Done. Oh yeah, the intrepid traveler has taken the challenge and managed. The video I watched on Johannesburg said "If you are going to J'burg, you are not a tourist, you're a traveler." I quite agree.
My hotel is just 3km from the airport, a quick $8 taxi. But the city - well, we'll get to that - Mandela Square in Sandton was a 30 minute $40 drive. Reception at the hotel and the taxi driver both assured me there were no buses. There are buses everywhere, with mysterious names and numbers, and no whites on any of them. There is also the fleet of mini-vans, like Yerevan, running 15 passenger bus service.
I passed some very basic housing districts but the city, at least the small area I walked through, is modern, bustling, and very integrated. The upscale mall as well. It's only the buses that seem to be segegrated. And I did see a young white businessman and a middle aged woman who appeared to be waiting for a bus.
But there isn't really a city center with walking tour sort of appeal. My driver, Alfred, gave me the choices of the Apartheid Museum and the Mandela Square. I asked if I could have lunch at Mandela Square then walk or take a bus to the museum. It's 20km, he said. Yikes. Welcome to L.A. gone to extremes. I want to do a quick tourist top ten of the city and it turns out the city is really a county, or more. It's 35 km to one of the places he suggested.
I'm only here for less than a day, so I'll be content with my quick look. The people have been supremely helpful and friendly. I'm sure I look my most pathetic lost to elicit such kindness.
I ate a late lunch at the Lekgotla Dining Room at Nelson Mandela Square - a buffet of bean lentil soup, steamed bread and dip, chicken, shrimp, beef, lamb, curry and rice, sweet potatoes, vegetable blend (unidentified and scrumptious), fruit and Mango Brulée for dessert. And caffe. With a traditional African decor. A winning choice over the Thai House and Ristorante Italiano!
Tomorrow I begin 3 weeks in the DR Congo with uncertain internet access, so stay tuned. At latest will update August 9 when I get home.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Maastricht: neighbors to the north
What a commentary on neighborliness! The Flamand half of Belgium is not included in the tourist and business brochures as a part of Belgium, but labeled with France and Germany as if it were its own country, so the warmth of the Wallons for their Dutch neighbors in this charming town is surprisingly more than for their own countrymen.
We paid a short afternoon visit to this Dutch town, quaint and clean and tourist friendly, a stark contrast to the industrial working city that is Liège. This medallion on the church square marks the liberation of Maastricht on 14-15 September 1944, presented by the 30th Infantry Division Association, linking us in visible form to this place.
The church of Saint Servais has roots to the 4th century when the region was evangelized by Servais. A church was built on this site after his death in 384. Those very low numbers really work in my mind, enlarging and distorting my vision of time. It is disorienting to be in a place that has existed for so long before my coming.
The altar figure of Mary is crowded with the faithful, standing and kneeling in this small entrance chapel.
Saint Servais immediately brought a smile to my face and the image of Drew and Rachel, students who will be delighted to know they have a saint watching over them.
After a cup of tea, a taste of chocolate, and a scoop of sorbet in a sweet tea room, we crossed the working river Meuse, admiring the row of buildings along the quai, in time to see the 6:07 train to Liège rolling away. We changed money and shopped in the bookstore while waiting for the 7:07, which was of course 10 minutes late.
Our morning classes had focused on the geography of Belgium, its rural and urban landscapes and their impact on the history and culture of the country. It was Mme Gonda who cracked the joke that the resolution of the Flamand-Wallon question would come about by climate change drowning Flanders and moving the coast back to Wallonie. Flanders is flourishing with only 6% unemployment while Wallonie has 18%, yet it is Wallonie with the slate, wood of the Ardennes forest, clay, and water resources that historically made it the more prosperous region.
Madame Wéry presented the crazy organization of the Belgian education system, which makes our administrative problems pale in comparison. The bright side is the choice each student has for the secondary school focus: general course work leading to university study (medicine, law, secondary teaching), technical course work leading to the technical schools (nursing, elementary teaching, social work, engineering, architecture, fine arts), or professional course work leading directly into the workforce (mechanic, dental assistant).
