At a cocktail reception last Monday, I was told that, of all weekends to really get acquainted with the city of Geneva, this would be it. I took those words to heart and let go of any former Paris plans.
Instead, I followed the sounds of happy chattering and strains of music all the way to the Parc des Bastions. There were various stages in the park. A dance tent. A techno stage. A performing stage for a youth recital. And then there was a very large tent in the center of the park, where an indie rock band called Cotton Mounds was performing. I stuck around for them.
There were tents selling kebabs and rice and ice cream, all proceeds put toward different charity organizations. There were street performers, guitar-toting men, children, dogs, tourists, locals. Conversations in French all around.
It was strange and exciting. A good feeling. The kind you get when you realize that the night air is warm and everybody around you is feeling happy and heady from the house sangria.
I may even be persuaded to join the festivities again tonight.
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