continuing with the out of date blogs...
The weekend following my trip to Montreaux (the first weekend in February I believe) was quite different. That week had seen my mom on my mend from her surgery, and her growing strength provided me with a boosted morale. So when Gilberto, seemingly on a mission to get me out of the foyer and into the streets of Geneva (not entirely sure if he was actually on a mission, but that word makes everything seem so much more important - like there is a plan involved and responsibility), invited me out - I obliged. That Friday night I agreed to accompany Gilberto and others to the Che bar. Not the real name, but an adequate nickname for the large building with a big ol mural of Che Guevera on the front. Gilberto had been wanting to go there since we first saw it, but it had been closed - and was finally reopening that weekend.
However, during a quick stop to meet others who would be joining us, the entire plan changed and we were soon on our way to Black Box. Black Box was a gallery of some sort, located on the island which had been temporarily turned into a small club for a film festival. I decided to go, figuring we had left pretty late - somewhere just past midnight - and therefore wouldn't have to stay long. I was still trying to get back into the groove of being social....oh lets face it, I've never fully fit into that groove anyways.
Black Box turned out to be quite small, maybe slightly bigger capacity than Absinthe. A Dj group, cleverly named La Vic-Team, were performing that night, and provided quite the entertainment. I don't really know how to explain it all... We walked in and there were these euro-hipster-scene girls up on stage dressed ridiculously dancing to hard industrial type techno. One girl was wearing a large white t shirt, black short short over tights with some sort of fish hat mask on, another girl in a black dress with her face painted white, and another one in a black and silver metalic leotard wearing a cat mask. The boy djs were dressed normally, while another boy was wielding a fake saw, was sometimes wearing a monster mask and had a bloody lab coat on - he was also serving super cheap drinks from the stage for only four francs. The hard industrial techno eventually switched to regular techno, right around the time I switched from drinking piss-bitter house beer to mystery (re: sangria) punch that la vic team was serving. At one point I just didn't know who to watch or what to do. On one hand, Farhad's roomates (who had joined us) were dancing up a storm, on the other hand the kids on stage were dancing ridiculously and making up their own (french) lyrics to go along with the techno, and then there was crazy naked tattoo guy (a geneva staple, should anyone come visit in the summer, I will gladly point him out to you and push you infront of him while he's trying to give out massages) peddling a bag full of sex toys and trying to get people to slap his ass. Eventually Farhads room mates got on stage to dance and later slapped naked tattoo guys ass with a paddle he had in his bag of tricks. See, entertainment mergers aren't all bad.
The next morning Gilberto came knocking and my first words were to him were 'I feel like I got hit by a bus'. After a discussion about the funeral service that he had gone to (an intern at the ILO had passed away suddenly, a friend of Gilberto's that he met here) he mentioned that there was a reggae party that night at L'usine - Geneva's dirtiest but highly popular, clubs. He was pumped to go, mostly because he had to call it an early night before, and mostly because it was a reggae party. I was reluctant, mostly because I hadn't called it a late and because I felt like I had been hit by a bus.
Now if the idea of me dancing to crazy techno music all night seems ridiculous to some of you (but probably very suiting to others) then I can only imagine how absurd it may seem to think of me at a reggae concert. I thought the same, and was mildly convinced that I would find a way out of going. But instead, as night drew in, I started to get ready and soon I was handing out sunglasses to the small group that joined us, preparing for the night that would later be dubbed 'the dark night in Geneva'.
Upon arrival at Usine, I was at first I was apprehensive; I didn't know what to expect, I didn't dance to reggae, and I felt like I was trapped in a bong there was so much pot in the air. Slowly but surely though, as more people started to arrive, I got my bearings and made my way into the crowd - not to resurface again unless to go pee or to head home - again, at some ridiculous time fairly close to sun rise. I decided not to drink or to partake in any of the craziness around so that I could actually just appreciate the atmosphere...and not feel like death the next morning.
Now there were a few things about this night that were significantly different:
The weekend following my trip to Montreaux (the first weekend in February I believe) was quite different. That week had seen my mom on my mend from her surgery, and her growing strength provided me with a boosted morale. So when Gilberto, seemingly on a mission to get me out of the foyer and into the streets of Geneva (not entirely sure if he was actually on a mission, but that word makes everything seem so much more important - like there is a plan involved and responsibility), invited me out - I obliged. That Friday night I agreed to accompany Gilberto and others to the Che bar. Not the real name, but an adequate nickname for the large building with a big ol mural of Che Guevera on the front. Gilberto had been wanting to go there since we first saw it, but it had been closed - and was finally reopening that weekend.
However, during a quick stop to meet others who would be joining us, the entire plan changed and we were soon on our way to Black Box. Black Box was a gallery of some sort, located on the island which had been temporarily turned into a small club for a film festival. I decided to go, figuring we had left pretty late - somewhere just past midnight - and therefore wouldn't have to stay long. I was still trying to get back into the groove of being social....oh lets face it, I've never fully fit into that groove anyways.