The special education schools for mild to severe mental disabilities have such outstanding results that French parents often move to enroll their children in the system. But the regular student has even more choices. There are three types of schools at all levels: the official schools, which are run by the French Community, the free schools that are run by the Catholic church, and the community schools under local administration.
The education system reflects the deep divides in this small land broken by a language barrier that seems insurmountable. There are Flamand immersion schools in Wallonie and French immersion schools in Flanders, but if a bilingual Flamand and Wallon sit down for a business dinner, they speak English, as neither wants to defer to the language of the other. There is a historical resentment by the Flamands of the French speaking aristocracy that originally ran the country, hoping that the local languages of Wallon in the south and Flamand in the north would die out. The policy worked in the south where Wallon is studied but no longer spoken, but Flanders kept their language, and their resentment.
This divisiveness brings back images of the Swiss, who also have this historical divide, but who have translated their differences into unity and brokered their skills at multilingual negotiation into a salable commodity.
The news is crackling with the resignation yesterday of the Belgian Prime Minister after the parliament failed to resolve the questions under debate involving the relationship between the Flamand (Flemish speaking) and the Wallon (French speaking) Community/Region. (Wallonie comes from the Wallon language which has Celtic roots). Belgium was without a government for the better part of a year due to this conflict. There is a strong sentiment that the country should split, with Flanders independent and Wallonie attached to France. No one seems to have asked the French what they think about this plan. All in all it's a sordid dispute with historical resentments simmering and no model for a Europe seeking to collaborate while maintaining national cultural identities. The Belgians like to say that Brussels in the Capital of Europe and Liege calls itself the Heart of Europe, but frankly, there is a major cardiac arrest imminent.
We paid a short afternoon visit to this Dutch town, quaint and clean and tourist friendly, a stark contrast to the industrial working city that is Liège. This medallion on the church square marks the liberation of Maastricht on 14-15 September 1944, presented by the 30th Infantry Division Association, linking us in visible form to this place.
The church of Saint Servais has roots to the 4th century when the region was evangelized by Servais. A church was built on this site after his death in 384. Those very low numbers really work in my mind, enlarging and distorting my vision of time. It is disorienting to be in a place that has existed for so long before my coming.
The altar figure of Mary is crowded with the faithful, standing and kneeling in this small entrance chapel.
Saint Servais immediately brought a smile to my face and the image of Drew and Rachel, students who will be delighted to know they have a saint watching over them.
After a cup of tea, a taste of chocolate, and a scoop of sorbet in a sweet tea room, we crossed the working river Meuse, admiring the row of buildings along the quai, in time to see the 6:07 train to Liège rolling away. We changed money and shopped in the bookstore while waiting for the 7:07, which was of course 10 minutes late.Our morning classes had focused on the geography of Belgium, its rural and urban landscapes and their impact on the history and culture of the country. It was Mme Gonda who cracked the joke that the resolution of the Flamand-Wallon question would come about by climate change drowning Flanders and moving the coast back to Wallonie. Flanders is flourishing with only 6% unemployment while Wallonie has 18%, yet it is Wallonie with the slate, wood of the Ardennes forest, clay, and water resources that historically made it the more prosperous region.
Madame Wéry presented the crazy organization of the Belgian education system, which makes our administrative problems pale in comparison. The bright side is the choice each student has for the secondary school focus: general course work leading to university study (medicine, law, secondary teaching), technical course work leading to the technical schools (nursing, elementary teaching, social work, engineering, architecture, fine arts), or professional course work leading directly into the workforce (mechanic, dental assistant).
The special education schools for mild to severe mental disabilities have such outstanding results that French parents often move to enroll their children in the system. But the regular student has even more choices. There are three types of schools at all levels: the official schools, which are run by the French Community, the free schools that are run by the Catholic church, and the community schools under local administration.
The education system reflects the deep divides in this small land broken by a language barrier that seems insurmountable. There are Flamand immersion schools in Wallonie and French immersion schools in Flanders, but if a bilingual Flamand and Wallon sit down for a business dinner, they speak English, as neither wants to defer to the language of the other. There is a historical resentment by the Flamands of the French speaking aristocracy that originally ran the country, hoping that the local languages of Wallon in the south and Flamand in the north would die out. The policy worked in the south where Wallon is studied but no longer spoken, but Flanders kept their language, and their resentment.
