October 7/12

Etienne and I stayed in Lausanne overnight with Diego and Carolyn because Diego and Carolyn graciously offered to take us on a day trip today.  The problem was that it was up to me to decide what to do.  With no information to go on, I had to choose the destination: a trip to the tourist traps of the capital city, Bern, or a trip to Gruyères (the home of the cheese) and Fribourg (Diego’s home town), or my choice – whatever, within reason.  Under the gun, I chose Gruyères /Fribourg.  I’m glad I did!  Carolyn had to work, so Diego, Etienne and I set off on a gray, rainy morning from Lausanne.  As we drove, we passed lush, green, rolling hills populated with farms that were home to fat, well-maintained cows, heading into the foothills before the Northern Alps. 

We arrived at Gruyères ahead of most of the tourists and day-trippers, so it was fairly quiet when we arrived at the parking lot below the village.  The old part of Gruyères is a medieval village centred around a 13^th century castle, recognized as one of the best known in Switzerland, but the area has been inhabited since at least 325 BC.  The castle is set up in a hill which is surrounded by valleys that cut through the hills leading dramatically up to the Alps.  As we trudged up the hill to the village, I had an amusing thought: all these cows are out to pasture, a lot of them just laying about, fat, lazy, and I presume fairly content; clearly, Switzerland has a lot of cows…I giggled as I asked Etienne, “You know what Switzerland needs?  More Cowbell!”  (Seriously, if you are North American, you have GOT to get that reference, there is no excuse.)

At one point, we ventured off the main drag (so to speak), and headed toward the village church, which sat below the castle and beside a medieval defense wall.  The drop was fairly steep, and below us was a series of penned-in fields holding deer and cows.  What made these cows so special?  Cowbells!  All of the cows in the herd below us appeared to be wearing cowbells, and we could hear the delightful tinkling as they moved and grazed. 

We continued back up to the main drag but decided not to go in to the castle.  Instead, we opted for what I’m going to say is our most bizarre activity on any trip thus far (never mind this one); it turns out that this medieval village is also home to the HR Giger museum.  If you don’t know who HR Giger is, he’s the genius/madman who designed and developed the aliens from the ‘Alien’ series of movies.  And wow…that guy’s mind is TWI-STED!  No, that’s not right.  More like a journey through ‘uhhh…fuck.’  He not only enjoys creating aliens, he’s also got a serious hang-up (hard on?) about the sexuality and sex of aliens, and to a lesser extent, humans.  His artwork is filled with dark, unusual, and sometimes scary images of sex acts, and he clearly enjoys breasts.  It was beyond incongruous to see this museum in a medieval village in “Small Town Switzerland.”

After we finished with the most fucked up museum experience I’ve ever had, we bought a cowbell (you know we had to…you don’t leave touristy Switzerland without one), and were back in the car, heading past more lush, verdant fields and more fat cows (lacking cowbells) toward Fribourg.

From the outskirts, Fribourg looks like any other city, with modern suburbs and services, but when you start driving toward the old city, it becomes a different world.  The old city sits on the Sarine River, but it is enclosed on one side by an astoundingly stark, sheer cliff, and on the other sides are dramatically steep hills leading up to the “downtown” of Fribourg, which houses 17^th and 18^th century homes that overlook the lowertown.  Like an idiot, I walked around with my mouth agape, utterly speechless.  How could this place exist?  Nature and humanity sometimes combine to do some incredibly wondrous things.  Truly stunning.

Gruyères and Fribourg…

…Wish you were here.

October 6/12

Because Geneva’s environs bear some similarities to BC’s lower mainland, it was really hard for me to fully believe I was finally in Switzerland.  Despite the different license plates, the unfamiliar car makes and models, and the unrecognizable stores and businesses, I'd see familiar sights like Esso and Relay, and could have just convinced myself I was in, say, the old city of Quebec City.

I was cognizant that I hadn’t really felt that ‘I’m in Europe’ sensation yet.

Etienne had arranged that we’d spend the day (and evening) in Lausanne with friends of his, so we were up and heading to the train station in downtown Geneva by noon.  Etienne got us tickets on the express train to Morges, which I foolishly assumed was part of Lausanne.  Whatever!  It was my first ride on a real passenger train!  I’ve been on subways, skytrains, and silly little kids’ trains at West Edmonton Mall and Metrotown, but never a real train, which are ubiquitous in Europe, and rare in Canada.  It was a lovely ride; the route goes along Lake Geneva, passing through small cities and rolling countryside with cows and villas speeding past.  But still no sensation.

We arrived in Morges, a beautiful little city on the lake, to meet his friends, Diego and Carolyn.  We exited the train station into a little square, but I’d seen quaint squares before in Mexico, so this was nothing new.

