Je voudrais un iron

“Je voudrais un iron.” I said.

The man rattled back in an unintelligible language, switching back and forth, as I suppose I had, between English and French in such a manner that neither none of what he was saying could be deciphered.

With the help of a younger assistance, I finally came to the conclusion that the hotel did not own a single iron. For a second, I wanted to make up new words to describe my level of “bedazzlement” and “astonishincredulousness.”

How could a hotel not own an iron? My blue shirt hid the wrinkles, but the white one would be absolutely hideous, even when coat and tie covering 90 percent of the visible surface area.

The ironing lady would arrive at 8:30 in the morning, which I conveyed as “no good.” They made a phone call and before I knew it, they asked me to bring my shirt down and she would come pick it up tonight. I’m still a bit wary as to whether I’ll actually get it back or not, but I might actually witness an unusual display of European customer service.

It is but one of numerous mini-adventures since my arrival in Geneva yesterday evening. Who would have thought that so much could happen in such a short time?

When I first arrived, I found that my card would not be authorized by the ATM [machine] (redundant word deleted). This forced me to find a cab and ask, in my impeccable French no doubt, “Accept-tu le carte?”

The guy returned the question with a question – how far are you going?

Apparently I passed muster – little did I know that he probably just felt sorry for me after hearing where I was staying. I would soon feel sorry for myself.

My dorm room was 50% bigger, and more shockingly, the dorm bed was larger as well. When I took a shower in the morning, I thought they had forgotten to provide me with a towel. Investigating further, I found what I’ve labelled “a priority towel,” because it’s so small that you have to prioritize which parts of your body absolutely need to be dry and which ones can be left damp.

But nothing could dampen my spirit, and I quickly changed and headed out for a walk. The mountains that I could see from the cab window reminded me of how much I adore the magnificence that God bestowed upon Switzerland and that they’ve done a remarkable job of stewarding through the years.

A few fireworks dotted the horizon as I stood on the edge of the lake, gawking at the hundred-foot man-made geyser that essentially creates a waterfall in the middle of the sky.

I’d arrived on a fete national, and everyone was out to celebrate. When I realized that every individual was carrying fireworks and setting them off whether the area was clear or not, I decided I should have upped my health insurance policy. Needless to say, I didn’t linger long.

But I did catch a glimpse of a live outdoor concert – the cover of the album featured a Tonka-type truck. I didn’t get a chance to translate the title, but it surely must have been a band called “destruction” or something like that. They certainly sounded the part.

In the morning, there was a misunderstanding with the doorman. I told him where I wished to go “ je voudrais aller a rue de rive”and he pointed down the street and told me to turn “a la goche et marche deux [insert some word for blocks] et [turn] a la droit.” Quite proud of the French I’d retained, I headed on my way.

Quinze minutes later without having passed the right street, I repeated my request for assistance. This time a man showed me on a map – and I was disheartened to find that the office building I sought was less than a block from my hotel.

I would have blamed it on my French, except the receptionist actually mistook me as a francophone, asking if I preferred her to talk in French or English. The amount of bilingualism made me think fondly of Texas.

When I walked into the office and my cell phone said 8:03, I still figured I’d done pretty well; only to realize that I’d forgotten about the change in time zones. But in Europe, 9:03 is still in the top 50th percentile, if not better.

Further adventures were postponed until lunch. Again forgetting about the time change, I was surprised when a man popped his head in at 12:30 and asked if I was going to leave and get food at some point. It was already 1:30!

Like Balboa, I set out to explore (I don’t know any Suisse explorers, so I figure French is as close as I can get). I found the Palais du Justice, where I ventured into the library. I read the introduction to someone’s law thesis on the social contract of modern and then switched to an article in an ethics journal that compared the breakdown that allowed falsification of sources at the New York Times as the journalistic equivalent to scandal breaking out in the Vatican. That was the first, and probably the last, lunch hour I have spent deciphering/skimming/guessing my way through French-authored material besides “A beginner’s guide to speaking French.”

Then, my wanderings brought me to an art and history museum that housed the most gargantuan flashlight I’ve ever seen. It was about 12 feet high and 50 feet long. It had at least 100 moving parts and a light on the end. Apparently engineers from all over the world come to study this work of art.

At least that’s what the docent told me. Despite being raised in Washington DC, he came to Geneva 40 years ago for an art festival and has never returned.

Then it was on to find food. This is quite a difficult chore when none of the small bakeries accept un carte banque and none of the ATM’s accept your carte banque. Finally I gave in and changed the pounds that I had, certainly at some exorbitant rate, in order to have lunch money. A couple of tarts caught my fancy and a couple of chocolates from a place further down the street.

It was the best lunch hour I’ve had in quite a while – educational and filling.

I would have saved myself a bit of trouble had I called my bank before travelling abroad – but I’ve just taken for granted the ability to get money at any time in any place. I’ve mistakenly assumed that I’m always abroad so my card must work anywhere…

The live music festival continued tonight even within the confines of my cell– this time with an Elvis impersonator and a much older crowd. No fireworks tonight, so I reckon I’ll make it to bed earlier. Plus, yesterday I read the entire Grisham novel that I’d brought so that distraction is out of the way.

And Bree – don’t worry about her. She’s throwing a party at the flat tonight in my absence. No boys allowed.

It’s been a good day in this European capital. Maybe tomorrow I can catch the Red Cross museum before it closes. Hopefully it doesn’t cost much, because these 60 francs won’t last long and I still have to catch a cab back to the airport.

Au bientot.

Author's Note: This post has not been screened by the French grammar police and may contain errors in the French language