It was a cool and fresh sort of night, and an inaugural one for Geneva's Night of the Museums. My friend and I went to buy
our tickets at the Musee de la Reformation Internationale, devoted to Calvin
and other Protestant reformers. It has a gilded courtyard complete with a pretty
fountain. The Night of the Museum's ticket consisted of a white
rubbery ring with “Nuit de Musees Geneve” engraved on it. What a lovely idea
but the rubber turned out to be quite uncomfortable. Inside the museum an adorable, white-haired man was giving a
printing press demonstration. His friend, a professional ink roller, assisted
him by showing us a metal block of an assembled page. I had always thought that
printing blocks were built letter by letter but I realize now that using
assembled words would be much more efficient, assuming that the words one needs
are all there! The presenter was so sweetly eager with his talk,
spouting off the number of printing presses there were in Geneva throughout history. I admit that we were a little impatient and were just waiting for him to
launch the presses. Finally, his assistant rolled the ink and
folded the wooden slabs, cranked the handle and voila
an engraved scene from olden Geneva was imprinted on the white paper.
We went on to the Cathedral Saint-Pierre’s archaeological site, a church
basement like none other: a massive sprawling thing representing centuries of
stone foundations. At least three cathedrals were built on top of each other
before the currently standing one, evident in the markedly different layers of
stone. Some layers were made of large blocks, others of little river rocks.
When it was unearthed in the 1970’s, they had found tombstones as well but the
bones were removed much to my disappointment. (My fascination with catacombs surely comes from Edgar Allen Poe's The
Cask of Amontillado)
In the Parc des Bastions, the poppies and tulips were in full bloom,
flaunting their bright orange, pink and yellow petals. Just as we arrived at
the steps of the main library, a majestic building in the middle of the park,
two women who worked there locked up the doors and told us it was closed. Even
on a night of museums, the library was closing at 7pm. Looking at the hours
posted on the door, we laughed. The library closes at 6pm every day, during
lunch hours and on Sundays! Clearly no employed resident can be making use of
the library. How I miss the New York and Palatine ones. Brimming full of books,
CD’s, movies, and open at all hours of the day! The Parc des Bastions was truly beautiful though, and so was La
Treille. The view looked like another city with the trees in thick foliage and dotted with spring blooms.
The Musee D’Histoire des Sciences turned out
to be my favorite museum yet. But to get there we had to walk through a pitch-black
path along the lake and park, where sketchy-looking men were hanging out with
boomboxes and something to smoke. It was an alarming walk but we were relieved
to hear the salsa music once we got closer to the museum. A full
salsa party was in swing at the steps of the museum, with drinks, shaking hips and seducing shoulders. The
museum itself seemed another world compared to the hot-blooded dancing just outside.
There were fascinating trinkets from the early stages of Western science: old
telescopes, a humidity measuring device that used hair as its main component,
trompe l’oeil toys that demonstrated perspective, the frilly clothes and basic
nail shoes that a famous Swiss scientist wore while scaling to the top of
Mont-Blanc.
The Jardin Botanique was further up the park. The lights
promised were faint dots along the path. A Rimbaud exhibit in the greenhouse
was closed and from we could tell, mostly consisted of words like “soif”
painted in red paint on the glass. The labyrinth was not made of actual plants
as I had imagined. Instead, there were white linen walls hung up on wooden
sticks. The “walls” were quite easy to see though and even more easily walked
through with a parting of the hand. We soon ran into two drunk guys holding
beers in the maze so we walked through many more walls for a quick exit. Sitting
on the midnight bus home, I thought of the night fondly and of a small
city that makes big cultural efforts.
