I don't get Geneva. Every time I visit it, for one weird reason or another one, I notice little things that revulse me.
The opulence of the window shops, not one seemingly devoted to items one would NEED as opposed to DEISRE. The senile white couples walking down the lake promenade, wrapped in fur coats and expensive jewels, the very same ones that desperately need migrants to clean up their houses, but refuse to naturalize them even after decades they have lived in the country.
And tonight, as I looked for the room service menu in the vaguely 1970s bedroom I am staying, I noticed a thick magazine staring up at me, entirely devoted to rich Russians coming to the city to SPEND. Not to rich people in general. Or to Russians, Germans and Americans. No. JUST Russians. Or, more precisely, the siliconed wives of the Russian economicentsia.
A town that survives solely thanks to the spending itches of oligarchs' toy-women is a town that gives me the creeps.
Thankfully, the minibar contained my old friend gin. Geneva sounds like gin + Eva. The perfect liquor and the original sinner. The combination was so promising, so how did it all go wrong?
3 comments:
You are back with a bang!
So thrilled to welcome you back to the world of blogging, and this one was well worth waiting for -- I particularly loved that phrase "the siliconed wives of the Russian economicentsia" -- indeed, I loved that last word. Brilliant! Oh, and that throwaway phrase "the spending itches of oligarchs' toy-women"... It almost made me want to join you in watching them stroll by in their furs and jewels...
I'm afraid we're going to have to keep Lady V permanently in London if her absence makes you write such inspired posts!
Sounds absolutely VILE. Get yourself back to sensible old Milan forthwith...
Horrid city. At least they serve the G and the T.
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