Geneva Gibber

Hurray for an exciting weekend in Geneva. The Fete de Musique was everything I could have hoped for. There were people everywhere, most of the acts were great, and there was food from all over the world. Friday night was probably the highlight of the weekend, as everything was new and novel. We had a couple of beers (maybe a couple plus one or two – enough to give me the impression that I was a good dancer.) Then we wandered around and listened to a little Samba, a rock band with a fiddle (always a good edition), and some African tribal type music performed by an old white guy. At first, although I enjoyed the white man’s African beats, I was skeptical of his actual talent and authenticity (because what do I know about African music). But there were a number of African people in the crowd listening who seemed to be enjoying his music, so that gave him all kinds of credibility. Eventually we left the African tent, so I could get away from an awkward conversation with a guy from Senegal who barely spoke English – loud drums and bad English are not a good combination. On our way to hunt up some crepes (not quite as good as pizza for a late night snack, but amazing none the less), we came across a drum band that was making its way through the park. Suddenly, my generally reserved dancing disappeared and I was hopping about with the crowd, clapping, stomping, swaying, and probably making a complete fool of myself. Luckily, everyone else around me was also flailing about, and we had a really good time, so no regrets about my absurdity. The night ended shortly there after with a Nutella filled crepe – I love Nutella.

Saturday was the first time in three weeks I had been able to sleep in, so I took full advantage of it and slept until 11:15. After savoring some much needed alone time I headed back out to the Fete and spent my afternoon listening to classical music. I met up with friends around 3:30 and we heard an amazing choir sing at the St. Pierre Cathedral, moved on to some reggae, and then hit the bar to watch the US play Italy. The game was wonderful and heartbreaking all at the same time. The US red cards were crap and we outplayed Italy nearly the entire game. During the game, we met a Parisian named Benjamin, who was in town for work. He ended up tagging along with us for the rest of the night, and has promised to be our tour guide when we visit Paris.

Sunday, I spent nearly the entire day on my own, so there was lots of time for personal thought. Here’s a few of the things that went through my mind that day:

1. I fully support french horns. I was a skeptic for a while, but they’re pretty great.

2. I still can’t get behind the oboe – my older sister Leslie played the oboe when we were kids, and it turns out the dying duck sound that often came from her room was not the result of her novice status, but rather a shortcoming of the instrument itself.

3. Is that person in front of me a man or a woman?

4. Gospel music is not meant to be sung by white people – especially French white people – it’s horrid.

5. Jazz flute is only good when it’s done really well. Bad jazz flute is tragic.

6. One should never go see Broadway Hits performed by a local theater troupe, especially when the troupe is singing in a second or third language - I went to not one, but two Broadway Hits performances, and made it through three songs in the first one and four in the second. The highlight of the performances was when a Vietnamese woman sang the Phantom of the Opera classic “Sink of Me.” I know many of you thought the title of the song was “Think of Me,” but she was clearly singing “sink of me, sink of me fondly.”

7. Free opera is not great and it isn’t really opera; it’s just people on a tiny stage singing in really high-pitched voices.

8. Why is the man next to me fidgeting violently in his chair… a seizure? inspired by the music? too many drugs? he hates the oboe too?

9. Blues and jazz are infinitely better live.

10. There is never a better time to visit a free museum then during a passing rainstorm. Modern art is much more interesting when it keeps you dry. That is, until people bring screaming children in the museum, then it’s better to be wet.

After my day alone, I met up with some people from work to see a coworker rap in his trio La Resistance. At work he’s the nicest, quietest guy on the planet, but give him a mic and he’s flowing about his bitches and hoes. (Actually he could have been rapping about saving the world for all I know, but for the sake of his street cred, I’m gonna say it was 100% pure gansta rap.)

That’s all from Geneva for now. Next installation – the madness that will ensue when frisbee friend Kacey arrives from France because she has “no where else to stay at the moment.”