Art Basel

Ok, so Switzerland isn't ALL bad. There are nice things about this country. Like Art Basel, where I went yesterday. Basel is somewhere between 2h 45 min and 3h 10 min away from Geneva, depending on if you have to change trains twice, like on my way back, or not at all, like on my way there. Since it's quite a bit to go, and the train ticket isn't exactly free, even if you have a half fare card like I do, I thought I might as well make the most of it and spend a few hours in the actual town of Basel before I headed for the art fair. That way I could aim for the cheaper evening ticket of 18 francs rather than the all day ticket for 38. You get only about two hours that way, but I thought it sufficient, and I was right. Because going to an art fair like Art Basel isn't just fun, it's also extremely exhausting, I knew that from experience. I managed to see some really good stuff during those two hours though, too much good stuff in fact. It was enough to make me have to sit down and rest after just one hour. There is a limit to how much interesting art you can take in before your head gets full, especially if you're pressed for time, and trying to find your way through the aisles and cubicles is in itself a full time job. If you know you have to be efficient, then you want to try and eliminate as much repetition as possible.
The ideal situation would of course have been to buy a weekend pass and spend the whole weekend in Basel, but unfortunately that's more than I can afford. For me it was the budget version or nothing, so I chose the budget version, even though I knew it would be tough work.

To my great joy, I found that my favourite Swedish artist, Mamma Andersson, was represented by at least two different galleries, neither of them Swedish (if I'm not wrong, one of them was from New York). Unfortunately, I didn't have time to take in the names of many new artists, and with the quality being so high, I found it difficult to register any outstanding pieces in my memory. I saw some unusually sensitive and beautiful drawings by Andy Warhol though; I had not previously discovered that side of his artistic career. Generally, there were a lot of valuable art - old works by not only Warhol, but also Basquiat, Roy Lichtenstein, Picabia, Picasso etc. A lot of old masters in other words. I was also told by one of my students that a bank colleague of his had said that this year's Art Basel was "more interesting" than last year's, since there were more valuable pieces by old modernists and less contemporary art... I suppose this reflects rather well the function that this art fair has for some people - an opportunity to make a safe investment. And with the crisis having brought down the prices of artworks, this is of course an ideal situation to buy a valuable work of art. I suppose his idea of what makes art "interesting" differs slightly from mine... It's quite an interesting phenomenon though, that the financial crisis has had this general effect on this year's art fair; it's shifted slightly from interesting contemporary to valuable modern art. It's sad, but a natural reaction when you live in a capitalist society. Also gallery owners want to make money.

I had an art related incident at one point, which quite well illustrates the problems one can run into in an arty context... Running around an art fair makes you thirsty, and since my water bottle was empty, I searched for an opportunity to refill it. To my relief I found a water container in one of the cubicles, one of those with a white and a blue tap that you press on to get the water out. I had opened my bottle and was just about to press the tab when I heard the gallery owner shout behind me "Mademoiselle! No, it's vodka!" She then politely said that I was welcome to help myself to some if I wanted, but she thought I should be aware... Well, that's art for you; you can never really trust that what you think you see is really what it represents...

Geneva - city of dogs

Right, here goes some more bitching about Geneva... But then again, slagging off Geneva is mainly what this blog is about. This time it's the dog owners' turn to take a beating.
I have never seen quite so many dogs anywhere else as here, and they come mainly in two sizes: L and XS. The small size is primarily to be found in the commercial centre of Geneva; Bel Air and Eaux vives. Their owners are most often female and dressed in designer clothes with gold details. They drag around their ridiculous looking little rat-dogs on their shopping rounds in the city, in and out of designer boutiques and to the occasional fancy lunch spot. These dogs seem to function primarily as some kind of accessory to go with their fancy life style. I've never really seen the point of small dogs; in my opinion you may as well buy a guinea pig or a bunny, but I've never really had that much against them before I moved here either. But because of the way they seem to take over the city and shit all over the pavements (rich ladies tend to not want to pick up after their dogs) I have slowly started to resent them. These are not real dogs, they're living accessories.



