Yesterday slipped by with visits to friends across the border and in town. This morning we went to the early Eucharist at Holy Trinity Church. It was the first time in many years for me to attend a 1662 Book of Common Prayer service, and probably nine years since I last officiated using this rite. It's so familiar that I can pray my way through it with understanding, without difficulty. However, in moments of detachment I wonder what any church is doing declaiming as this service does, the un-redacted Ten Commandments, enjoining believers not to covet their neighbour's ox or ass. Their neighbour's BMW or share portfolio maybe, but really .... for all the great literary and poetic merit of Tyndale and Cranmer's original language, we religious folk make fools of ourselves by our compulsion to pretend we are still sitting at the feet of Moses, as the people of Israel once did.
After a leisurely coffee and chat with friends in the Hotel Bristol, we went back to church at the end of the later service and chatted with a few more people before accepting a lift back to Meyrin for lunch, taking another chance to chat with dear friends Alec and Anne-Marie en route. Instead of having a siesta, I went back into town to take photographs of the Confederation Day fun fair and market stalls all along the lakeside Quai Wilson, closed to traffic for once. It was crowded, and it seemed as if all the nations of the world were out there having a good time, to judge by the languages spoken and the clothes being worn.
I passed an African family, parents and many children, all decked in Swiss national flag tee shirts (white cross on red background). One of the handed me a nicely produced booklet in French, which turned out to be a collection of prayers and mediations for the holiday month of August, issued by an organisation called 'Christ Embassy Lausanne'. I saw many muslim women, walking with girl friends or spouses. Some were veiled in black from head to foot, but many more had coloured headscarves and colourful, even stylish clothing, revealing the great cultural diversity which exists within the house of Islam. In Geneva all feel free to be who they are without fear of reproach or censure.
When I'd had enough of the hot sun and of taking photos, I took the train towards home, but stayed on it all the way to the end of the line at La Plaine, before returning and getting off at the correct stop. After passing through an industrial zone the train roughly follows the Rhone through the vineyards of Satigny and Russin right to the end of the Canton and the French border. Here I got off and took a few more photos and got back on the train at the front, closest to where I would leave the station at the Vernier-Meyrin stop. The train driver then got on, nodded and smiled to me as he went through the compartment to reach the driver's cab. Then he stopped, turned around and asked if I'd like to ride in the cab with him!
I had an unique chance to take photos, and chat with this young man about the new commuter train. He was was most proud of it, especially its smooth powerful acceleration and braking. It has pre-set cruise control speeds for different sections of track and can work at several different voltages, as French, Swiss and Italian train networks all run at their own national power settings. This feature enables this type of train to work on cross border routes. I still can't believe this happened to me on my last Sunday afternoon in Switzerland.
After supper, Clare and I walked to Meyrin village to see the fête arranged by the commune in honour of Switzerland's national day. Scores of stalls selling food and drink in honour of local voluntary groups were set up, with benches and trestle tables, outdoors and in a grand marquee, for a cast of thousands. There was a stage with a live band, and the essential bonfire, to be lit after the speeches and before the official fireworks. There was also an enclosure set aside for people to light their own fireworks - a nod in the direction of safety, but it was rather crowded and seemingly unsupervised to my eye. Again, the fête participants were of every cultural and ethnic background imaginable whether or not they were Swiss.
We got back just before ten, and then the fireworks began in earnest, both in Meyrin village, half a mile away, and in the centre of Geneva, about four miles away, much grander and visible from the garden. Half an hour of loud bangs and flashing lights in the sky kept the dogs in doors and subdued once they'd had a look and declared their disinterest. By eleven, all the other communes' firework displays had ended and quietness descended. Tomorrow, after all, is for most people still a working day, and not a holiday in lieu of a Sunday fête nationale.
No comments:
Post a Comment