We met with Diego and Carolyn at a beautiful park on the water, which turned out to be the sight of an annual British Classic Car Show!  How delightful!  It turned out that Diego had a car in the show, so we spent the first part of the afternoon wandering through the large show, looking at some truly amazing cars, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity; despite the presence of a 13^th century castle right in the middle of the park, I looked at the vistas, which could have been mistaken for the vistas from Jericho Beach or Locarno Beach in Vancouver.  And the large trees, water, and mountain views could have been Second Beach in Stanley Park.

We dined al fresco on a charming cobbled street, and I took in the sights and sounds, enjoying the company and conversation of our companions.  Was this the much sought-after ‘sensation’?  Not quite.  But I’m coming to it.

Diego’s show car was a two-seater, and because neither Etienne nor I could drive standard transmission vehicles, we could not volunteer to drive either the show car or their regular car back to Lausanne, so it was decided that Etienne would go with Carolyn in their normal car, and I would go with Diego in the show car.

As it was a classic car, Diego wasn’t keen to take it on the highway, so we took the Rue de Lausanne, the lakeside route that runs along Lake Geneva's Northern shore.  As we drove, Diego pointed out interesting sights and told me about various buildings and parks.  As we cruised by the lake and the IOC headquarters, it hit me…

I’m a passenger in a 1958 Astin Martin convertible roadster, rolling past Lake Geneva in Lausanne, on a gorgeous, warm, sunny October Saturday afternoon…Fuck me!  I’m in Europe!

After parking the car, Diego, Etienne and I set out in the regular car for Montreux, again on the lake road, where we walked along the lakeside promenade and ate Switzerland’s best ice cream.  I saw the large, old hotels with their distinctive yellow awnings, and Freddie Mercury’s statue, and in a distance was Chillon castle at the other end of Lake Geneva.  Yup…I was in Europe.

A 1958 convertible by Lake Geneva…

…Wish you were here.

October 5/12

Today’s moment could have been the astounding scenery of Lake Geneva (Lac Leman to the Swiss), the infrequent, clear sighting of Mont Blanc on the gorgeous, warm, sunny Friday afternoon in October, or the immediate sensation of tranquility I got when we landed in Geneva because its landscape bears similarities to Vancouver.  But those are not today’s moment.

Today’s moment is the inhumane madness that is London Heathrow Airport.

Our flight out of Montreal was delayed by a half hour, and we worried that it would mean we’d miss our already-tight connection between London and Geneva.  To make things worse, the only two seats together were in the last row of the plane.  The final insult was that we reached London Heathrow at 9:20 am local time, but we had to fly around for 15 minutes in a holding pattern while the airport cleared a gate.  We decided we’d make a run for it, but were resigned to missing the flight to Geneva and trying to get on the next.

The thing about making a run for it in Heathrow is that you can’t.  It’s not possible.  Terminal 5 is one terminal, but it’s three separate halls, so if you arrive at Hall A, and you connecting flight is in Hall C, you have to catch this goofy little tram, then go to the flight connection centre, then pass through security (AGAIN), and once your through all of that, THEN, you have to hope your gate is close by, or you’re literally stopped cold by the sheer wall of people and bags going every which way but up.

We bolted for the flight connection centre, where a young BA staffer with an atrocious Cockney accent told us that our flight to Geneva was delayed, but she didn’t tell us for how long, so we still had to rush in case it was a matter of mere minutes.  At security, we faced the first juggernaut of people; it was here I noticed that the garment bag carrying our wedding attire and shoes was torn open on both sides, a side effect of the weight and the running wildly through Heathrow.  Shit!

Fuck!  Whatever.

We made it through security and went down to try to find our gate; what we found was a disturbing mass of humanity.  Oh sod a goddamn dog!  We dodged and weaved, but slow, elderly people or dawdling, leisurely holiday-makers kept wildly shifting course and getting in my way, the wily bastards, so I lost Etienne three times.  Finally we found our gate, Lucky Number 13.   

And the plane had only just arrived from Geneva.  And it was being groomed for turnaround.  So we had almost a half hour to wait!

I’d say ‘Screw you, Heathrow!’ but we have to transit through on our way back, so I’d rather not tempt fate.

Order to the Heathrow chaos…

…Wish you were here.

October 4/12

I generally suck at interviews.

I'm the kind of person who doesn't answer well, I lose my train of thought, I ramble.  Over the years, I've worked on how to get past this stuff.  And just when I finally got a reasonable handle on that issue, I've run into another one....

......the written portion.

I'm a policy analyst, so it's a given that my ability to land and keep a job is highly dependent on strong written communication skills.  But recently, a lot of non-government workplaces have started to include written components in the interview process.  They want to test whether the candidate is able to write well in a very short time period.  So just when I start to get a handle on sounding like a big girl when I talk, now I have to walk it all back to the start and work on the ability to pull a briefing note or a sample letter out thin air in one hour.

Today, I had an interview with a relatively new, but already-high profile think tank in Toronto.  I've been fretting for weeks about it because it was going to be with a very high profile, well-respected policy guru (Think: "Kind of a big deal"), and Etienne is quite familiar with his work and the work of this think tank, so, you know...no pressure to succeed or anything....

