And never, ever, photograph the bread

Our flight got us to the airport at Geneva around noon. My son-in-law has a proven strategy for overcoming the effects of jet lag and so, upon arrival, we had something to eat and a brief nap. When we awoke there was plenty of time for a stroll through the streets of Lausanne. When we stopped in at a shop to pick up some bread I was immediately struck by the beauty and variety of the freshly baked loaves that were on display. I instinctively reached for my camera and crouched for a better angle. As I brought the finder to my eye I became aware of someone very close behind me. The person was speaking quickly and in french, so I did not understand. I turned and there was something in the way the gentleman was gesticulating, the intensity of his wagging finger, and his “tsk-tsk” (spoken in that universal language which we all understand), that told me taking photographs of the bread was, for some reason, strictly forbidden. I was embarrassed and apologized to my daughter and son-in-law. How was I to know that Swiss bread was sacrosanct? As an expat, my daughter assured me that there was nothing to apologize for and explained that the Swiss love their rules and regulations and much of the populace will be quick to let you know, very politely, when and if you should stray. Without breaking any additional rules we did manage to purchase a few loaves of bread and some cheese for dinner. As we walked back to the apartment, and as I looked up, I saw number of delightful holiday ornaments made of what I would call chicken wire. Having worked with the stuff myself on the farm I cannot imagine how the artists who created these evocative pieces molded the wire into accurate representations of human form. Having set them up and against the sky suggested that these holiday Angels could well be flying through the air and across the city. I had never seen anything like them before.

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