A little bit of nonsense

(to be continued at some point…)

A bat and a shrew went to sea in a shoe;
They arrived in a land full of palm trees and sand,
And were met by a hog, whose illustrious bog
Was their home for a week full of bubble and squeak.

Now these two little friends found it hard to pretend
That they’d come all the way from the bay of Biscay,
But onwards they went with their miniature tent,
Which they pitched on a beach with a flowering peach.

Golden Crane

Here stands the house of the Golden Crane,
Where the Ancient One sang his last silvery song.
Til now, no crane has returned again
While year upon year the clouds drift on.

The sun is setting above the trees
As clear Yang-tse waters lap the shore
Of the golden-green island, a haven of peace.
But the mists of sadness will lift no more.

("translated" -by me - from a Chinese poem by Ts'ui Hao)

Reading to Translate

Part of what we have been doing in this long first term of my MA course, is considering what it means to read as a translator. It is both incredibly obvious and bizarrely surprising that the act of reading can be completely transformed by the purpose for which one reads. Of course, this is no new news. We all learned it in the first week of first year at university (if we hadn't already), when we discovered that reading for an essay necessarily did NOT involve becoming absorbed in the book from cover to cover, as one might read a novel.

But the fascinating thing about reading to translate is that in the process of the reading you discover things about your own "readings," not just of the text's layers of meaning, but of the world, people and things. And becoming aware of the way you read the world can change the way you look at things even when you're not "literally" trying to translate them from one language to another.

Even for those of us who are not translators, it could be fascinating to attempt, for a day, to place ourselves in the shoes of translators, and read people, situations, things, ourselves, as if we are trying to translate them…be it into another language, another landscape, another culture, another person's worldview.

Tipperary

It's been a long time since I've been properly posting on this blog. For a variety of reasons, not because I haven't had time or anything to write about!

One thing that I have, most recently, been meaning to blog about has been the new discussions between the Vatican and the Church of England/Anglican Communion. I was thinking about what to write on that topic, but then I saw Rowan's speech from this week in Rome. And I realised that this speech manages to sum up what I, and I think it would be fair to say, many of the ecumenists I have met in the past year, have been wanting to say about ecumenical dialogue, but haven't quite dared to.

Have a read for yourselves!

More posts on the way soon…

Other peoples' words

Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening
into the house and gate of heaven,
to enter into that gate and dwell in that house,
where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light;
no noise nor silence, but one equal music;
no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession;
no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity;
in the habitations of thy glory and dominion,
world without end.

(after John Donne 1571-1631)

In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, 0 Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?
Yet, 0 Lord God most holy, 0 Lord most mighty, 0 holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.
Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, 0 God most mighty, 0 holy and merciful Saviour, thou most worthy judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from thee.

(BCP)

Almightie God, we geve thee hertie thankes for this thy servaunte, whom thou haste delyvered from the miseries of this wretched world, from the body of death and all temptacion. And, as we trust, hast brought his soule whiche he committed into thy holye handes, into sure consolacion and reste: Graunte, we beseche thee, that at the daye of judgement his soule and all the soules of thy electe, departed out of this lyfe, may with us and we with them, fully receive thy promisses, and be made perfite altogether thorow the glorious resurreccion of thy sonne Jesus Christ our Lorde.

(BCP, 1549 version)

Take him, earth, for cherishing,
to thy tender breast receive him.
Body of a man I bring thee,
noble even in its ruin.

Once was this a spirit's dwelling,
by the breath of God created.
High the heart that here was beating,
Christ the prince of all its living.

Guard him well, the dead I give thee,
not unmindful of his creature
shall he ask it: he who made it
symbol of his mystery.

Comes the hour God hath appointed
to fulfil the hope of men,
then must thou, in very fashion,
what I give, return again.

Not though ancient time decaying
wear away these bones to sand,
ashes that a man might measure
in the hollow of his hand:

Not though wandering winds and idle,
drifting through the empty sky,
scatter dust was nerve and sinew,
is it given to man to die.

Once again the shining road
leads to ample Paradise;
open are the woods again,
that the serpent lost for men

Take, O take him, mighty leader,
take again thy servant's soul.
Grave his name, and pour the fragrant
balm upon the icy stone.