The other, larger sized version, has its biggest population on the other side of the river, around the train station and in Paquis, as well as further away from the shopping area. Often, they are either German shepherds or Dobermans, and needless to say, these dogs function more as safety tools than as pets. On the ground floor of our building for example, there are two. They are owned by young, fairly rough looking people, and the apartments they live in are supposedly the same size as ours, in other words around 55 sq metres. One of the dog owners "solves" this problem by letting his dog sleep on the balcony... In any case, an apartment this size is far too small for a large dog, and anyone who cares about the well being of their pets would refrain from buying a dog if they happen to live in a flat of this size.
Something that upsets me far more though, is the frequent use of muzzles on these large sized dogs. I suppose the purpose of them is to protect the people around them, but the thing is that a dog that has been well taken care of does not bite! The use of muzzles only signifies that the dog has been mistreated.



I also strongly disagree with the way that some people bring their dogs into smoky, noisy bars and rock clubs full of drunk people. That is no place for a pet of any kind, and since dogs have very sensitive hearing, the loud volume in itself must be torture for them! The fact that their owners are often drunk and not capable of taking care of their 4-legged companions does not in any way make the situation better.

You would have thought that the fact that this city is so full of dogs would mean that the Swiss are a dog-loving nation, but after what I have seen during my 1,5 years here, it actually appears to be quite the opposite!

Rude Geneva

I spent last week in Barcelona, and when I got back to Geneva, it seemed more gloomy and dull than ever, in spite of the sun shine. There is really not much to this place if you don't happen to have a lot of money. And if you have problems standing smoky environments your choice of hang-out places is even more limited.
Geneva is suffering from a lack of stimuli, as well as from a lack of hospitality on all levels. To this I count the failure to reintroduce the smoking ban, the unwillingness of café- and bar owners to introduce smoking restrictions and last but not least the lack of respect from smokers when they clearly see that someone around them is suffering from the second hand smoke they are imposing upon them. I can't think of any other place I've been to where the well being of others is considered with such arrogance.

I can take last night as an example. I haven't been out in Geneva in quite a while, mainly because I can't stand the smoke. But last night I got fed up with staying at home and agreed to go to l'Ecurie - a little 'alternative' bar which usually has bands on in the room next door. It's cheep, the atmosphere is quite good, the age range widely varied and they usually play quite good music (although last night's band was a more loud than talented heavy metal band who rather unfortunately chose to start their gig by doing a badly performed cover of a Sex pistols song). The only down side is that as the night goes on, the place turns into a smoke chamber. Like with Le Cabinet, Coleur et Saveur or any slightly nice bar or caf'é in Geneva. It wasn't too bad in the beginning, but as the hours passed, it progressively got worse.



I was sitting next to the door however, which because of the bad weather was closed. So every now and then I opened it, and then it would stay open for a few minutes until someone went in or out and closed the door after them. It went on like this for quite some time, but when a group of heavily smoking people sat down at the table next to us things got really bad. One of the girls, who was sitting closest to our table, was chain smoking from the moment she sat down until the moment I left (well, she probably continued after that as well). When I opened the door, she went to close it. And this is how it went on. She could clearly see that I was suffering from her heavy smoking, especially since I got it all in my face. But instead of trying to be a bit understanding and considerate, this seemed to trigger her to smoke even more. Like she wanted to prove to me that she had the right to smoke and I should stay at home if I couldn't stand it. This is a kind of rude and selfish attitude I have gotten quite used to here in Geneva, none the less I find it extremely offensive and hard to grasp. There seems to be a general lack of respect for others in this city (or is it a Swiss thing?).
This became even more obvious to me in Barcelona, where I was shocked by how nice everyone was and how people didn't even mind if I asked if I could speak English to them! Even the bars in Barcelona where smoking is allowed didn't seem to be that filled with smoke, because people didn't smoke as heavily, and most of those places had a smoke free corner anyway. And I don't think this nice attitude is unique to Barcelona; in fact It didn't strike me last time I was there, which was when I still lived in Stockholm. Instead, I think it's got more to do with the fact that Geneva is an utterly stroppy and rude place and most other places in Europe would seem friendly and nice in contrast to what I'm used to here.
Seriously Geneva: a change of attitude would be in order!

