Well let's just say it's been an eventful week. Last weekend I went on a spur of the moment trip to Luzern with Yvonne and Amélie. Luzern's been on my list of places I want to go to before I die. Especially Lake Lucern. I got to see the lake. Unfortunately, I didn't get to swim in it. But it was really beautiful there and before it gets cold I'm totally going back to just chill on a kayak in the middle of the lake!
Ok so after I got back from Luzern things just went crappy. Monday I dropped Amélie off to school and had my chill-out time. Then I left on time to catch the bus and I saw "the" bus and figured I'd take the early one to Gardiol and just walk around until Amélie got out of school. Well. I sat on the bus reading a book since it's a good half an hour to get to the school. I looked up after twenty minutes and realized that I did not recognize the scenery around me. I was so confused... then I looked up at the screen in the bus and said that I was just a few minutes away from the Airport. $&*%. I took the wrong bus. And I was all the way at the airport and Amélie's school was gonna get out in 10 minutes. So I had to call Yvonne and tell her that I took the wrong bus and that she better hurry and pick up Amélie cause the school charges 10 CHF per minute. thats like, 12 bucks a minute that you're late. I was so freaking embarrassed!!! how the heck does something like that happen? I was just in a bad mood the rest of the day. It turned out to be a hot and damp week. Tuesday, I went swimming with Amélie and Antoine. Wednesday, I took Amélie to school. And I didn't take the wrong bus that time.
Well last night was Wednesday night. After I got off work, I showered and dressed up because there was a Young Single Adults ball in Lyon, France. I was so excited to go because, hello, a DANCE. Friends, boys, making more friends, and just letting loose. I was supposed to meet a friend in Bel-Air but apparently there are TWO Bel-Airs and I went to the wrong one all the way across Genéve. I stumbled on one bus after another, frantically trying to find my way to Bel-Air Ponte for nearly two hours. I ended up somewhere in the ghettos of Genéve in a park by a bridge and I was all alone in a fancy dress and heels. I was so freaking frustrated by all this... and we were going to miss the ball. I pathetically sat down on the ground and kicked off my heels and I just wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. My friends were searching for me the entire two hours and told me they didn't want to give up. (I know, I found some pretty amazing friends here huh?) But I was so tired and frustrated and I just wanted to go home so I told them to just go on without me. It was pretty sucky. I walked all the way back to my apartment barefoot and just went to bed. So much for a party huh? Haha.
I decided to take advantage of this lonely day and just do whatever the heck I wanted to do. I had the day off of work. Everyone was gone working or at the grandparents. So, I slept in. 'Til 9:30 AM. Then I got up and watched the rest of Da Vinci code that I didn't finish a couple weeks ago. After a while, I got pretty restless and was bouncing all over the place. I had to get out of the apartment. It was the heat peak of the day, sunny, with sweltering heat and humidity. I wanted to send some letters to some of my friends on their missions, so I decided to try to find where the post office was. I looked up the address on Google maps and it seemed pretty simple, only 400 meters away from my apartment. So I wrote down the directions, packed my lightweight backpack, and went off on my mid-day run. I ran like I've never run before. I wore crappy Pumas that I've had for like, 5 years and I ran more comfortably in them than my $100 running shoes. I ran and ran and ran. But it was not for 400 meters. I ended up running to the lake with the famous "Flower Clock" and searching for the gosh dang post office. I ran up and down cobblestone streets, in alleyways, passing cafés and tourists, completely and hopelessly lost. Again. And not even twenty four hours after getting lost the night before. I ran for an hour and finally stumbled across a big, yellow sign displaying, "La Poste." I walked in the non-air conditioned post office, literally dripping in sweat. There were drops of salty sweat running down my arms and legs and my face. I was soaking wet. The post office was full and I noticed people stealing glances at me. "Who's that girl with the red face and why is she soaking wet and stinking to high heaven?" That's kind of how I felt in there. I waited for my number to be called, sent my letters off, ran back home, pigged out, and watched Little Rascals.
Well, I just got home from the café. I was feeling pretty lonely... and wishing I was in Lyon with my friends, so I do what I always do when I'm down. Go for ice cream. A good friend once told me, "Ice cream makes everything better." And ever since, I've taken that to heart. Café Remor, the restaurant that the family owns, has fantastic gelato. Simply divine. So I ran on over there with a book and asked for "moca and cannele glacé, sil vous plait." ("Coffee and cinnamon ice cream, please.") But my French is so unintelligible that I got moca and vanille (vanilla) instead. But it was still delish. As I was starting my ice cream, resuming a fantastic book, and finally relaxing, a skinny, mousy man with square tinted glasses came in and started speaking to me. I waved him off, used to perverts trying to hit on me. He wouldn't stop talking so I said, "Sorry no speakie Frahnkas." Turns out he knew English. Great. He gets two inches from my face and hisses, "I need one franc." I said bluntly, "Don't have money." He got closer, curling his thin lips over his yellow teeth, and his breath stinking like a dead vulture. "I NEED FRANCS. I need glacé. It ees so freysh. See, see. I have sore throat." Then he proceeds to cough on my ice cream. ON. MY. ICE. CREAM. Then he has the balls to hiss, "Give me glacé and francs." Any sympathy I had for him went out the door and I just started freaking out at him and told him to get the F out of my face and leave then he put his hands on me and I was like, DUDE. Oooh I remember I was really angry when he did that. He got closer to my face and his nasty yellow teeth and his foul breath... and started whispering rapidly about how he needs glacé and francs and his whispering got louder and shriller and higher and faster and he got closer and closer and closer to my face and completely scaring the chit out of me. I begged to the waiters with my eyes to help but they just stood watching this crazy man about to attack me and doing nothing about it. So I screamed, "FINE!" and grabbed my wallet and gave him two francs. He backed off and asked for my ice cream. I said no. He said he needs one more franc. I said, "Seriously. Get the H out of here, NOW." and finally, he left. So much for a relaxing night. And yes, I still ate my ice cream, even after he coughed on it.
