Whatever it takes

Geneva is a funny place - one of those places that has a bit of a double personality and can't decide if it's a small town or a small city (that said it is the second or third biggest city in Switzerland ...). A couple of months ago was the "Fete des voisins" - the Neighbors' Party, where many, if not most, of the apartment buildings organised gatherings among all of the residents to mingle, shmingle and get to know one another. As you walked around the neighborhoods, the mini-"fetes" were as colourful as the people, with music, facepainting, BBQs, light apertitifs, potlucks, akward first encounters among people who think they have nothing in common, and laughter among those who have lived side-by-side for years. The building down the road even featured a man dressed as a clown and playing a banjo who, with all the kids gathered around him, went window to window serenading the neighbors who were still in hiding, calling them by name to come join the festivities.

My building did nothing. In fact, I've lived here for almost one year and have no clue who my neighbors are. There are four apartments on my floor including my own ... I've gathered that there is an African family in one of them from the amazing smells of food that are always wafting out from under their door, but the five times I've seen someone come out of that door, it's never been the same person. Once, I've ridden the elevator (in awkard silence, of course) with the man who lives right next door and we make uneducated guesses as to his current living situation judging by the female name that was taped onto his door-name plate but which has recently disappeared. No CLUE who lives behind the door on the other side.

Downstairs there's a maniac child that I hear more than see ... "mom, I want cartoons!" "get your teeth brushed" "we're taking a bath NOW" screem, scream, scream. Actually I do see them occasionally as we seem to have similar morning departure times ... I call them the screamer family. Then there's the Polish couple two floors down who have a little baby ... the three times I've seen them have allowed me to see the progression from HUGE, HUGE maybe you're-expecting-triplets pregnant belly, to honey-please-go-grab-this-quick-from-the-store, to happy-baby-with-happy-parents. Same with a Colombian couple (minus the gianormous belly) three floors down. Then there's the Portugese woman who runs the little "corner" store by the front door who I've decided has a personal vendetta out for me.

You see, she's a bit of a car-salesman type (sorry, no offense meant) at her little store, charing outrageous prices (I think she charged me $2.50 for a single egg once...) with a fakey little smile. Just on the other side of the building, however, there's a fantastic little store run by a Salvadoran woman who I'd take as my adopted grandmother ... she's great and the store is straight out of El Salvador. Naturally, on those late-night-gotta-have-it runs (which could be anytime after 19h here!), I sneak over there for my goods ... but inevitably I have to pass the store downstairs and the hawkish Portugese woman who sees all, knows exactly what I'm doing and puts on her best smile-with-a-glare look. Now she won't even say hi to me if we happen to cross paths.

This being the neighbor situation as it is, last night was all the more exciting. At exactly 5:23AM I was awaken by the sound of yelling and shattering glass ... lots of it. I knew right away that someone was breaking windows, and I figured the most likely was that someone was breaking into the Portugese woman's store. Second runner up might be the Ethiopian cafe next to that in an unlikely racist attack. Whatever the case I ran up to stick my head out the window and see what I might be able to see ... and all I saw was all the neighbors ... doing exactly the same thing. The guys breaking glass were not to be seen under the awnings, but left and right, up and down, all the neighbors were bending as far over the balconies as they could .... sexy lingerie, homely pjs, towels, half-naked ... you saw the neighbors all at their very best. I can't imagine what one walking by must have thought if they had looked up, oblivious to the glass.

Having gone back to bed for a couple more hours worth of sleep, you can bet the first thing everyone did was run downstairs this morning to see exactly what what had been the victim. I don't know what anyone else thought, but I was surprised to see that it wasn't the store nor the cafe ... it was our own doors. With everyone gathered 'round who-hawing over the three foot hole and scratched jibberish over all of the glass, I realised that, finally, one year later, something had brought the neighborhood together.