The difficulty of learning how to deal with long summers

It's been 29 degrees today! And I have found myself tweeting about the weather far too often lately. I should really stop, because no one else gives a shit. I know myself how annoying it can be when people in other parts of the world brag about their warm weather and beautiful, blue skies. I should really try to avoid doing the same thing myself.
I am also concerned about the cause of this new found obsession; does it mean that I am getting old? Or am I just being Swedish in a foreign country? I hope it is the latter. Although I cannot help thinking about my grandfather and his obsessive need to watch the weather forecast on TV at every given occasion, in spite of the fact that he would most likely spend the best part of the day in a dark room, developing photos. Somehow, he just really needed to always know what the weather would be like the next day. I don't know if he was always like this, but I suspect that this need developed some time after retirement. And I am still far away from that stage.

I suppose the most likely reason for my current weather obsession is the other one, the one about being a Swede... I confess that the fact that I have moved to a place with a better climate than Sweden makes me feel not only relieved and thankful, but also a bit superior to those that are left back home. I know that it's not thanks to me that the sun is shining and the flowers are blossoming, but I still can't help feeling a bit pleased about being better off.
I suppose that a whole life time of facing the ridiculously short life span that the Swedish summers have does something to you. I still can't look at all the green treas around me without also feeling a vague fear of them turning yellow soon. Because that's what I'm used to. I'm used to being thankful for every summer's day that is being given to me. And suddenly finding myself in a situation where you don't have to suck the marrow out of each summer's day, because there will be enough of them anyway, is something I'm not quite used to yet. I still have to learn how to stay inside when it's 28 degrees outside and not feel guilty about it. And I have to learn to not shout out that the sun is shining every time it appears in the sky...

The joy of getting drunk for free

This past week I went to two popular events in and around Geneva: "Nuit des Bains" and "Caves ouverts". These are essentially just two varieties of the same event, where one takes place in the area around Rue des Bains in Geneva and the other one is spread out in the Genevois countryside. Sure, they have their differences, for instance, the former claims to be a night of art gallery openings (where the "night" lasts for three hours and stretches from 18h00 to 21h00) whereas the latter is marketed as a wine tasting festival. The truth is though, that most people don't really know this. What they know, and what they care about, is that they are going to a place where there is free wine and a good chance of running into someone you know. The majority of the people who go around the galleries at nuit des Bains couldn't care less about the art. I know, because I tried to look at some of it last Thursday but failed because of the groups of mingling wine drinkers that blocked the pictures on the walls. I also had great difficulties even entering some of the galleries, since the crowds around the wine and snacks table were clogging up the entrance. I'm generally pro free wine, but since I'm not drinking at the moment I noticed the down side of this generosity more clearly than I have done before, when I have been one of them. If you're not one of the freeloaders yourself, the crowds tend to grow more annoying and the whole experience becomes rather disturbing and muddled by the lack of space and possibility to focus on the art.

It may seem pointless and even stupid to go to a wine tasting festival if you don't drink wine, I am aware of this. But it's also kind of a nice and festive event, and if you can't drink, you can always eat. And indeed I managed to get myself some free dinner, which made it all worthwhile. The wine drinkers did seem to enjoy it vastly though; the sun was shining on this what seemed to be the first summer's day of the year, and the wine was flowing. But much in the same way that the visitors at Nuit des Bains don't have any persistent memories of the artworks, none of the wine drinkers at Caves ouverts that I talked to seemed to have any idea of what they had been drinking... Apart from the ones that actually bought some bottles of course - they had the labels to go by.

It's strange how the joy of getting drunk for free can make you so much more tolerant towards crowded places than if you're sober; I remember last year's Caves ouverts as a joyful and relaxed day and wasn't really bothered by the crowds in front of the bars and the waiting. I suppose being sober turns you into a more bitter and intolerant person.

