Le quatorze Juillet

We slept well, and eventually walked into the city centre through the generous parks in which many of Geneva's high rise blocks of the sixties and seventies are set. This is a persisting tribute to the influence of Swiss architect Le Corbusier, one of the european pioneers of modern urban high rise lifestyle, and in places like Petit Sacconex where this kind of urban design is particularly well done and well managed, residents indeed live in a green and pleasant land in the heart of the city. 

Having said that, the costs of renting or buying a place to live this lifestyle are very high indeed - not only because of the high demand from people with plenty of money to spend, but also because of the high cost of maintaining both buildings and park landscape. I don't suppose Le Corbusier, designing and planning between the Great Wars, could have imagined the cost of his creations in future generations. Switzerland then was not nearly so wealthy then and contribution made by routine labour was undervalued. Most importantly however, habitations were created that raised aspirations about the quality of living space any constructor could set out to achieve, both in private and publicly funded housing.

Our mission was to get city travel passes for the week (anywhere in the Cantonal network on any kind of transport at any time, for thirty quid), to have lunch in our favourite department store, with the summer sales in full swing, and to get some Swiss money. I'd brought with me to use some spare Canadian dollar travellers cheques left over from our Christmas excursion. We discovered that none of the many bureaux de change handled travellers cheques, but the UBS bank was most obliging.

We walked across to the Rive Gauche, had an ice cream at an open air bar on the banks of the Rhone, and observed an eight year old working his way with a small cup through the clientele, and tourists seated on steps nearby begging for centimes. Earlier, before crossing the bridge we'd been accosted by a young woman, tidily dressed, begging for a tram fare to get her to the end of the canton for some unstated reason. We watched her work the queues of visitors waiting to cross the street and at the bus stop. 

It was an odd pretext to beg, given that even visitors soon find out how rarely anyone on public transport is asked to produce a ticket. When it happens, fines are steep. Few people resent paying because fares are reasonable and the quality of service is so good. I also noticed a couple of women in  black wearing the hijab and begging in the streets. One had propped herself up against a parked white van, in exactly the same position as where I took a photo of a woman begging last summer.  I guess this is as much of a challenge to police in Geneva as it is in Cardiff.

We made our way back to Petit Sacconex at tea time, and later went out for a brief  visit to our friend Gill, who lives in a nearby apartment. The last time we'd seen her was in the televised broadcast of the Royal Maundy service from Westminster Abbey, where she was among representatives of the diocese in Europe.

Tonight we can hear fireworks from France voisine.  After all, it is Bastille Day.