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Europe » Switzerland » South-West » Geneva
June 18th 2007
Published: June 18th 2007
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Well. I survived the US with my sense of humour and length of temper only mildly pruned. To return to the simple joys of Geneva, and to further distance myself from the horrors of football-field-sized carparks and football-team-sized people, let me steal a story from some friends:

These friends, like us, speak little French. And they, like us, live in an apartment block. Well, how lovely! One day there is a knock on their door and it’s a young Frenchman. They soon work out that English is the common language, he introduces himself as the new neighbour, they smile and make small talk. Then, out of the blue, he asks: “Do you have any scotch?” Woah! They were amazed at how forward and friendly he was. Unfortunately, they didn’t even have a beer in the fridge. So they shook their heads and said “no”. He said “OK thanks,” and then left. What a rude bastard! He was just after them for their booze!

Except, oops. The next day at work someone else asked for some scotch. It’s French for sellotape.

Hee hee hee.

That feels a bit better.

An update on the laundry saga: it just keeps getting worse. Take a deep sniff and you can probably smell us from here. Basically, about two weeks ago, our magnetic laundry key broke, locking our still-dirty sheets in the machine. The concierge lives in a different building and speaks only French. And the wheels of bureaucracy move slowly. Doug managed to extricate the sheets from the machine, but they are still unclean. As are our towels, socks, shirts, etc. Each day we say: “the new key will come today.” And each day, it doesn’t. Soon our clothes will walk to the Laundromat themselves. And the key will arrive that morning.

Other funny US things:
- The lady selling stamps at the supermarket in Illinois didn’t realize Australia would need an international stamp
- Giving up on human stamp-sellers, I tried to buy a $1 stamp to post a postcard. I put 50c into the machine, a stamp came out. I put another 50c into the machine. Another stamp came out. Except they weren’t stamps. They were packets of stamps. 50 x 1c stamps. Enough to entirely cover several postcards front and back in stamps and still not have enough postage to go anywhere. Anyone needing a 1c US stamp should contact me.
- While waiting on the ground floor for a slow lift to arrive, I asked the white American guy next to me: “Where is the staircase?” He said “what?” I said “the staircase.” He said “I’ve never heard of that. Must be a new meeting room or something.” I said “no, no. A stair. Case,” and did charades of climbing up stairs. He said “Nope, sorry. Never heard of it.” I said “you know, for going up stairs…” He said “what?” I said “for going from one floor to another, a staircase.” “Oh,” he said. “It’s over there.” Yikes.
- Some guest at my hotel asked me where I was from. I said “Australia.” He smiled and chanted “I’ll see, I’ll see, I’ll see,” and then walked away. It took me a while to figure out what he was saying.


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