Bread-heaven

Damn, if there is a bread heaven on earth, it must be at café Wolfisberg in Carouge! I went there briefly today, and bought some bread on the way out, since I'd bought bread from there once before and have fond memories of consuming it on the balcony with a bottle of rosé. Ok, perhaps not a bottle of rosé, let's say a glass... Anyway, my memory served me right. I bought the same bread as the time before - a small baguette shaped loaf which was stuffed with apricots and pistachio nuts. I just had some and, oh my god, this bread is to die for! I was a bit annoyed by how expensive all their bread is, but I understand why, because this isn't just normal bread I'm talking about; no, this is bred blessed by the gods! I'll quite happily pay a few francs extra for bread that tastes this good. I could easily eat the whole loaf myself (I bought a small one, unfortunately a bit too small) but because of the estimated high calorie content I choose to save some for my husband. Also, when I eat something that tastes really nice, I like to share my experience with someone. And I can't help hoping that he will go crazy for this lovely bread as well and insist on going back to buy some more....

The hills are alive with the sound of cow bells

You know you are in Switzerland when you hear cowbells during your morning jog! Just like I did this morning. I didn't see the actual cows since there were too many treas in the way, so I wasn't quite sure that what I heard was actually really cow bells and not just part of the music in my ipod (I have a very obscure mix of music in my ipod, and always set it to 'shuffle' when I go running, so cow bells could possibly be part of one of the songs). It really was cow bells. I don't know what function the bells would have in this day and age; I mean, I assume that the cows are enclosed in a rather limited space. None the less, it was a nice sound to hear when you are jogging on a beautiful little forest path far away from noisy traffic. So I turned off my ipod for a while and just enjoyed the sound of the bells, trying to picture them walking there on the other side of the treas, probably followed by a milk maid with braided hair and apron. I enjoyed that moment. It made me feel like I was really in the countryside, not just a few hundred meters away from the nearest road. Then a fly flew straight into my mouth and the moment was gone. It actually didn't just fly into my mouth, it went straight down my throat before I had time to react. So, in other words, I swallowed a fly this morning. A small one, but still. This is what you get for jogging in the forest with your mouth open.

Montreux and Yvoire - two overrated tourist destinations

I've done a fair bit of sight seeing this past week, thanks to the fact that my mother has been here to visit. We've eaten crepes in the old town, visited the cathedral, gone to parc des Bastions on the 1st of May, been to look at the bunnies and the wild boars in the little animal park in Jonction, plus two longer excursions, one to Montreux and the other one a boat trip to Yvoire.
I suppose Montreux and Yvoire are two places you ought to go visit if you live in Geneva. I've heard a lot of good things about both of them, although I have been warned that Yvoire can be a bit on the touristy side. Well, that is the least one can say!

We went there on a beautiful, sunny day, and had a nice 1,5h boat ride there. Once we got there we saw little else to do but to follow the stream of tourists, because they all went in the same direction. This is because there was only one direction in which to go. In other words, Yvoire proved to be a lot smaller than I'd thought. It didn't take us long to have gone through the whole little medieval village, and since there seemed to be little else to do than to eat there, we scanned the menus of all the restaurants we passed. Yvoire probably has more restaurants than inhabitants, so it wasn't hard to find a place to eat. The only problem was that they all seemed to serve exactly the same thing, with a few exceptions. This same thing was of course "filé de perche" from lake Geneva. Most restaurants had different variations of this popular but to me completely pointless dish. What they all have in common is that they consist of breaded little fish bits, fried in a lot of butter and served with chips. And that's it. Sometimes you get tartar sauce with it, sometimes just lemon and sometimes some other sauce. But usually it's just the fried fish and the chips. I do not understand why people pay to eat this, and why it is so popular around Lake Geneva!

We managed to find a restaurant which served not only filé de perche but also some kind of bouillabaise, and had a lovely (although overpriced like all the restaurants in Yvoire) three course lunch on a sunny terrace, overlooking the lake. When the lunch approached its end and we realised that there was actually 1h and 45 min left until our planned departure, we started to panic. Because we had already gone through every street of this medieval open air museum at least two or three times, and apart from restaurant menus, there is little else to look at or do there. To our relief we discovered that there was actually another departure one hour earlier than the one we'd planned to take, so when dessert was finished and the bill paid we went straight to the boat in order to spend the rest of our late afternoon in Geneva. I'm glad we went to Yvoire, because I've been wanting to go there for quite some time since I keep hearing how pretty it is etc. Now I know that I have no reason to return to this medieval theme park of a village. I would rather go to a real town which is not designed to steal money from tourists. There is not much to see in Yvoire which can not fit on a postcard.