(Prudentius, Tr. Helen Waddell.) Howells' setting of this text was part of the repertoire of my first tour with Selwyn College Chapel Choir, to Scotland, in 2004.

This is the night…

Permit me to be a little liturgical in this Easter season…

One service whose magic many churches manage to miss out on for the sake of a few inattentions is the Easter Vigil. Here's the order it went in where I was this year, with some annotations…

1. The people gather around the new fire (which is already lit) outside the church.

Two things are unfortunate about this: firstly, everyone should see the flame being kindled from nothing, to mark the moment of new light. Secondly, the fire should only come *after* the darkness. Which means definitely not at the beginning of the vigil.

2. The newly lit Paschal Candle, with its pins in, is processed into the church and 'The Light of Christ' is chanted three times, increasing in pitch, while the people's candles (which must be new ones) are lit.

At this point there should be no light in the church. Not even in the organ loft!

3. The Exultet is sung

This is well and good, but two things are important: firstly, that it is sung with all the right words, and secondly that it is sung with meaning (that means understanding what is being sung and singing it with poise and atmosphere). THIS is the night.

4. The vigil readings

These should come right at the beginning of the service, before number 1. above. They should be read while the church is in complete darkness, with only a tiny light for the reader to see with. There should be seven readings. Seven. Not four.

5. The vigil psalms

These should be sung to plainsong, including tonus peregrinus where appropriate. They should not be sung to anglican chant (too pretty) nor responsorially, please. Most importantly, the psalms are NOT to be followed with anything resembling 'Glory be…', since these are forbidden words from Maundy Thursday until Easter and may not rise again until Jesus does.

6. The Gloria

After the vigil readings and psalms, it is either Easter, in which case numbers 1 and 2. may follow, and a MASS. Or, it is considered not yet Easter, in which case the service should conclude (possibly with the Exultet but I am not convinced by this theory).

If it is Easter, then after 1., 2. and 3, there follows the Gloria, which, being (as I mentioned before) the first risen Gloria since Maundy Thursday, should be accompanied with the switching on of the lights in the church (or the rising of the sun, if vigil at dawn), an organ fanfare and, as long as Maundy Thursday was properly celebrated*, the ringing of bells for the first time. The people's candles should not be extinguished until this has happened.

This is the celebration of the resurrection, with light and music bursting through the darkness and silence of the first 'vigil' part, and from this point it is definitely Easter. There follows the First Mass of Easter, including as many allelluias (sung and triple) as possible - this word hasn't been said during the entirety of lent!

At the habitual place in the mass, baptisms, renewal of baptismal vows, blessing of the new water, and so on, may take place. Where I was this year, however, more was made of the water than of the fire. Which is a bit of a confusion.

Ideally, the entire thing takes place not in the evening of saturday, but very early on Sunday morning: "And very early, they came to the tomb…"

I don't know of any church that does all of this entirely as I have described it, though I hear from John that such a place does exist. I do know some places that come quite close to getting it right, and when they do, it's among the most moving services of the year. Quite appropriately, I would say: after all, what more miraculous than the moment of the resurrection?



*On Maundy Thursday when the gloria is sung for the last time, the bells should be rung with glee, and from then on remain silent (the organ also remaining silent from this moment on) until the first Gloria of Easter.

'Direct' translation

Suppose we have two trees. They are exactly the same size.

This tree is as big as the other tree.

Cet arbre est aussi grand que l'autre.

Supposing one is larger than the other…

This tree is bigger than the other tree

Cet arbre est plus grand que l'autre

Supposing one is 100% larger than the other. It's 200% of the first tree's size.

This tree is twice the size of the other tree
This tree is twice as big as the other tree

but…
Cet arbre est deux fois plus grand que l'autre

which is like saying 'two times bigger' and suggests that the tree is not 200% but 300% of the original size…doesn't it?

French has a strange sort of logic :-)

Faith and Hope, and…?

This year in the office we are thinking a bit about what the meaning of Hope is. So here's a bit of a puzzle for you all (with no offense to the dear babies and family)

Last week, conjoined twins were born in London. They were named Faith and Hope. Today, the BBC reports that after the operation to separate them, Hope died.

Now what I'm wondering is what persuaded the twins' parents to call them Faith and Hope? And what determined which twin got which name? Did they have faith in Faith and only hope for Hope?

Did their decision about the names in some way determine the fate of the babies, or vice versa?

