that comes from a letter in the mail or an email that isnt about logistics, or catching sight of something familiar in a blog, sometimes even finding yourself there too.
Due to friday lateness, saturday began late too- my bum is getting tired and i still have to buy a ticket to paris so i can get to montreal,so im going to be brief- A was having a birthday party. So i stayed in town. I was feeling restless. Cant call c everytime i feel restless, or miss the closest of my loves, even though its usually a sure fire way to return to a healthy mental state; laughter is important, so are people who know you well enough to know the resonances in what you say... or dont say. [unrelated side note: it can be scary too (especailly when you've griown more comfortable hiding out just under the wires-- Enough anonymity among painfully new relationships and miss understandings because of this very essential missing element (the i sometimes see more than you think element) is enough for me to be ok with people (specifically those i really have no intention of letting out of my life) knowing more about me than i like to think they do. ceeding control over all things, taking control of small things.]
THIs brings me to a joyful 2 hours: after spending the day inside; and having not gone to a little town in germany to see a real christmas market that strasbourg is also famous for- becaus it was As b-day party and if it was my birthday in a new place id want my new aquaintance-friends to show up too. IN the mean time part of my rational for staying in town was to go to the escalade- an event that is now a race in 3 parts; but which actually comemorates the boiled soup throwing by the citizens of geneva when they were invaded by the savoyards and conquered for a few months. THE three stages are a race by children, one by profesional athletes from all over the world; and a costumed run. THat i would have stayed home all day only to miss the event would have left me severely pissed with myself, not to mention too embarassed to talk to my collegues to whom i;d announced my escalade viewing intention.
here is where the bike comes in: it is my freedom when the busses run every hour and stop a 8pm. WIth the mislead intention to arrive a few hours early at A's house, who lives next to a border corssing, and then take a tram or bus in, i found myself infront of a darkened house with no one home (A hadnt arrived yet) and armed with information that enlightened me to the fact that the tram is only accessible from the Mossulla crossing. on the french side this douaine (customs stop) is 30 minutes away by bike, on the swis side it is 15. After a few trips towards my bike, the phone booth, mty bike, the border guards; my bike; the bus stop, finally i had enough information and confirmation by a local passerby who gave me direct biking instructions to geneva prpoper. go past the border; turn right at the Feu (lights) go straight and then youll hit the tram lines, follow them unti ll you hit geneva. yep yep yep it worked and in 45 minutes or less i stumbled upon a lit centre: the pedestrian street ih avent see at night yet, and cheering crowds- and honking and laughter. I may have been the source of the laughter memory; because i sang most of the way there very happy with myself for not only making it to geneva on my bike but also for having enough time to do so; and finally even more joyous to see the city so festive; and again to be drawn up the crowd lined hill into the old city to watch fish tanks and cross countryskiers and Commentary on the search for weaposn of mass distruction and the war; along with aids ribbons runnign next to bunnyrabbits and babystrollers converted into ships. I laughed so hard. it was one of my favourtie alone moments. Geneva's character is reflectd in the juxtaposition of croweded streets with still enough space to pass; al be it a little akwardly with my lovely bike: the streets were dark but the photo is a good sense of how this part of the city looks. it is particularly memorable because i kept looking for places to stash my bike ( i still dont have an anti-vol/an anti-theft:lock) and so my eyes were drawn to the street cracks where walls and cobblestone meet so that i could find a grate to make it look like my bike was locked up. in teh end i didnt find a place to not-lock it up and so made my way through the crowds past the calvinist church in the gently lit streets trying not to trip and fall; biting my lip and widening my eyes every time my bikepedal got jabbed into the back of my calf, soothing myself with the sight of the old buildings and the different languages that flowed aroudn me. Turning off away from the crowd lined street, statisfied with the energy and success of my bike ride and desperately wanting roasted chataignes (chestnuts), I found a passage in the old city behind what is now a university or museum. i made my way down a quiet set of stairs lit by yellow lights, and found myself heading back towards the street i had made my way up earlier, though the runners and the people lining the streets were fewer. I was enchanted by the the sight of costumed figures crossing on the other side of the archway i was heading towards--and on my quiet yellow-lamp light and beige-stone side of the wall i hung out a self-consciously mischevious "if these arches could talk" on the papery line of baraided memoryandtime--[in a way to hang in the threads of time so that when you stumble on these sights, the memory like a thin spiderweb filament caught on your cheek, will tug at the corners of your lips and crinkle the corners of your eyse as you hear an echo with warm love-filled teasing laughter.] I was very satisfied to be alone soaking up the old stones and thier reflected yellow light but it would have been lovely to share with familiars. I did buy the chestnuts, to the tunes of latin music in a telethon stall on the street; and the sound of the people behind me speaking a latinamerican spanish; If i hadnt had to head back to make it to the party, i would have invited them out for a drink. One more reason to walk with no expectations down a festive international centre.
The party was food filled, and smoke of various sorts filled. i arrived on time. Most importantly i didnt feel too akward. the two dark rum, lime and sugar drinks and a little orange vodka after a brief lesson on the basics of wine appreciation (for real; and i laughted the whole time because it was too clished, and the three of us involved all knew it was; except they were both very enthusiastic)may have helped. I may have exposed my non hegemonic dominant attraction trends in conversatin with some of my "future ex colocs" (roomates i dont have--from the House). We'll see what that means. MA was trying to set me up with a pottery kid from her atelier. I knew it! This is what made getting a ride home from geneva the other night very akward, and now my suspicions are confirmed . jerks ;). THough neither of us could remember his name.lol. and thats ok: see the chicken see it runnnnnn. i should have joined the race; i wouldnt even need a costume.
Why being attracted to people scares the shit out of me and so i have thousands of mechanisms that leave me paralyzed in the middle of my kitchen some mornings or just speachless unskilled in the task of dealing with it is un known to me.
i also like dancing in the kitchen to my radio. even if the music is 80s bad or rap lyrics that i just barely stand; or torch mucis i just barely stand. good lighting; heat and some dancing is akin to singing on a bike ride. It reminded me of riding a bike with a basket and a bell. and of a midnight bikeride by a kight in woolen mittens. And woolen mittensmake me think of you; and the girl with the bike and the scarf and the long jacket and teh glasses and no hat reminded me of you; and made for a moment of suspended joy at being able to now ride with out holding the handle bars-- for short distances-- and i dropped into missing you, again.
It is like getting bike gears to work properly; adjusting both sides until you can love and miss and live all at the same time with out loosing your balance.
love
always,
me.
posted by blueolive at 1:09 p.m.
1 Comments:
hope you're leaving your bike there. The Canada Geese honking trucks and plows have been working in front of the house for hours, but it's still not highly recommended biking weather.
See you at the airport,
Quvi
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