Montreux also left me slightly disappointed. It did rain when we got there, which of course has something to do with it, and we arrived just after all the restaurants had stopped serving lunch, so we had to have some rather disappointing crepes in a café. But the town itself was smaller than I'd thought, and not as pretty as I'd expected either. To our great content, the sun came out just when we'd finished our lunch, and we decided to walk along the waterfront to the castle of Chillon, which we'd planned to visit. This walk was amazingly beautiful, and was worth the whole effort of going there.
The path was lined with different kinds of flowers, from poppies to rhododendron, as well as a variety of more or less exotic treas. And seeing the mountains on the other side of the water at the same time was just breathtaking. The castle of Chillon itself turned out to be a bit too big and a bit too empty to be fully enjoyable. I generally like castles and had wanted to go there for a while, so again, I'm glad we went. But they could have made the visit a bit more interesting by adding some more authentic furniture etc.
Now that I've been to Montreux I see little reason to go back. Next on my list of places to visit is Gruyere. I have been wanting to go there since before I moved to Geneva, so I certainly hope it won't disappoint me!

Art fair schmart fair

I went to Geneva's annual art- and book fair yesterday. I went there last year, so I knew roughly what to expect. Last year I went there because of the art fair, and saw the book fair as an added bonus but nothing I would've bothered going there for alone. This year it was the other way around. What I learned last year was that this art fair, which has been given the humble name "Europart", has very little to do with the European art scene in general and is called so only to fool people into believing that it is bigger than it is. The thing is that Europart takes up only a little corner of Palexpo whereas the book fair is actually the main event.
I was vastly disappointed when I visited it last year, not only by the size, but also by the quality of the art. Europart is not a place where you will find the latest trends or hottest names in art right now, its quality lies more in the fact that it is democratic. Although democracy does not necessarily have to be a positive thing if you pay 12 francs to go and see good art. Democracy in this case means that anyone can rent a corner of the fair; and they do as well. And this is the reason why I this year dedicated about 30 minutes to look at art but 2h to stroll around the book fair, even though there was only one English book shop represented in the entire place, and I am far too bad at French to be able to read a whole book in this language.
What actually drove me to go there at all this year was the massive book sale that the English book shop had there last year. Not only did they have very low prices, but then 50% off on top of that! Last year I went home with bags too heavy to carry, after having spent very little money. The same thing happened this year. And this is what made it all worth it. Because the art fair was as crappy this year as it was last. Some good things, but mostly tacky stuff. Qualitywise it is light years away from Art Basel, which completely blew me away last year. So, even though I didn't see any art that really blew me away at Palexpo yesterday, I returned home with a fat book full of pictures by David Hockney which had cost me only 10 francs!

Jogging as a supernatural adventure

I had a freaky experience today on my normal jogging round; I was jogging behind this woman who was obviously one of these people who "exercise walk". She wasn't just going for a walk, no, she was wearing tiny little shorts and a sleeveless top, as though she was expecting to sweat a lot. She was also swaying her arms back and forth like serious walkers do. Anyway, I overtook her in the beginning of my round, and as I got to to the railway bridge perhaps a kilometer further on, I saw the very same woman, walking in a steady pace with her arms still swaying, about 50 m in front of me on the bridge! How she got there is a miracle, since I would've noticed if she overtook me and she certainly didn't walk fast enough to get there before me anyway. The only solutions I can come up with is that she must either know of a really good short cut, she has supernatural powers or she's a ghost. A very healthy ghost that is.
I overtook her again, and as I turned around the corner to the cemetery I got struck by a sudden and irrational fear.... What if as I rounded the corner, I would see her in front of me again, walking in the same steady speed?! Now, that would really freak me out. Obviously, that was not the case since this is real life and not some psychological thriller or poltergheist film. I did pass her one more time though, but on the way back.

I still can't get over how warm it's suddenly become, and how it suddenly seems more like summer than spring! I'm still waiting for an unannounced snow storm or something to come and sweep away the summer feeling... That's how April usually is. But then again, we've nearly made it through the entire month and once May is here I will dare to believe that the season is actually here to stay... Well, at least until it's time for it to fade away.

a thing of beauty is a joy forever...