This divisiveness brings back images of the Swiss, who also have this historical divide, but who have translated their differences into unity and brokered their skills at multilingual negotiation into a salable commodity.
The news is crackling with the resignation yesterday of the Belgian Prime Minister after the parliament failed to resolve the questions under debate involving the relationship between the Flamand (Flemish speaking) and the Wallon (French speaking) Community/Region. (Wallonie comes from the Wallon language which has Celtic roots). Belgium was without a government for the better part of a year due to this conflict. There is a strong sentiment that the country should split, with Flanders independent and Wallonie attached to France. No one seems to have asked the French what they think about this plan. All in all it's a sordid dispute with historical resentments simmering and no model for a Europe seeking to collaborate while maintaining national cultural identities. The Belgians like to say that Brussels in the Capital of Europe and Liege calls itself the Heart of Europe, but frankly, there is a major cardiac arrest imminent.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Heart of Europe: Belgium, a Nation of Contrasts
Jean-Marc Defays welcomed us to the University of Liège summer program and introduced us to this small and relatively young country, founded in 1830 at the end of the Napoleonic era as a sort of buffer zone, with a hired German aristocrat as King, to satisfy the English that the French were not on their doorstep. The country has 3 Communities and Regions, the northern Flanders, southern Wallonie, and Brussels, and a small German-speaking minority. This land has historically been controlled by (are you ready?) Holland, France, Austria, Spain, Burgundy, and in the earliest times, by the Germanic invaders, the Romans, and the Celts. You’d still be ambivalent about your national identity, too, with that heritage!
Dr. Wéry flies in like a Mistral wind and never slows down, animated and fluent and expert in the linguistics of the francophone Belgian Community. She teaches us some oddities of French “Belgicisms,” like “guindailles,” which are student parties or “bourgmestre” for mayor, and takes us on a tour of the pronunciation nuances of Belgian French.
Our morning classes, which take place from 9-11 and 11:30-1:30, give us a running start on the week. We meet at 3pm again for our afternoon excursion, an overview of the architecture of the Liègeois churches.
We crossed the Meuse River, flanked by buildings dating to the 16th century and plied by barges hauling wares to the commercial seaports.
Our hike also took us past this inviting stair up to the ruins of the citadel. Some of the group were inspired to come back and run the stairs: I made a mental note of the bookstore of antique books with a WWII newspaper in the window.
The church dedicated to St. Bartholomew has an unusual painted exterior and hosts this early 12th century baptismal font as well as this ancient sculpted remnant of the medieval origins. It is somehow a comfort to see this figure of the communion, a ritual that ties me to the ancient past in a long tradition of hope.
In several places the floor covering dissolves into a window into the foundations of the church, archeological glimpses into the ancestry of this place.
This saint with a book is my idea of devotion.
Saint Paul’s Cathedral soars heavenward with a graceful disdain for its age, though the fascade stone is blackened with modern pollution. The devout come to meditate beside the Christ crucified sculpted to grace a tomb or to pray at the foot of Our Lady Of Banneux, a site near Liège. The Sacred Heart that invites the faithful to contemplate the host in this altar has a singularly arresting expression. Those who come to this altar bring flowers and light candles, touching the foot of the Lord as they bow in prayer.
There is a plaque near the crucified Christ in repose that honors Bishop Kerkhofs for his work for the persecuted during the War 1940-1945, a reminder that Belgium has been Europe’s battleground in spite of its neutrality.
The St. Jacques Church dating to the 15th century has a Jacob’s Ladder sculpted above the main door and a flamboyant gothic interior, including a painted vaulted ceiling, a spectacular organ, and this Madonna from the 16th century.
The relics of Saint James the major and the minor are preserved in this extravagant reliquary dating from the 19th century.
Until the French Revolution, the city of Liège boasted over 200 churches and monasteries. Those that remain are a treasure of art, of architectural wonder, but a high maintenance burden to a city plagued with 18% unemployment. Most American cities have little experience with the budget dilemma of renovation and protection of antiquities. Imagine managing the budget of the city of Venice!