It intrigues me that Faith continues to survive while there turned out to be no hope for Hope.

I also wonder what happened to the third baby, Love, who never even existed. Is it because the greatest triplet is missing that the others are failing to thrive?

English: fluent

At work at the moment I am receiving the first few applications for one of the programmes that I will be running next summer. This particular programme is open to participants from all over Europe (and possibly even beyond) but will be run in English, and we are asking participants to apply in English.

One of the applications I received today declared itself to be from an applicant whose English was 'fluent'. Don't get me wrong, it was very good. But fluent it certainly wasn't. In particular because in formal statements of the applicant's experience I frequently found this word: "coz".

I've always wondered how one is supposed, on such applications, to state one's level in a language when the goalposts are not declared. After all, this particular applicant surely does have an English more 'fluent' than most of his(her) counterparts. Someone should invent a solid measurement of language level. And no, I don't mean an exam.

140-character creed

David Ker set up a challenge ten days ago. George followed suit, and Jane tagged me as one of her challenged few. So here we go. The idea is that I should create, in 140 characters (the length of a 'tweet' and worth c. 4€ to a translator) a statement that every Christian could confess, and such that, were someone to confess this sincerely, one would:

1. Consider them to be a brother or sister in Christ.
2. Believe that they are true believers and inheritors of eternal life.

I am also required to pass this challenge on to five people. I challenge:
Catherine, Cecily, Louisa, Iain and Daniel

Doubts about this exercise aside, I offer the following:

God is one, Holy, Mighty and Immortal,
who died for us, rose for us, and will return for us.
This is our God, and we are His people.

Or

We are sons and daughters of God,
Inheritors through Christ of the Kingdom of Heaven.
One in the Spirit,
Channels of peace, hope, and love.

Life, death and Christmas cards

Probably, I shouldn't have been quite as enthusiastic about the snow in my last blog post.
Probably, it would have made no difference.

On Monday evening, as I was driving together with my colleague to Lyon on the "Autoroute Blanche" (so aptly named) we encountered some black ice (isn't it already clear that those two things don't mix well?!) and after hitting the motorway barriers three times, managed to emerge from a largely wrecked Peugeot in one piece. For which we were extremely thankful.

It was an adventure the full story of which does not need to be told here. Not least, it brought us to confront many thoughts that we wouldn't usually otherwise have. It brought me to reflect on all the blessings of my life, and on many happinesses that are taken rather for granted. And of course with that it made me think about the risks that we take every day. It's not as if we were recklessly driving at great speed. Nor, I suspect, were the 9 other drivers that day whose car ended up in the same state as ours did, in the same area of rural France. But chance, or whatever you like to call it (providence? God? fate?), decided that that day, we were the ones whose journey would not turn out quite as we had intended it.

It is probably the most strange experience I've had, those split seconds during which you realise that you are about to crash, and have absolutely no idea what is then going to happen, where you will be, how you will be, whether you will be.

Afterwards you have time to think. To think about all the "what if" questions. But in those moments you don't have time to think of all those, or anything except to be scared. Not scared of dying. Only scared of the million possibilities somewhere between status quo and death. Scared of the unknown.

Of course, we can avoid the unknown by avoiding 'all' risks but life is all about risks and reducing them too much just means we miss out on many great experiences. And sometimes, being 'sensible' doesn't stop you from coming into an encounter with all those things you would rather not consider.

Although this wasn't originally going to be a post about death, but rather about being thankful for life, it nevertheless reminded me of this year's CEC Christmas card. It's a controversial design, 1990s artwork, which draws a picture that must be intentionally designed to make disturbing links between life and death, love/happiness and evil/darkness. It portrays the nativity, in black and white. In the foreground, the baby, whose swaddling bands are distinctly skeleton-esque. It is watched over by Mary, hooded and with a blank face, a spectre. Behind, in the shadows of the stable, stands a 'shepherd', typical image of the messenger of death, with a staff. And to indicate that we are in a stable, in the back there is something like a 'fence', which appears as an instrument of eight daggers.

Should I assume that on Monday evening, such a messenger of death decided to play games with me? Might the shepherds be sent on missions by God to remind us of our earthly attachments?

If so, they got me thinking, for sure. But they didn't manage to worry me.

