Where'd she get those boots?!

I am in a constant state of lust. Oh, don't worry, it's not what you think. It's...shoes. Geneva is not Paris. What I mean to say is, it's not a high fashion capital, but it is a major western European city and many of it's citizens are ex-pats, working in high level jobs at multinational corporations. That means money. And I see evidence of that every morning and afternoon on my treks to and from school with the kids. Like many women I know, I love shoes. I do not have a huge collection and I generally wear the same ones till they wear out, but who doesn't love to look? What got me in a tizzy of longing this morning was a pair of knee hi gray suede boots with a flat heel. I was sorely tempted to ask the lucky owner where she bought them, but thought better of it. Probably would have choked at the price tag anyway. One thing I would like to know about these so lushly dressed women:where do they go after dropping off their children? Laundry? Walking the dog? Dressed like that? Doubt it! I am assuming that they are not trotting off to work. More likely an espresso with other similarly shod companions. Don't get me wrong, I'm not envious, though I would love to have those boots.

Biking In Heels?

How do the Swiss get around? In Geneva, they use everything from feet to Lamborghinis (there is actually one of those parked in the garage next to our plain old leased BMW!).
In between the two are bikes, scooters, the public system which includes trams and buses, and all types of motor bikes. The public option is great. It's clean and efficient and can get you pretty much anywhere you need to go in a reasonable amount of time. A monthly pass costs about $70, or you can pay by the ride. I have had my pass checked two times since I have been here and my husband, who rides the tram to and from work every day, has not ever had to show his. I'm sure there are a few riders who don't pay, but I can't see this working in New York!
Scooters are mostly the choice of school kids. In fact, my 12 year old daughter has been begging for one. I have seen men in business suits using them, but the best had to be the tiny
blond schoolboy in his uniform clipping along on his equally tiny plastic scooter, followed by his impeccably dressed 'maman'.
I would not want to risk my health commuting on a bicycle here, but there are plenty of hardy folk who do. There are dedicated bike lanes on most major streets and you see everyone from women in heels to college students using them. How about transporting furniture, or suitcases by bike? Seen it! Gotta work off all that cheese somehow!

What's New?

I don't really mean what's new in the literal sense of the word, but my brain has been feeling very active lately, and I can only explain it by cataloguing all of the novel stimuli it has been getting. The obvious ones, like food and language, are on the list, of course, but there are also more specific things. For example,  the girls and I walk home from school on sunny days and look for the tiny lizards  that warm themselves on the stone walls of the nearby cemetery. It's autumn, so the trees (don't know what kind they are)are dropping interesting looking pods onto the sidewalk. There is a vendor selling roasted chesnuts in the town square. Haven't tried one yet, but I could probably gather enough of them myself  to roast if I felt so inclined.  I bought a bunch of sunflowers in the same square ('tournesols', answered a  fellow shopper when I asked for the French word)  for the appartment last week. The quiet in our neighborhood on weekend mornings is wonderful, but so is the chatter of school kids going home for lunch at noon. The smell of olives at the Sunday market is enough to make me swoon with pleasure. Ha! The name of the business on the side of that truck is a pun, and I got the joke! I guess I am feeling like a newborn, but the difference between me and an infant (aside from the wrinkles around my eyes) is that I am aware of the fact that my brain is behaving like a sponge, and it's a fantastic sensation.

Coconutty

Please forgive the punny title, but this is a nutty story. Yesterday was my husband's 50th birthday. Since we are far from friends and family, and I was unable to throw him a big party, I wanted to make sure he at least had his favorite cake, which is German Chocolate. Most of the ingredients are easily available here: eggs, butter, flour, etc. However, coconut, which is one of the most important, is another story. I checked a few of the larger grocery stores. I was shown coconut milk, coconut cream powder, but no shredded coconut. German Chocolate Cake is not German Chococolate Cake without coconut. So, I did what cooks did before food came in neat little packages. I bought a real coconut. I remember my father using a screwdriver and a hammer to open one up for us kids way back when, so I brought the thing home, got out the tools, and had at it. Coconuts have several soft spots (I think they're called eyes) on one end, which I pierced with the screwdriver, releasing the liquid. Then I smacked at the thing, probably shaking the whole building, finally opening up a small crack, which I prized open with the screwdriver. The scene from Castaway was in the back of my mind as I did this. If I am ever stranded on a deserted island, I hope I have a hammer with me!!
Anyway, I did not end up with shredded coconut, but I managed to chop enough to do the job. I am woman, hear me roar! The cake was delicious, by the way.