Dr. Wéry flies in like a Mistral wind and never slows down, animated and fluent and expert in the linguistics of the francophone Belgian Community. She teaches us some oddities of French “Belgicisms,” like “guindailles,” which are student parties or “bourgmestre” for mayor, and takes us on a tour of the pronunciation nuances of Belgian French.
Our morning classes, which take place from 9-11 and 11:30-1:30, give us a running start on the week. We meet at 3pm again for our afternoon excursion, an overview of the architecture of the Liègeois churches.
We crossed the Meuse River, flanked by buildings dating to the 16th century and plied by barges hauling wares to the commercial seaports.
Our hike also took us past this inviting stair up to the ruins of the citadel. Some of the group were inspired to come back and run the stairs: I made a mental note of the bookstore of antique books with a WWII newspaper in the window.
The church dedicated to St. Bartholomew has an unusual painted exterior and hosts this early 12th century baptismal font as well as this ancient sculpted remnant of the medieval origins. It is somehow a comfort to see this figure of the communion, a ritual that ties me to the ancient past in a long tradition of hope.
In several places the floor covering dissolves into a window into the foundations of the church, archeological glimpses into the ancestry of this place.
This saint with a book is my idea of devotion.
Saint Paul’s Cathedral soars heavenward with a graceful disdain for its age, though the fascade stone is blackened with modern pollution. The devout come to meditate beside the Christ crucified sculpted to grace a tomb or to pray at the foot of Our Lady Of Banneux, a site near Liège. The Sacred Heart that invites the faithful to contemplate the host in this altar has a singularly arresting expression. Those who come to this altar bring flowers and light candles, touching the foot of the Lord as they bow in prayer.
There is a plaque near the crucified Christ in repose that honors Bishop Kerkhofs for his work for the persecuted during the War 1940-1945, a reminder that Belgium has been Europe’s battleground in spite of its neutrality.
The St. Jacques Church dating to the 15th century has a Jacob’s Ladder sculpted above the main door and a flamboyant gothic interior, including a painted vaulted ceiling, a spectacular organ, and this Madonna from the 16th century.
The relics of Saint James the major and the minor are preserved in this extravagant reliquary dating from the 19th century.Until the French Revolution, the city of Liège boasted over 200 churches and monasteries. Those that remain are a treasure of art, of architectural wonder, but a high maintenance burden to a city plagued with 18% unemployment. Most American cities have little experience with the budget dilemma of renovation and protection of antiquities. Imagine managing the budget of the city of Venice!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
TGV: totally groovy vacation
Our travel day Sunday took a toll, but successfully moved us from Geneva to Liège, leaving the university residence hall at 5:50 am by bus to the train station where we boarded the TGV for Paris. Our arrival at Paris Gare de Lyon on the southeast corner of the city left us the choice of a shared taxi at 6 euros each or a metro hike for 2 euros. Being old and wise, I shared a cab with 2 others and a delightful young French driver who taught us slang all the way across town, then used my time to have lunch on the terrace of the Café de la Gare, surveyed by this high flying lady and the triumphant flag of Europe, whose union is now under French leadership for her turn in the rotating administration. The repose helped steel us for another train and then bus ride with baggage, lugged from the bus stop to the residence hall.As we have noted more than once, Dorothy, this is not Kansas any more. Where the Swiss were impeccably timely, organized, and spotless, the dorms here are reminiscent of, well, Ball State. On a Monday after Homecoming. Lisa and I share a bath between our rooms, and I will simply say that our first act was to take down the shower curtain and wash our hands. It’s been through the industrial washer and has changed complexions.
The biggest disappointment is the lack of dorm wi-fi access, due to the time it’s taken to get a login/password. The administration doesn’t understand just how belligerent 20 teachers denied internet access can get. If you’re reading this, however, we’ve resolved the problem (or I’m trucking my laptop to McDonald’s in the city for free wi-fi!) It took until Wednesday, but I have wi-fi, but only in the public foyer, not in my room, which means all my Skyping is in the 6 story echochamber of a concrete stairwell. Fortunately the speed is incredible and I uploaded all the back galleries of photos. It takes longer to upload the blog photos, so apologies for the delay time.
The Cité Universitaire is south of Liège (put the college kids as far from town as possible seems to be the logic, and welll-founded, I might add) but a direct 20 minute bus ride in and out. The town straddles the Meuse with a second arm of the river winding through the town center just to confuse things. Of course given its age the town has sprawling winding twisiting narrow name-changing streets. It will take some free time wandering to learn my way around.