Let it snow…

Today I returned from Brussels to Geneva by train. It was a smooth trip on the TGV and not too crowded. It had been trying to snow in Brussels, and as soon as we got outside the city, the entire Belgian countryside was white. As I crossed France, the white continued…in some places, it was snowing or sleeting onto green fields, and in some places it was snowing or sleeting onto white fields. In any case, almost all the way it was snowing in some form or other, or had done so. And I arrived back to Geneva in a sort of snow-flurry that will probably settle by the morning. I wonder how often the majority of the continent manages to get snow all at once...

Here's a picture of snowy Belgium:

Songs and memories

Last Monday, as I was walking to the ecumenical centre to go to this service, I thought about what one would choose to sing at a service to celebrate arrivals and departures. And I thought, aha, I suppose the appropriate thing would be "One more step along the world I go…" and indeed, it was. It's a song that has particular memories, because the very first time I sang it stuck (for a reason unknown to me) in my head. But that was not such a surprise, since I sing it often enough.
More surprising was the second song-related moment of remembering that happened to me this week. On Friday evening, as one does, I found myself in Brussels, practising hungarian songs with a bunch of hungarians for a mass this morning. A couple of the songs turned out to have familiar tunes, indeed, to be Hungarian versions of songs I knew (including "Seek ye first the kingdom of God"…). One of them was the round "Jesus, we adore you, lay our lives before you…" It's a song I haven't heard, sung or even thought about for years. Probably more than a decade. But singing it took me right back to my childhood, and many good memories about that time that I haven't revisited for ages.

It happens with music like it happens with smells and numerous other kinds of things…ah, the wonders of the human mind…

Swiss things…

Shopping in Switzerland is generally rather disappointing compared to the experience in other countries. However, one thing is certainly more exciting here than in some places: yogurt.

The Swiss seem to love strange yogurt inventions, so in the yogurt row of the supermarket you can usually find coffee, coconut, chocolate brownie, linzertorte, mulled wine and other rather unusual flavours. Today I tried Apple Strudel…with bits of apple and raisins in. A strange but tasty experience, and even with a brief history of Apple strudel on the inside of the pot (in three languages, bien sur).

Tales from Grand-Saconnex #1

So another month has gone by, and it's hard to believe that I've already been in Geneva 3 whole months. The reason I didn't write for the whole of October was not really for lack of things to say, but because most of my time was occupied with moving into this flat (finally), which involved not only doing all the paperwork, but also physically moving a whole flat-worth of furniture across town with just a small van and some willing friends…and then arranging phone line, internet, electricity, and all that. We still need to put the lights up…

Still, it all worked out and Johan (a Swedish intern in the communications office) and I are now settling in to our rather nice new abode, which is on the 5th floor, with a balcony, and just 3 minutes from a supermarket and 5 minutes from work…could be a lot worse. There's also a pub just down the road, and we're only 15 minutes walk from the airport. And the neighbours seem reasonable–what more could we want?

Amongst all that I managed to join a second choir, which hasn't started rehearsing yet–more of it when that happens. I also spent 3 very cold days in Frankfurt for a meeting, and three days on holiday visiting Prague for the first time (which was most beautiful, especially with all the autumn colours).

Posts to follow on more exciting topics once I get some more time to write creatively :)

The Ecumenical World in 2029…and other new experiences

So, the Future Conference happened (and Geneva wasn't destroyed by the big bang while we were gone, to my great disappointment). It went smoothly, if not exactly the way we imagined it would, and we all had a good bit of fun (and an appropriate dose of frustration) trying to imagine CEC and the European Ecumenical Scene in 2029. Feeling that the creative possibilities had not been sufficiently explored by the participants, I drew 11 pictures related to the conference theme. Maybe one day I will publish them, but not right now (I don't have a scanner, quite apart from anything else).