I was still scared up until I answered the skype call.  So scared, I contemplated cancelling!  But then it turned out that I had a delightful time, I wasn't overly nervous, and the questions were reasonable, given my field and the files I've worked on.

It's like freaking out when the doctor comes at you with a giant needle, but it's over before you know it, and you get a "Huh...that wasn't so bad after all" feeling.  Or, you know, so I've heard.  Needles make me faint.

Sweet relief...

...Wish you were here.

October 3/12

I needed to get the clusterfuck of the first presidential debate out of my head--my impressions include Romney, you bully, Obama, you weak, and Jim Lehrer, YOU SHOULD HAVE HAD A KILL SWITCH TO CUT THE MIKES WHEN THEY WENT OVER AND/OR OVERRULED YOUR MODERATING--so it was fortuitous that, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a commercial advertising the fact that Dark Shadows is now on Rogers on Demand.  Excellent!

Etienne and I meant to see it when it came out in theatres, but as is often the case, we didn't.  So before the debate was even on, we decided to order the movie on ROD.  And what a good decision!  It was so campy, and well...vampy!  Michelle Pfeiffer was so good, at one point, I swear I was totally convinced she would have made a superb soap opera villain.

The story was a wee bit shambolic, but the scenes were purposely over-acted, in keeping with the soap opera acting techniques of the 1970s, which I found so entertaining.  It reminded me of watching The Young and The Restless as a young child in the early 80s.

And Johnny Depp.  What can I say about Johnny Depp?  He's an amazing talent, and he's hot, of course!

Johnny Depp...

...Wish you were here ;)

(Love you, Etienne!)

October 2/12

So, if you follow Canadian politics at all, you'll have heard the big news about Canada's worst kept political secret.  Justin Trudeau has announced his candidacy for the leadership of the Liberal Party of Canada.

For very sensitive political reasons, the Trudeaus in general are on a restricted-topic list in our household, but restrictions on talking about Justin are more relaxed, partly because I think Etienne and I agree on some common points about the guy.

Justin's a nice guy.  He's got a big heart, and is quite idealistic, and those are excellent qualities for an MP who is truly interested in the needs and well-being of his fellow Canadians.  And his bout in the boxing ring against Patrick Brazeau (I'll spare you the details about what I think of him) this spring has certainly proven he's not exactly wallflower.

But...I have my doubts that this is the time for him to go for the leadership.  He's still new to the job (5 years in), and unfortunately, there is a view that persists that he is a dilettante, aware of the value of his father's name and legacy.  Also, his political opponents, the (odious) Right Honourable Prime Minister Stephen Harper, and Her Majesty's Loyal Leader of the Opposition, Thomas Mulcair, are well-seasoned political leaders, and it will be quite easy to see how they could toy with Justin.  I also can't picture Justin effectively hitting back.  Does he have the stones to pull an unapologetic "Just Watch Me" attitude if he sees fit?

Justin has openly acknowledged that he doesn't have his father's intellectual prowess (he admits that his brother, Sacha, inherited that trait from their father); he's smart, but he's not yet practiced enough to have developed his father's political IQ.  Were this leadership race another few years down the road, I'd be less hesitant about Justin's run, but right now, I just don't see that he could take on both Harper and Mulcair.  My advice to Justin would be to surround himself with the sharpest minds and most experienced political sharks who can really prep him for such a task.

All the same, I wish Justin luck, and I will be quite interested to see how the leadership race unfolds now that there's a Trudeau on the ballot.

Leadership...

...Wish you were here.

October 1/12

Welcome to October!

Some pretty nifty things happen in October: my mummy's birfday, my Brother-in-Law's Birfday, Turkey Day (Thanksgiving), and best of all...Hallowe'en!  I'll admit, I love Hallowe'en.  I love to get all costumed-up and go out on the town.  When I was a kid, it was all about the candy, but as I got old enough to go to the city-wise teen dance party, Spook-o-rama, out at the Yellowknife airport, Hallowe'en became all about getting dressed up and dancing all night! 

Of course, 'Hallowe'en: the Teen Years' was never without its problems: teen dance parties have a way of becoming teen drama-drama-drama parties, depending on the company you keep, and I sure kept some interesting company.  As a young teen, I was ugly: bone-skinny, tall, awkward, with bad hair, acne, horse teeth, and ugly glasses, but I hung out with some of the prettiest girls my age.  The only thing I had going for me was that I was kinda funny, and a little bit different.  The boys only dated me a) because the girls they liked told them to/pressured them to; or b) to get to the girls they liked, who were my friends.  So naturally, Hallowe'en could end alright, or end with me fighting back tears of some kind of...it was really a 50/50 shot each year.

Don't worry, eventually I grew into the confident, rocking woman I am today, with a smoking hot bod and sophisticated style; I still love to get dressed up and party on Hallowe'en, but now I get to do it without the drama, though I seriously doubt that I could make 14-year-old Fancy understand that it gets so much better.

Spook-o-rama...

...Wish you were here.