When you give money here to beggars you have to be super careful. They have no pride whatsoever. They come up to you and nag you til you give them something. Then they ask for more. A couple Sundays ago, I was sitting at the tram station waiting for the 13:30 tram. There was this Romanian refugee, an old lady with her foot pathetically tied up in a bandana, feigning an injury. She called out in a loud, begging voice, pleading for money and lamenting over her condition. She sat next to me and rocked back and forth, holding a paper cup to my face and moaning relentlessly. Finally, I fished a few coins out of my purse and dropped them in her paper cup to make her go away. She saw my water bottle in my purse and asked for some water, holding up her empty bottle. I handed her my bottle and told her to keep it. She blessed me with the sign of the cross and sat on the other side of the bench. The next day, I saw her on that bench. She saw me, and came running up to me with the paper cup in her hand, moaning and pleading and begging. I was with Amélie and was hurrying to take her to school so I told the old lady no and kept on walking. She was there the rest of the day to beg me for money with her crinkled cup and dirty hands. The next day, she was there, in the same spot that I walk by four times a day to take Amélie to school and back home by myself, then to pick Amélie up and take her home. She was there the day after that. And the next. And the next. And the next. Always searching for me, the girl that gave her money. I couldn't stand passing by her four times a day while pushing her aside and running away from her pitiful grasp. I finally had to take the "long" way to the bus stop after a few days. Then, a few days ago, she stopped coming to the tram station by my apartment. I haven't seen her all week. Thank the heavens.
Well, that's all the stories I can think of right now. I have to work this weekend while Yvonne is out of town for a course. I have Amélie all day Saturday and Sunday. I have no idea what to do on a Saturday with a three year old. Sunday, I'll probably take her to church. She LOVES my missionary friends, Elder Beret and Elder Livingston. Especially Elder Beret. Ok, there is one little story to go with this now. On Tuesday, which was the highlight of the week, I had a picnic with my friend Elisabeth and the sister missionaries. I wasn't expecting the Elders to come, but they decided to surprise us at the park and joined us for lunch. Everyone LOVED Amélie, especially Elder Livingston and Beret. But Amélie and Beret made quite a connection. Amélie was delighted with Beret's "magic" tricks (the separating thumb, etc.), and took a liking to him. After throwing sticks with Beret, she crossed the circle to go snuggle up to him and chat with him in French. It was THE cutest thing EVER. When we were leaving the park, she walked with the two missionaries and Beret gave her a chestnut that fell from one of the trees and tossed it back and forth for a little bit. She's kept that chestnut with her ever since. So, Sunday, I might take her to church and I'm sure she will be delighted to sit by Beret and Livingston.
Ok, it is so late right now! It's 23:00 and I have to get up pretty early tomorrow so I gotta get going to bed if I don't wanna hate myself in the morning.
Au Revoir!
I decided to take advantage of this lonely day and just do whatever the heck I wanted to do. I had the day off of work. Everyone was gone working or at the grandparents. So, I slept in. 'Til 9:30 AM. Then I got up and watched the rest of Da Vinci code that I didn't finish a couple weeks ago. After a while, I got pretty restless and was bouncing all over the place. I had to get out of the apartment. It was the heat peak of the day, sunny, with sweltering heat and humidity. I wanted to send some letters to some of my friends on their missions, so I decided to try to find where the post office was. I looked up the address on Google maps and it seemed pretty simple, only 400 meters away from my apartment. So I wrote down the directions, packed my lightweight backpack, and went off on my mid-day run. I ran like I've never run before. I wore crappy Pumas that I've had for like, 5 years and I ran more comfortably in them than my $100 running shoes. I ran and ran and ran. But it was not for 400 meters. I ended up running to the lake with the famous "Flower Clock" and searching for the gosh dang post office. I ran up and down cobblestone streets, in alleyways, passing cafés and tourists, completely and hopelessly lost. Again. And not even twenty four hours after getting lost the night before. I ran for an hour and finally stumbled across a big, yellow sign displaying, "La Poste." I walked in the non-air conditioned post office, literally dripping in sweat. There were drops of salty sweat running down my arms and legs and my face. I was soaking wet. The post office was full and I noticed people stealing glances at me. "Who's that girl with the red face and why is she soaking wet and stinking to high heaven?" That's kind of how I felt in there. I waited for my number to be called, sent my letters off, ran back home, pigged out, and watched Little Rascals.