Back in Geneva, it turned cold. The heating wasn't on at home or at work for several days and instead it was time to don scarves and fleeces and talk endlessly about how the autumn had arrived. There are also 6 new kittens at the ecumenical centre, which have been a common topic lunchtime conversations. They are exceedingly cute. AND the biggest news of the week after the conference was that we HAVE A FLAT. Now I shouldn't shout too loudly about that, because we haven't yet signed the paperwork. But, and we've been assured at least four times now, everything is in place for us to move in October and it's roomy and it's near work and I've *even* found a lovely family who are willing to sell us all their worldly possessions (by which I mean, mostly, furniture). So we are…nearly…sorted…*PHEW*

In fact, just around the time that I was feeling sad on account of not being able to go and sing for this with Selwyn choir, I also managed to join the English church choir here in Geneva, which seems to do some fun things, at a good standard, and where (the world is a small place) I immediately got introduced to an ex-Selwyn Organ Scholar. Geneva really is just a big melting pot. It's not managed to melt me yet though :)

After my completely crazy week of being out all the time, and the exhaustion that followed the Future Conference, I have not really been up to much recently. However, I have been busy arranging things related to our flat, thinking about holidays for later in the year, and suchlike important matters. And sleeping, which my brain tends to need after a day battling with financial support applications and constructing a website…
I have also managed to attend my first Geneva-ish event, which involved going to the International Conference Centre yesterday evening and hearing Joschka Fischer, a German political whizz, talking about the Role of the E.U. Quite interesting, especially his reflections on the current crises in the world, and where the EU stands in relation to those. A wise man indeed.

That's enough for now ;-)
I leave you with this remark…

Isn't it disturbing that Googlemail succeeds in reading the contents of your inbox so as to generate relevant advertisements? It unnerves me.

Big Bang, Geneva. Be there or miss out (on the black hole)

This week in Geneva: "could unlock the secrets of the universe"

See here


I thought the answer to the universe was 42. But maybe it's a special kind of 42…

Future + Conference = Now

When people asked me what my job was in Geneva, I tended to say it was about helping to organise one conference which is happening next July. As usual, this is only a sort of truth…in fact, there are several stages in preparation for that one big conference. The first preparatory event is happening this coming week, and is called the Future Conference. Essentially, it's about the future of our organisation, and the ecumenical movement in Europe in general…as if that could be solved in 3 days ;-)
Realistically, though, it's us trying out a 'futures workshop'. We've got a bunch of international, intergenerational, intergeneric participants. And they're going to set their ideas flowing onto the walls, floors and ceilings of the conference centre, as far as I've understood. I did ask if we needed to take pasta shapes for increased collage potential, but apparently this is not required. Still, it should be exciting to observe (if not so much to administrate…) and I will hopefully be able to write something a bit more detailed after it's happened. Who knows, maybe the world's problems will be solved…

In Chamonix I saw a Tree…

At 11.15 I was in central Geneva. 10 minutes later, the tram dumped me outside a building which, had I not known better, would have looked like a station that had not been in use for a good ten years: the Gare des Eaux Vives: a French railway station in Switzerland. This is not the kind of place one expects to find in Switzerland, least of all Geneva, indeed the last time I saw a station even vaguely similar was in the middle of absolutely nowhere, in rural France near Le Puy... Still, in I went. Inside was a lino-floored hall containing six orange plastic railway seats and a pay phone. One door led to "acces au quai" and the other to "espace vente". There was no-one to be seen, no departures board, and no announcements, just a printed timetable on the wall. The railway line was overgrown, and there was an automatic ticket machine that looked like it had been there since the 1960s. Actually, it almost certainly had. Anyway, since I didn't have a ticket yet, I went through to the 'espace vente' and sat in the waiting area while an old man conversed with the one man in the ticket office about various journeys he wanted to make at some stage, and whether he could have a senior fare and a first class seat. Eventually, he finished his long ramblings. I bought my ticket for Chamonix-Mont Blanc and was told to wait patiently and that the train would be on platform 1 (which was no surprise, as there was only the one platform in use). Feeling slightly as if I had taken a step back in time, I popped to the boulangerie across the road to purchase some lunch, and then gathered with the few other people who had turned up in the waiting area. There was a sign fixed to the wall on our way out to the platform that said "Customs: nearest manned border Moillesulaz. Permission to pass with: valid ticket for travel; goods: nothing to declare." Since we then didn't pass any kind of border on the train, I guess that WAS the border.
At 12.01 a train pulled into the platform. There was no announcement, but we hopped on, and one minute later, it left. There weren't many people, so the train was quiet and I enjoyed reading my book and watching the countryside get steadily prettier as we headed towards the alps. Until, that is, one of the in-the-middle-of-nowhere stations, where a rather bizarre Tunisian man got onto the train. People often decide to talk to me on trains, and this was bound to happen at some point on the journey. In this case, it was because I was reading a book and therefore, he surmised, I must be intelligent and able to help him with his life's problems (uh-oh, thinks I, but by now it is impossible to pretend I don't understand French…). So the guy proceeds to launch into telling me his entire life story (which I will spare you) which, in short, involved a rather complex problem with some french bureaucracy (quel surprise) and ask me whether I think that he will be successful in his fight against said bureaucracy's injustices. So I told him that logically he was in the right but his chances of winning were slim. This seemed to satisfy him, and as he was only travelling two stops, he had to get off the train again. So I was able to return to my book, and the mountians, for a few minutes, before getting off the train at St Gervais Les Bains, and changing for the little mountain train to Chamonix (via some exciting viaduct scenery). At Chamonix, Helen was there to meet me and take me to her little chalet in le tour, together with her mother, uncle and walking-friend-with-broken-leg, Nick. I heard all about their last week of glacier-climbing, and accidents (yes, plural!) and then the adults headed off to take Nick to the airport, and Helen and I drank tea, watched Walk the Line, chatted and watched the rain pour down outside, before the adults were back and we went to eat lots of cheeeeeese in a restaurant just down the road. And sleep. It was just what I needed after a busy week, lovely to see Helen, and in nicer weather would be a beautiful place indeed. Hopefully I might make it back again in the ski season ;-)