I picked lilacs yesterday. There are few things that make me happier than the smell of lilacs; it evokes memories of summer, freedom and happiness like nothing else. Lilacs smell of school graduation and of summer holiday. That's because in Sweden they blossom in the beginning of June, which is when Swedish schools close for the summer.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw a budding lilac tree about two weeks ago, and that they're now - in the second half of April - in full bloom seems like a minor miracle! I'm trying to make the most of it by bringing them into the apartment so that I can smell them as soon as I get up in the morning. It's strange how powerful smells can be sometimes, how they can fill you with instant happiness even if your life sucks at the moment and you have no actual reason to be happy.

One of the things that I really appreciate about living in Geneva is the early spring. When I came back from my little easter break in Provence, the entire area had suddenly turned green, just in a couple of days! And this was in mid April! I'm not used to this. I'm used to having to keep hoping and longing for the days of green trees and apple blossoms for at least another month. There are many things about my life here that I find difficult, but the beauty of spring, the smell of it, makes it all easier to stand.

Keys - what are they good for anyway?

I lost my keys at Planete Charmille a few days ago. Losing your keys is undoubtedly one of the most annoying things that can happen to you. Especially if you don't have any spare one on you, which people usually don't, but which I remarkably had this particular day. I had met up with the girl who looked after our birds over christmas just the day before, and since I'm lazy I still hadn't taken them out of my bag. So, for once, laziness actually paid off! I also hadn't moved the mail box key back to my own keys, which was yet another thing to be thankful about. So, in other words: I lost the apartment keys, but could still get into the apartment. Apartment keys are also easy to copy, so no real harm done there.
BUT I also had my bike key in that key ring. The only copy. I had locked my bike to a sign post, with my super safe, unbreakable metal lock, while I just ran inside the shopping centre Planete Charmille to buy a loaf of bread. During those maybe five minutes that it took me to buy that (not very nice) loaf of bread, my keys magically managed to escape my coat pocket.

I still haven't gotten my keys back, and it has now been four days. Tomorrow I will go to the lost and found office to check if they have turned up yet. Somehow, I don't count on it. Not that I understand why someone would want to hold on to someone else's keys, especially if they don't know where the person in question lives. And if I don't get them back, I will in other words have to somehow try to break into my unbreakable lock to free my bike from the sign post. I mentioned my problem to one of my students today, and it turns out that his brother is a metal worker. So if I don't get my keys back, he will bring me a metal saw for our next lesson. Very convenient!

I miss my bike.

What do I have against fleece?

Yes, what do I have against fleece? After all it's just a fabric; a very soft and warm one too. Yet there is something about fleece sweaters that makes me judge the person carrying it instantly. I realised that today when I was lying in the sofa and for some reason started to think about fleece sweaters and how hideously unstylish I find them.
A fleece sweater can transform an attractive and potentially cool guy into a sporty nerd within seconds. And sporty is not a word I use kindly.
Strangely, I don't think I'd ever really been aware of just how much I detest this item of clothing until today, when I was thinking about different people I've met that I have formed an opinion about based upon the fact that they are wearing fleece. Anyone who has the slightest idea about style would never wear it outside the house in any given situation. I've met people who I thought were arty and cool, but who suddenly appear in front of me in a fleece jacket. And that's it. They were simply not who I thought they were.
The worst kind of fleece clothes are of course the multi coloured ones. There is no excuse for putting on one of those. There just isn't.

I don't mind fleece blankets though. I own at least four of them myself. Because they're warm and soft against the skin, just like blankets should be. Blankets don't have to be stylish. I still would never bring a multi coloured fleece blanket in to my house. That would be taking it a bit too far.

Macarons - little pieces of heaven!