We found a wonderful Italian restaurant nearby and had a terrific Sunday supper together. Marco Polo definitely has really Italian cooks and servers. A family affair, with Tiramisu Maison of the roman villa size portion. I watched Lillian and Lisa each down one and escaped with a nibble. Wow.
We will breakfast at the little cafè by the bus stop and catch the 8:15 bus for our 9am class. I am eager to meet this new community and learn more about this place, so caught between the surrounding European states.
Cows, Castles, and Countryside
After a splendid train ride along Lake Leman past picturesque villages perched on hills in patch work vineyards, we visited the demonstration Gruyères cheese factory, where the morning and evening milking is mixed and condensed into the famous cheese. Great rounds of cheese come from the thousands of gallons of milk, tested to establish over 200 flavors - clover, thyme, grass – produced by the local herds that wander the hillsides, bells clunking.
This quaint village is hosting the annual Book Fair which is of course a sorely tempting proposition. I got away with drooling over the complete history of Armenian art and a book of stories from Brittany. There was no book buying. I was dismayed that what looked like a chapel was a book exhibition, but the chateau was magnificent and well presented with a delightful multimedia spectacle. I will remember this as a childhood fantasy come true, round bedrooms in the tower, blooming gardens, mountain vistas out every window seat, and portraits of children everywhere.
The time period offered multiple painting, windows, and this display of armor, which made me think of Alan, my chained mail maker, and then of Kristy, and Eric, and Charity and Micah. How are my children, those that I cherish over time and great distance? My heart is comforted simply by thinking of them.
This one of the mama with her three girls (and the dog, Sue!) drew me in as well as the next one of the curly girl with the book. Sarah has been with me almost daily this week, and was certainly here as we left: a young musician with passionate commitment to his music wielded a rich voiced violin in the square as we passed. His gift brought her so close, backed up by the nearby alpine horn harmony that began as he finished. I thought of the other places that she has seemed to be present and to linger: Grenada in the Al-Hambra, Cornwall in the Heligan Gardens, the Sacré-Coeur of Paris. I miss my girl.
Of all the Biblical stories to recount in art here, what better choice than the raising from the dead of the Roman's daughter? This is a bittersweet joy in the wonder of this place that brings my children so close to me.Tomorrow we leave Geneva for Liège by way of Paris, a long day of travel. I’m glad to have returned to Geneva in time for the evening Mass before dinner. Time to pack and say farewell to this intriguing place.
Fireworks, Finance, and Literary Women, Revisited
We celebrated our holiday of national independence with a young professor who simply oozed delight in his subject: the history of finance. Boris Lachat’s 2 hour presentation on the history and characteristics of the Swiss banking system, again a subject normally likely to induce siesta, brought a greater awareness of this unique country and a deeper understanding of the culture and the people.
In a long line of bizarre coincidences, today’s was pretty high: during the break in this presentation I called JPMorgan Suisse seeking a notary for the Power of Attorney document required by my lender: JPMorgan Chase Bank. I ended up in conversation with their attorney, Fabienne Richard, who assured me I would not find an American notary in Geneva on the 4th of July (Consulate was closed). She recommended I try Monday in Belgium. I have my doubts, but will it my Scouting best effort. Anyway, I returned to the lecture having had my chat with a private Swiss bank. I take my schoolwork seriously.
After class Boris called his mom to get the name and number of the best notary office here – talk about having connections – but their office closed at noon, so I will indeed have to look for a Belgian American notary. Right.
After lunch we took a walking tour of the city from a different point of view, that of notable Genevoise women, led by German born historian Sabine Lorenz. We began at the Convent of Clarisse and Ste Colette de Corbie and the good sisters confrontation with the reformers, which led to their departure.
Our second stop was in front of this auberge, a restaurant and hotel run by Aimée LaCroix and her husband Pierre. A portrait has survived since the 1830s of this working woman, who though originally listed as a cook in the city rolls later had no job title attached to her name.