Black Box turned out to be quite small, maybe slightly bigger capacity than Absinthe. A Dj group, cleverly named La Vic-Team, were performing that night, and provided quite the entertainment. I don't really know how to explain it all... We walked in and there were these euro-hipster-scene girls up on stage dressed ridiculously dancing to hard industrial type techno. One girl was wearing a large white t shirt, black short short over tights with some sort of fish hat mask on, another girl in a black dress with her face painted white, and another one in a black and silver metalic leotard wearing a cat mask. The boy djs were dressed normally, while another boy was wielding a fake saw, was sometimes wearing a monster mask and had a bloody lab coat on - he was also serving super cheap drinks from the stage for only four francs. The hard industrial techno eventually switched to regular techno, right around the time I switched from drinking piss-bitter house beer to mystery (re: sangria) punch that la vic team was serving. At one point I just didn't know who to watch or what to do. On one hand, Farhad's roomates (who had joined us) were dancing up a storm, on the other hand the kids on stage were dancing ridiculously and making up their own (french) lyrics to go along with the techno, and then there was crazy naked tattoo guy (a geneva staple, should anyone come visit in the summer, I will gladly point him out to you and push you infront of him while he's trying to give out massages) peddling a bag full of sex toys and trying to get people to slap his ass. Eventually Farhads room mates got on stage to dance and later slapped naked tattoo guys ass with a paddle he had in his bag of tricks. See, entertainment mergers aren't all bad.
The next morning Gilberto came knocking and my first words were to him were 'I feel like I got hit by a bus'. After a discussion about the funeral service that he had gone to (an intern at the ILO had passed away suddenly, a friend of Gilberto's that he met here) he mentioned that there was a reggae party that night at L'usine - Geneva's dirtiest but highly popular, clubs. He was pumped to go, mostly because he had to call it an early night before, and mostly because it was a reggae party. I was reluctant, mostly because I hadn't called it a late and because I felt like I had been hit by a bus.
Now if the idea of me dancing to crazy techno music all night seems ridiculous to some of you (but probably very suiting to others) then I can only imagine how absurd it may seem to think of me at a reggae concert. I thought the same, and was mildly convinced that I would find a way out of going. But instead, as night drew in, I started to get ready and soon I was handing out sunglasses to the small group that joined us, preparing for the night that would later be dubbed 'the dark night in Geneva'.
Upon arrival at Usine, I was at first I was apprehensive; I didn't know what to expect, I didn't dance to reggae, and I felt like I was trapped in a bong there was so much pot in the air. Slowly but surely though, as more people started to arrive, I got my bearings and made my way into the crowd - not to resurface again unless to go pee or to head home - again, at some ridiculous time fairly close to sun rise. I decided not to drink or to partake in any of the craziness around so that I could actually just appreciate the atmosphere...and not feel like death the next morning.
Now there were a few things about this night that were significantly different:
1. While at Black Box there was an effort to seemlessly mix one song into the other. - at L'Usine the reggae DJ's would play a song, build up the audience for about 30 seconds - then cut it off.
2. At Black Box the girls from La Vic Team made up lyrics (seemingly) to the techno being played - at L'Usine there was a pretty qualified and awesome rapper for a bit of the night as well. 3. At Black Box there was lights. There weren't at L'Usine (and the darkness was only made more complicated by virtue of us all wearing sunglasses).
4. At Black Box no one seemed to hassle you while you were dancing - at L'Usine come 2 am you couldn't escape the guys that realized they were going home alone and thought that being creepy and singing in your ear and smelling of pot was going to make you suddenly realize -'now thats what i've been missing all my life! YOU'. christ.
Nonetheless, despite the two very different nights, I had a great time. It was the first time in Geneva where I felt like I had actually experienced their night life. And it was a great experience, especially in comparison to my previous weekend (not to say that Montreaux wasn't terrific, but the general mood was much better). I suppose I owe that to Gilberto, who somehow provided me the extra nudge I needed to get me out of my wallowing and into the public realm.
Now what's a blog about crazy dancing without photos?
Nonetheless, despite the two very different nights, I had a great time. It was the first time in Geneva where I felt like I had actually experienced their night life. And it was a great experience, especially in comparison to my previous weekend (not to say that Montreaux wasn't terrific, but the general mood was much better). I suppose I owe that to Gilberto, who somehow provided me the extra nudge I needed to get me out of my wallowing and into the public realm.
Now what's a blog about crazy dancing without photos?
what?
me on the tram (HI MOM!)
at the reggae party - and still with the sunglasses on
outside the foyer
Gilberto and I, we're super cool, don't cha know.That Sunday, instead of sleeping off two nights of dancing and craziness, Nadia, Maha, Rikke (one of the people I met that weekend) went to some random mountain. Now see, unlike Toronto, Geneva gets barely any snow, ever, at all, there is no snow here. At least, there hasn't been while I've been here. So to get snow, you have to go up high, to a mountain. Which we did.
At first there was talk of just going for hot chocolate. Then there was talk of going for snowshoeing. Then the talk ended and we rented two toboggans. Which deserves, of course, a picture blog on all its own.
Me and snow. (HI DAD!)
seeing as how our original intention was hot chocolate, I did not come prepared to go messing about in the snow. And smarty pants me wore my vans slip ons. Huzzah! Lets just say I was very very lucky to not have gotten more than a mild head cold the following week. And one that I chalked up to working incredibly late hours doing freelance. But that's another blog. Or actually it's not.
Unfortunately there are times where even having a great camera, you just are not able to capture the view. Maybe its because I haven't figured out how to work said camera yet. Anyways it was gorgeous, especially at sunset.
me coming down a small hill. After my multiple falls last winter in Hamilton I was a bit....scared to have a repeat performance, so I stuck to the kiddy hills.
Nadi and Maha getting ready to go down the hill. Much fun was had. (and hot chocolate was had as well)
No comments:
Post a Comment