Holy shit, I just had a cassis macaron, and there is no other words to describe these divine little pieces of heaven than... divine little pieces of heaven! I advice anyone who happens to live in or near Switzerland to go and find the nearest macaron-selling place as soon as possible if you haven't already tasted them, because eating doesn't get much better than this! I can't believe I've lived so long without even knowing about them - I had my first one only a couple of months ago. Honestly, I would give up alcohol for these lovely little pastries. And the best thing is that they come in different flavours too, so you don't have to get sick of them; so far I've encountered chocolate, strawberry, lemon, pistagio, vanilla... and of course black current.
Oh, I've got four chocolate ones in the kitchen as well, but they're meant to be given away as a present to a friend in Mouthier-en-Bresse who we're going to visit on Sunday. Not that she'd know... Na, I'll be good and leave them alone.

Cheese v Music

Just had a rather nice cheese sandwhich, which made me reflect a bit upon my love for cheese and how it's one of the things that makes me not want to leave Switzerland right away. Sweden's got some nice cheeses - Västerbotten, mature Prästost and.... yes, that's it. Sweden's got two nice cheeses. Switzerland has got... well... even if I'd tasted them all I'm not sure I'd manage to count them. There is an infinite number of nice cheeses in Switzerland, Gruyere obviously being the most famous one. Emmenthaler, however, does not qualify on my list. I've never liked it and I never will. It's Switzerland's equivalent to Grevé.

Sweden's lack of good cheese is however upweighed by an unusually great music scene, something that Switzerland lacks. Now that I think about it, I have so far only found two Swiss bands worth listening to: The Proteins and Crackerbarrel. So I guess you could say that Proteins and Crackerbarrel are Switzerland's Västerbotten and Prästost. And just like with the Swiss cheeses, the number of listenable Swedish bands is too large to count.

The question is which one of the two I love the most - cheese or music. I wish I could say music, because it makes me seem less like a fat borgoise and more like a cool hipster. But I think they break pretty even. And then there is the chocolate and the wine of course, which adds more power to the Swiss preference, and which in no way makes me seem any more cool.

I will miss the cheese and the chocolate and the wine when I leave this place, just like I miss the Swedish music scene now. I do wish that life was just a choice between cheese and music, but the truth is of course that it's not. But wouldn't it be sweet?

Swedish christmas

Came back to Geneva today, after having spent christmas in Sweden. The unlikely scenario occured that it unexpectedly started snowing the night before christmas eve. So when I opened the blinds in the morning I was struck with more than usual christmas happiness. Well, I guess you could probably say that the snow was actually the highlight of my christmas this year. Everything else was as usual an anti climax of huge proportions. The food was good and the presents too, but the day passes so quickly and it's not like it's particularly fun. Every now and then I wish that my parents lived in the city so that I could at least go out and get drunk in the evening or something like that. Instead I have to settle for sober walks with the dog.

Went to Stockholm a few days before and after my stay in Småland, and was more than a little stressed by the January sales and by the fact that my suitcase was too full of christmas presents for there to be any room for new clothes. Bought a pair of trousers, a coat, a hat and a t-shirt at Weekdays, all half price, but I desperately wanted to buy more.

Had a very annoying flight back this morning: I was met by a huge queue as I entered terminal 2 at Arlanda, and of course that queue led to the easyjet desk. I had no other choice than to join that huge queue even though I hate queuing more than anything. It took me 40 minutes to get to the counter. So, what the hell happened to self check in machines? To fast and easy baggage drop? When I finally got to the check in desk, it was pointed out to me that I had 2 hand luggages. Well, yes, I always do. Always. One rucksack and one handbag. And it has never been pointed out to me before. Or to the woman at the counter next to me. I got away with it this time, but only just. Ridiculous! About 50% of the passengers around me had two bags.

My 40 minutes of queuing left no time for taxfree shopping, which really pissed me off, because that was something I had been counting on. On top of that, the take off was delayed, which would have been fine with me if it had been announced in advance. But since it wasn't, I passed through the passport control on time, and had nothing to do during this extra wait.

Had bought a Swedish autobiographical comic book called Hey Princess at the train station, and read it on the flight in one go. It basically covers the Swedish indie scene in the 90s, and made me a bit nostalgic. Life was so easy then, and I didn't even know it.

Thought I wanted to go back to Geneva when I was in Stockholm, but once I got here I realised that I don't really want to be here either. I suppose I was longing for a change rather than for Geneva. Maybe it's the season I want to get away from, or maybe the boredom. Maybe both. Maybe what I really want is to move to Barcelona. Or something.