Amélie Munier-Romilly sought the right to study art, but was constrained by her mother’s limits during her studies in Paris. It was only later that the artist was able to transgress the barriers to her gender accessing models for corporal studies. Women generally were restricted to portrait painting if allowed to work at all. Amélie married a young pastor who agreed to her workshop outside the home ,which allowed her to continue painting while raising her four children. All three of her sons died, so it is particularly poignant to see the love poured into the portrait of her grandson.
Mme Albertine Necker de Saussure, wife of Madame de Stael’s cousin Jacques, named after his uncle, the famous treasurer of France, worked as a writer after a complex education in an erudite family with a father devoted to her travels and intellectual development. It seems she was fairly hot-tempered and outspoken, writing insightful observations even as a teenager. Yes, I see the parallel with another young lady dear to me. Albertine raised four children, observing their learning traits and writing detailed notes which later beca.me her 
Study of the Life of Women. I have not been able to verify the connection, but it seems quite likely that the death of her beloved teenage daughter which so moved her out of writing and into mourning might well have been the same 15 year old Augusta whose bust so moved me at Coppet. Albertine was the translator of Schlegel’s book into French, so they would have worked closely and met often at Coppet when de Saussure often participated in the Madame de Stael salons. I took these photos of the de Saussure home thinking of Augusta and reaching into the deep well of maternal grief.
Marie Goegg-Pouchoulin, born into a clock-making family whose politics were very progressive, only had 5 years of formal education, but was self-taught and grew into a respected voice for progressive politics. She helped start the League of International Peach and Freedom and in 1872 petitioned for and succeeded in establishing the right of young women to attend the university.
In Switzerland women did not win the right to vote until1959 in Vo, 1960 in Geneva, and 1971 in Federal elections. It was a feminist strike forcing a federal mandate that gave women in the last canton the right to vote in 1991. Imagine! Still women take home almost 20% less salary for the same job done by a man despite the constitutional equality under the law.
After dinner we hosted an unusual speaker, an American doctor and lawyer who specializes in pharmaceutical finance, in Switzerland where he lives with his Slovakian wife. He tackled the after dinner speaking assignment in French, addressing the Swiss in Europe question as well as the nature of the Swiss people and their relationships with outsiders. He works for Johns Hopkins and Columbia as well as consulting or sitting on the board for a number of companies. He talked about inventiveness and the need to keep Swiss entrepreneurs at home, since many of them found more risk-taking possibilities outside the cautious local business environment. It was an interesting visit, a different point of view to our week.
In a long line of bizarre coincidences, today’s was pretty high: during the break in this presentation I called JPMorgan Suisse seeking a notary for the Power of Attorney document required by my lender: JPMorgan Chase Bank. I ended up in conversation with their attorney, Fabienne Richard, who assured me I would not find an American notary in Geneva on the 4th of July (Consulate was closed). She recommended I try Monday in Belgium. I have my doubts, but will it my Scouting best effort. Anyway, I returned to the lecture having had my chat with a private Swiss bank. I take my schoolwork seriously.
After class Boris called his mom to get the name and number of the best notary office here – talk about having connections – but their office closed at noon, so I will indeed have to look for a Belgian American notary. Right.
After lunch we took a walking tour of the city from a different point of view, that of notable Genevoise women, led by German born historian Sabine Lorenz. We began at the Convent of Clarisse and Ste Colette de Corbie and the good sisters confrontation with the reformers, which led to their departure.
Our second stop was in front of this auberge, a restaurant and hotel run by Aimée LaCroix and her husband Pierre. A portrait has survived since the 1830s of this working woman, who though originally listed as a cook in the city rolls later had no job title attached to her name.
Amélie Munier-Romilly sought the right to study art, but was constrained by her mother’s limits during her studies in Paris. It was only later that the artist was able to transgress the barriers to her gender accessing models for corporal studies. Women generally were restricted to portrait painting if allowed to work at all. Amélie married a young pastor who agreed to her workshop outside the home ,which allowed her to continue painting while raising her four children. All three of her sons died, so it is particularly poignant to see the love poured into the portrait of her grandson.
