Geneva Gibber

A parental warning: Behavior of Beth and her friends during the previous weekend may not have been the most mature. However, be assured that the situation was always under control, and everyone was always very safe.

A warning to everyone else: This is a very long entry. It probably should have been in installments, but its too late for that now.

My weekend more or less began on Thursday night after a riveting lecture on the future of the IMF and the World Bank in Global Governance (yes that is what people do for fun around here.) After the talk there was a reception with cold food that was meant to be warm, and a dreadful two hours of answering these two questions: So, what’s your internship? & What do you plan to do after graduation? Of course the worst part about having to answer those questions is that you are obligated to then ask them back, and then listen to the response. So, when the gaggle of interns all agreed that they would continue the evening together by all going in mass (about twenty-five people) to a party at a hotel, I announced that I was very sorry to have to miss the rest of the evening, but had already made plans with another friend. (Actually, that would have been the polite thing to do – but in reality I just told a couple of my Duke friends that there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going along with the group and that I was going to have a beer with one of our other friends. This friend is a blessed soul who also hates traveling with large groups and doesn’t enjoy conversations with interns who like to talk about their 5 Year Plan.)

So I bolted from intern hell and met up with said friend (Joey) and his new S. African (but really quite British) friend Chandler. (I have decided to use pseudonyms for the explanation of this weekend, on the off chance that any of the people I write about opt to run for office some day. I decided to use Friends character names because I’m not feeling particularly creative, and this way you can picture the people while you read about the story.) Joey and Chandler had shockingly decided to miss the lecture on the IMF and the World Bank and opted instead to crash a party at Chandler’s work, which apparentlly had lots of free food and plenty of alcohol. When I met them, they were both a little tipsy and consequently far more fun than the people from the reception. We headed off with a plan to stop at the first bar we found, which in Geneva could take days of walking… luckily, it only took us about ten minutes. Three beers later, after lots of laughing (mind you I didn’t laugh once with the intern gaggle at the reception), we all headed our separate ways planning to meet again the next night to head to the Montreux Jazz Festival, in lovely Montreux, Switzerland. (Side note, the best part of Montreux, aside from the Jazz Festival, is the giant statue of Freddie Mercury, seen above, that graces the banks of Lake Geneva. Who knew the people of Switzerland love Freddie so much.)

Friday after work, Joey and I met up, and enjoyed an apple treat and then headed out to purchase alcohol from the grocery store to avoid having to pay for ridiculously priced beers once at the jazz festival. Then we met Chandler, his girlfriend Monica, and there two friends, Phoebe and Ross at the train station. (If you’re noting that I have left myself as Rachel, clearly the most desirable character, I would like to point out that each character was assigned there pseudonym based on some trait – Phoebe really is blond, Chandler and Monica are dating, Ross is a doctor (an MD, but close enough), and Joey really does say “how you doing?” to girls.) Once in Montreux, having become acquainted and a little inebriated, we made our way to the Reggae show that we had all paid far too much to see. On our way in we passed the “SHOTS” bar to which Ross quickly diverted us, as he apparently “loves shots.” A tequila shot and a bag check later we were in the concert. Strangely, although we were required to check our bags, we were allowed to bring in any outside drink or food, as long as it wasn’t in a glass container. A quick mix of our available liquids led to a lovely cocktail of peach iced tea mixed with whiskey in a diet coke bottle (I would say it made me feel like I was 16 again, except I didn’t drink when I was 16).

The concert was fun, but I can’t really confirm if the bands were good because my ability to identify quality music was a bit impaired. Each band had a guitar, a keyboard, drums, and some other instruments, plus a guy singing, and they all seemed to producing music in an upbeat, synchronized fashion – that was good enough for me. Aside from our peach iced tea/whisky cocktails, some lighted substances may also have been passed around (I debated whether to add this to the story, but decided that my highly occasional smoking of a mild sedative wouldn’t be too devastating to my parents… plus I have no intention whatsoever of seeking office in the good ol’ USofA.)

After the show we managed to find a food stand with Central American food and I got to eat something that resembled a quesadilla. It wasn’t as great as a post-bar burrito, but it was pretty good. After eating my food, I apparently took a little nap on my arm, but was mocked for the remainder of the weekend for having “fallen asleep in my tacos.” Oh how people exaggerate. The following day, the guys found much relief from their football misery (England lost to Portugal in a shoot out) thanks to a little nickname they made up for me. My “Indian” name was once Little Big Head, but I have now been rechristened She Who Wakes With Black Beans in Her Eyes. If you don’t find that name particularly funny, it’s ok, you had to be there, and it was only really funny if you are delirious with grief due to your team’s complete inability to capitalize on penalty shots.

But I skipped ahead in the weekend… back to eating on Friday night. During my brief nap Monica kept insisting that she had to have a crepe. Apparently her slurred speech led to crepe sounding more like crap, and a barrage of jokes about wanting a brown, messy crap ensued. I was asleep during these jokes, but I fear, had I been awake, I would have found them quite funny. After food we headed to the train station, which had a distinct shortage of benches, so we sprawled on the platform floor. On the train ride home, we were graced with the presence of many of the interns from the reception the night before. Joey apparently scared one of them away by repeatedly telling her how much he enjoyed the messy crap he had that night. Chandler then managed to rid us of another intern by asking about her 5 Year Plan. No, she didn’t leave because of how lame his question was, she was really excited to answer the question - she left because after he asked it, he would dose off and then around year three of her response, he would say… “wait, wait, can you go back to year one” or “excuse me, do you have a Five Year Plan.” After about four rounds of this, the girl finally realized that she would never be able to finish relaying her fabulous 5 Year Plan, and she left us too. Our loss I’m sure.

We finally arrived back home around 4:30 AM, at which point I was oddly awake and forward planning. I got ready for bed, then, concerned with my lunch plans for the following day, put a Diet Pepsi bottle in the fridge and pulled some chicken out of the freezer to defrost. If only I thought ahead that much on nights when I’m sober and go to bed at eleven.

Saturday was not nearly as entertaining as Friday, so I will list the events for the sake of brevity.

- Awoke to a pleasantly cold bottle of Diet Pepsi and chicken ready to be prepared. Ate tasty lunch and cleaned apartment.

- Watched Portugal v. Britain soccer match, and feared for my life when giant, scary, bug eyed Portuguese man kept roaring (yes roaring) in our faces whenever Portugal scored in the shoot out. It is possible, had Britain won, that none of us would have survived the crazy man’s bloodbath.

- Cursed the Portuguese for driving in circles around Geneva for hours honking their horns. How this doesn’t get old after about ten minutes is a mystery to me.

- Christened "She Who Wakes With Black Beans in Her Eyes" – boys giggle about name for remainder of day.

- Headed to Chandler and Monica’s flat for a dinner of tortellini and delicious wine – rumor has it that Chandler’s family has a vineyard or a winery or both, I’m not really sure, but whatever they have – we drank very tasty wine.

- Moved to family room with girls to teach them how to play Texas Holdem (their request), while the boys stayed in the kitchen and partook in more of the previously mentioned lighted sedative.

- Chandler entered family room and said “I Don’t Mind if I Think I Join You,” which amused me to no end. Had to leave the room to go write it down, so I could be sure to put it in my blog.

- Drank a very nice bottle of 1984 wine, only realizing after finishing the bottle that fine wine should probably be saved for occasions when people can appreciate it (ie – not at 3:00 in the morning after lots of warm beer and three other bottles of wine.)

- Retuned home and passed out, awaking with a commitment to never be that ridiculous again (by never, I mean not until next weekend when Chandler has more friends in town).