Well, I just got home from the café. I was feeling pretty lonely... and wishing I was in Lyon with my friends, so I do what I always do when I'm down. Go for ice cream. A good friend once told me, "Ice cream makes everything better." And ever since, I've taken that to heart. Café Remor, the restaurant that the family owns, has fantastic gelato. Simply divine. So I ran on over there with a book and asked for "moca and cannele glacé, sil vous plait." ("Coffee and cinnamon ice cream, please.") But my French is so unintelligible that I got moca and vanille (vanilla) instead. But it was still delish. As I was starting my ice cream, resuming a fantastic book, and finally relaxing, a skinny, mousy man with square tinted glasses came in and started speaking to me. I waved him off, used to perverts trying to hit on me. He wouldn't stop talking so I said, "Sorry no speakie Frahnkas." Turns out he knew English. Great. He gets two inches from my face and hisses, "I need one franc." I said bluntly, "Don't have money." He got closer, curling his thin lips over his yellow teeth, and his breath stinking like a dead vulture. "I NEED FRANCS. I need glacé. It ees so freysh. See, see. I have sore throat." Then he proceeds to cough on my ice cream. ON. MY. ICE. CREAM. Then he has the balls to hiss, "Give me glacé and francs." Any sympathy I had for him went out the door and I just started freaking out at him and told him to get the F out of my face and leave then he put his hands on me and I was like, DUDE. Oooh I remember I was really angry when he did that. He got closer to my face and his nasty yellow teeth and his foul breath... and started whispering rapidly about how he needs glacé and francs and his whispering got louder and shriller and higher and faster and he got closer and closer and closer to my face and completely scaring the chit out of me. I begged to the waiters with my eyes to help but they just stood watching this crazy man about to attack me and doing nothing about it. So I screamed, "FINE!" and grabbed my wallet and gave him two francs. He backed off and asked for my ice cream. I said no. He said he needs one more franc. I said, "Seriously. Get the H out of here, NOW." and finally, he left. So much for a relaxing night. And yes, I still ate my ice cream, even after he coughed on it.
When you give money here to beggars you have to be super careful. They have no pride whatsoever. They come up to you and nag you til you give them something. Then they ask for more. A couple Sundays ago, I was sitting at the tram station waiting for the 13:30 tram. There was this Romanian refugee, an old lady with her foot pathetically tied up in a bandana, feigning an injury. She called out in a loud, begging voice, pleading for money and lamenting over her condition. She sat next to me and rocked back and forth, holding a paper cup to my face and moaning relentlessly. Finally, I fished a few coins out of my purse and dropped them in her paper cup to make her go away. She saw my water bottle in my purse and asked for some water, holding up her empty bottle. I handed her my bottle and told her to keep it. She blessed me with the sign of the cross and sat on the other side of the bench. The next day, I saw her on that bench. She saw me, and came running up to me with the paper cup in her hand, moaning and pleading and begging. I was with Amélie and was hurrying to take her to school so I told the old lady no and kept on walking. She was there the rest of the day to beg me for money with her crinkled cup and dirty hands. The next day, she was there, in the same spot that I walk by four times a day to take Amélie to school and back home by myself, then to pick Amélie up and take her home. She was there the day after that. And the next. And the next. And the next. Always searching for me, the girl that gave her money. I couldn't stand passing by her four times a day while pushing her aside and running away from her pitiful grasp. I finally had to take the "long" way to the bus stop after a few days. Then, a few days ago, she stopped coming to the tram station by my apartment. I haven't seen her all week. Thank the heavens.
Well, that's all the stories I can think of right now. I have to work this weekend while Yvonne is out of town for a course. I have Amélie all day Saturday and Sunday. I have no idea what to do on a Saturday with a three year old. Sunday, I'll probably take her to church. She LOVES my missionary friends, Elder Beret and Elder Livingston. Especially Elder Beret. Ok, there is one little story to go with this now. On Tuesday, which was the highlight of the week, I had a picnic with my friend Elisabeth and the sister missionaries. I wasn't expecting the Elders to come, but they decided to surprise us at the park and joined us for lunch. Everyone LOVED Amélie, especially Elder Livingston and Beret. But Amélie and Beret made quite a connection. Amélie was delighted with Beret's "magic" tricks (the separating thumb, etc.), and took a liking to him. After throwing sticks with Beret, she crossed the circle to go snuggle up to him and chat with him in French. It was THE cutest thing EVER. When we were leaving the park, she walked with the two missionaries and Beret gave her a chestnut that fell from one of the trees and tossed it back and forth for a little bit. She's kept that chestnut with her ever since. So, Sunday, I might take her to church and I'm sure she will be delighted to sit by Beret and Livingston.
Ok, it is so late right now! It's 23:00 and I have to get up pretty early tomorrow so I gotta get going to bed if I don't wanna hate myself in the morning.
Au Revoir!
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