An ecumenical monsoon

This last week was rather a deluge in many ways. So much so, in fact, that I didn't open the fridge once between last Sunday evening and this afternoon. Here's why…

First, on Sunday evening, George(ina) arrived to visit for the week. She had just been in Taizé where it transpired that she had been ill nearly all week…and had come to discover the delights of the ecumenical centre and the genevan bookshops. So we had some dinner and a natter to catch up on everything that had happened since we met in london in April.

Secondly, on Monday, two new staff arrived in the office as well as many more coming back from holidays. One of these was Johan, the other intern, from Sweden, with whom I am eventually supposed to be sharing a flat. Also, the arrival of all these extra people, coupled with it being only a week before our conference and less than a week before the big Press Officers' meeting that the communications office were orgainising, necessarily meant that things got rather busier than they had been. Johan's arrival meant an invitation to eat homemade Italian at Luca's place (a good excuse for him to tidy up, apparently…) so we had the first of several crazy evenings with Sma, George, and Johan (and Luca). Yum.

Tuesday brought more stress in the office and not much excitement otherwise, although in the evening we went to Smaranda's for pizza. Which was tasty. And a good giggle. Especially as there were two large, and apparently Swedish-speaking, moths in Sma's very small apartment. Source of endless amusement…

Wednesday was raining. Hard. With thunder and lightning. And we finally got enough things working on the database for next week's conference, that we were able to create 90 individual PDF files, and attach them to 90 individual emails, together with various other attachments and a personalised blurb to go along with them. Inevitably not to be read, let alone understood, by most of those 90. Could be interesting next week! Of course, sending these things took rather a lot of time, and since the info wasn't finalised until after 4pm, this meant that (having taken a break to go and visit a flat-in the pouring rain) we didn't finish til 9. I finally went home (in the pouring rain) and found Katja and Anne-Laure still having dinner, and was lucky enough to be offered some of their yummy dinner.

Thursday was still pouring with rain, and we had website training for how to put things into the new website. Which was in a computer room with fluorescent lighting and old, fuzzy screens. Very unpleasant, and not really what we wanted on a day when we still had much to prepare for next week…but useful, of course, all the same. Stress levels were high and it was nice to be able to escape (in the rain) in the evening to have dinner with Jane and Steven in a "real house". Tasty and fun, and much chat of blogging and things ecumenical :)...and Glasgow (thanks to George).

Friday *phew* was Friday and, miracle of miracles, I even managed to make badges for next week. Wonders will never cease. Johan and I also visited *another* flat, and then Sma took us to Yvoire, which is a cute little medieval town on the lake (in France) where we sat at a mini table and ate crêpes. And laughed a lot :)

Saturday was also raining. I was not very impressed, and was even more disgruntled after a confusing conversation with the lady who runs this house about whether or not she might or then again might not actually book me in for the whole year. Anyway, saturday eventually saw me take a train to go to Chamonix, and that's a story for another post…