Mme Albertine Necker de Saussure, wife of Madame de Stael’s cousin Jacques, named after his uncle, the famous treasurer of France, worked as a writer after a complex education in an erudite family with a father devoted to her travels and intellectual development. It seems she was fairly hot-tempered and outspoken, writing insightful observations even as a teenager. Yes, I see the parallel with another young lady dear to me. Albertine raised four children, observing their learning traits and writing detailed notes which later beca.me her 
Study of the Life of Women. I have not been able to verify the connection, but it seems quite likely that the death of her beloved teenage daughter which so moved her out of writing and into mourning might well have been the same 15 year old Augusta whose bust so moved me at Coppet. Albertine was the translator of Schlegel’s book into French, so they would have worked closely and met often at Coppet when de Saussure often participated in the Madame de Stael salons. I took these photos of the de Saussure home thinking of Augusta and reaching into the deep well of maternal grief.Marie Goegg-Pouchoulin, born into a clock-making family whose politics were very progressive, only had 5 years of formal education, but was self-taught and grew into a respected voice for progressive politics. She helped start the League of International Peach and Freedom and in 1872 petitioned for and succeeded in establishing the right of young women to attend the university.
In Switzerland women did not win the right to vote until1959 in Vo, 1960 in Geneva, and 1971 in Federal elections. It was a feminist strike forcing a federal mandate that gave women in the last canton the right to vote in 1991. Imagine! Still women take home almost 20% less salary for the same job done by a man despite the constitutional equality under the law.
After dinner we hosted an unusual speaker, an American doctor and lawyer who specializes in pharmaceutical finance, in Switzerland where he lives with his Slovakian wife. He tackled the after dinner speaking assignment in French, addressing the Swiss in Europe question as well as the nature of the Swiss people and their relationships with outsiders. He works for Johns Hopkins and Columbia as well as consulting or sitting on the board for a number of companies. He talked about inventiveness and the need to keep Swiss entrepreneurs at home, since many of them found more risk-taking possibilities outside the cautious local business environment. It was an interesting visit, a different point of view to our week.
Friday, July 4, 2008
United: Nations, Faiths, and Futures
After a morning presentation on the place of Switzerland within yet outside of Europe, we met the venerable Genevois fount of knowledge, Monsieur Patané, at the Red Cross Red Crescent Museum. The United Nations plaza vaunts its place with pride and pomp, yet the mesmerizing focus of the mall is the Chair.
It is literally so big as to be invisible. I read its message, photographed it, and long after actually saw the Chair. This is a word play of the gravest sort that can not escape the bilingual visitor. The Chair stands on three legs, the fourth shattered, splintered, amputated. It stands as a mute testimony to the victims of landmines globally, the innocent collateral damage left by the warriors gone off to bloody battlefields 
elsewhere, leaving behind a Hansel and Gretel trail of mutilating munitions.In French “chair” means flesh. The Chair bears witness mutely, following us with its imposing presence long after leaving its shadow.
Our winding way through the gardens of the Ariana Ceramic Museum is overhung with magnificent magnolias. Simply awesome, fragrant, enormous, a pathway lined with blooms, humming with bees, sweet with fragrance.
And then the museum of the Red Cross Red Crescent looms on the hill above us. The new wing of the museum has a quiet marker, trod on to the point of effacement, where Mrs. Reagan and Mrs. Gorbachev presided at the laying of the first stone. Overhead the red cross and crescent offer a protective shelter; the need for two symbols brings tension to the task.
Standing as if waiting their turn to enter are The Petrified. Plaque hidden behind them, these faceless victims of global injustice mutely discomfit the tourist. They appear again outside the cafeteria, waiting their turn quietly at the information desk. Unnerving in every way, they speak for those with no voice. It is a powerful witness.
The museum itself, on the contrary, cries out with the passionate power of human compassion and righteousness in the face of inhumanity. Epidemics of typhus, plague, cholera. Wars of succession, rebellion, aggression. Genocide. Documented with photographs, film, documents, instruments, files, and met with the staunch courage of human pity. Nurses under fire, doctors in the trenches, drivers on the battlefield, carrying the wounded, administering medication, bandaging, and touching. Holding a hand, caressing a brow, offering the support of a shoulder.It seems to me that the visitor here has a choice, a point of view that in effect governs one’s view of one’s role in humanity: to see the suffering, the gaunt agony, the anguish of the grieving, the overwhelming flood of disaster, disease, and destruction, and to turn away scarred, grieving, shedding tears of horror, but turning away Or to reach out to the suffering, to see the hurt and want to heal it, to roll up sleeves and wade in, looking for the task appointed you.
