This blue marble

– and yet it spins


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Bones to build a temple on

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His name is long vanished, but his bones still defy time. He was a chief and buried by his villagers high atop a hill. He was mourned, remembered, and worshipped. Temples were built and rebuilt over his body while his identity and story faded. Maybe he was a great man; or maybe he was a feared man? Perchance he was a wise man, or simply a human with kind, compassionate eyes?

Today his burial site is still worshipped, in an unbroken lineage going back two thousand years. Today he lies underneath the Cathedral of Geneva, right under the altar area.

Chance, perhaps; or perhaps not?churchfloor

(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)


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Fondue on a frosty night

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It was cold, frosty cold, and as we ran from the tram to the lake the rain chilled us to the bone. We stumbled down on the pier in pitch-blackness, holding on to the handrail and hurried towards the old spa in the middle of the lake. We dove inside and were instantly surrounded by chatter, heat from huge coal fires, and the lovely scent of fondue au Crémant, a Swiss fondue made with sparkling wine. Fingers and cheeks thawing we swirled our bread in the cheese, blissfully forgetting the chill outside.

Nothing better on a frosty night than fondue at Bains des Paquis, at the prettiest corner of the Lake Léman. If you stroll down at daytime you may even discover a little secret: the beach sand is not sand at all, but crumbled little sea shells. A little secret of this world, just like splashing sparkling wine into a fondue.

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(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)


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Afternoon tea by sunny lake Geneva

Geneva-2Blinded by the rare December sunlight sparkling on the lake we slipped into Hotel d’Angleterre for an afternoon treat. There were silk napkins and silver teapots and a single blue flower in a glass. There were towers of sandwiches and cakelets and creamy fluff. The sun rays danced around the tables as we sipped our steaming hot darjeeling from rosy bone china.

And I felt an overwhelming gratitude for being allowed to call this extraordinary person my friend, in a world never too big for an occasional cup of tea together on a Sunday.

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(Geneva, Switzerland; December 2013)


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Looking for life on Bourbon street

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We strolled down Bourbon street, lost in film noir scenery. Neon lights and shadows surrounded seedy bars, where night people searched for the spirit of life, or tried to forget the very same. Never-minding the shades of craze between the Dungeon and strip clubs, we slipped into the Preservation Hall to witness a bunch of age-grayed cool cats jam the night away.

And the desperation of living faded in the face of pure light and true joy of being alive. They say clichés are true. Oh! such a lovely cliché is jazz on Bourbon street!

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(New Orleans, Louisiana, USA; December 2013)


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Loving quirky N’awlins

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New Orleans rocks. Where else can you spot a wolf playing the fiddle in the middle of the street? Where else can you ascend to a state of bliss by yummy creole food, every day?

And where else can you see a ghost lady walking on the top floor balcony of the most beautiful building on Bourbon street, brimming with centuries worth of anger at her infidel husband – whose mistress she first invited for tea and then buried alive in the wall?

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(New Orleans, Louisiana, USA; December 2013)