Sunday, December 30, 2012

Geneve, I think I like you | Genève, je commence à vous aimer

Swiss and Geneva flags at La Treille plaque commemorating 31 December 1813
The plaque I pass daily
without noticing
Tonight, I began to like Geneva a bit more. This evening's walk was punctuated by cannon fire. Yes, you read that correctly. Ambling through the streets of the Vielle Ville, admiring the glow of illuminated snowflakes against the deepening nightfall, we were startled by a loud sound. Curious people (and pup), we walked toward La Treille, where several hundred people were watching and participating in a commemoration of Geneva's release by Napoleon's troops in September 1813 and its declaration of independence on 31 December.  (They were speaking French, but of course Americans speak English...)

Why did this tickle me? I find the Genevois habit of commemorations quite charming. That these secretive and upright people will tog themselves out in historic finery, seemingly at the drop of a hat, shows a touching homage to tradition. The uniforms come complete with furry high hats that remind one of British bobbies, as well as furry backpacks, with blankets (yes, Swiss Army blankets) and tin pots attached.
Furry hats, furry
backpacks, meat
axes at rest position
One group appears to be butchers, porting large white aprons and wielding meat axes. Still others carry on that favored Swiss tradition of arms-bearing (Switzerland has one of the highest gun-ownership rates in the world). After scaring the Be-Jeepers out of Desmond with a second cannon firing, the master of ceremonies announced an addressed by the president of the canton. A collective - and highly amusing - sigh passed through the crowd, and more than a few people wandered over to the free vin chaud stand while the poor fellow spoke a few words without the benefit of the MC's microphone.
 After a very brief pass-and-review, the ceremony unceremoniously disbanded for a while. Rifles were stacked in teepee-like formation, the butchers leaned their axes on the bench, and the drummers laid down their snares. Most opted for the bottles they had cached in whatever parts of their uniforms were not otherwise engaged in cloaking their (in some cases) ample forms. 
Butcher and rifleman,
glass and pastry in hand
As I was taking pictures, one of the butchers decided I needed to join the fete and came over with his homemade pastry-wrapped pate. Having satisfied his curiosity regarding my origin, he proceeded to share a little history lesson, joined halfway through by a furry backpack-bearing riflemen who insisted he should not "hog" the ladies.
The same rifleman later dipped and twirled and posed while I tried to capture his backpack on film. This warm, hospitable, and even cute display of genevois manliness and enjoyment of their history was a side of Geneva that I need to see, even couched as I am fewer than two blocks from the historic centre. If only they would stand still (in better lighting) for photographs...




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