The museum opens with a display of human value for saving life across cultures and time periods in writing and in action. Models of this choice gaze at the visitors: Florence Nightingale, Clara Barton, Nicolai Pirogov, Henri Dunant. This place reinforces for me once again, as have so many of the sites of this summer’s travels, the reasons I have to join in the effort to bring Congolese schools into the global conversation with my students. We each have windows open before us, paths to take or ignore, chances to make a difference in the world we live and leave. My short visit here has clarified for me the task set before me, small as it may be in comparison with the heroism enshrined here.
My afternoon free sent me to the movies – no way I’m going to pay $17.50, so that’s out! – to the bookstore where I limited my take to 3 skinny storybooks and 2 fat children’s collections for school and for this project (but at Swiss prices – yikes) and then to the Cathedral where I hoped to visit the Roman archeological site. Closed 20 minutes before I got there, so it goes on my list of next time sites. Looking in the cathedral for the elusive WC, I found instead this chapel, simply stunning in the richness of the decor, a flood of color, light, warmth, an embrace of medieval faith. Restorative.As was dinner on my own, courtesy of the Swiss government, in a simply wonderful restaurant in the old city, Les Armures, actually the choice of President and Mrs. Clinton during their visit here. A fine meal, lovely service, diverse diners, and a good book.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Literary Women in Exile
Wednesday’s topics focused on language: a morning lecture on the French spoken in Switzerland, and on the regional varieties which characterize any language. After lunch at the University cafeteria, we traveled to a small village along Lake Geneva, site of the Chateau of Coppet, the manor house of Jacques Necker, the banker who tried to save the French treasury from the bankruptcy that eventually caused its downfall.
The current owners, direct descendants who winter in Paris, greeted us on our arrival. Necker’s daughter, born in Paris to this Protestant Swiss financier, became the renowned Madame de Stael, literary icon of the 18th century. Madame de Stael fled the wrath of Napoleon, who would rather have seen her run all the way to America, but had to settle for her exile to Coppet. From virtually next door to Napoleon’s France, she continued to hostess famed literary salons and to write of her exile and of her travels, in the form of published novels, essays, and as letters.I lost the thread of Germaine Necker Stael’s literary accomplishments and political stature when the tour guide pointed out in passing a portrait of an 18th century stepfather named Schegal and the bust of Augusta, made at his request when his wife’s daughter died at age 15. Her curls were caught up in a scarf headband, her soft features looking wide-eyed held mine from her corner of the room. I wondered if she, like the famous occupant of the chateau, loved to read and to write. Much of Doris Jakubec’s scholarly talk about Swiss literature went by me as I dwelt on sweet memories of literary women.
Coppet
Once upon a princess
There lived another curly girl
Sweet visage framed
Ringlets escaping a scarf.
Escape frozen in stone
at Schlegel’s behest:
another German stepdad
who grieved Augusta.
She, gone at 15, left me grateful,
in Mme de Stael’s sitting room,
for the gift of 2 more years
before my own August grief.
Coppet
Il y était autre fois une princesse
une autre douce fille bouclée
dont le visage encadré de frisettes
échappées d’une écharpe.
Fuite capté en pierre
Sollicité de ce Schlegel
un autre beau-père allemand
auquel manqua cette Augusta.
Elle, morte à 15 ans, me laissa,
de son coin du salon de Madame de Stael,
reconnaissante de mes 2 ans de plus
avant mon propre deuil d’aout.
July 3, 2008
Coppet, Lake Geneva
Switzerland
We returned to Geneva in the most lovely fashion, by steam boat across the lake. Europe’s largest lake lulled us, the heat of the sun simply torrid. It was a dreamy ride under the sparkling eyes of the Rothchild mansion high on the lakeshore, back to the city whose water jet marks the entry to the Rhone.
We stopped at the baroque tomb of a wealthy Genevois, who in return for this prominent monument donated the land on which the United Nations now occupies. He is guarded by a veritable Aslan, again. Narnia is everywhere!
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