Banana me...

This might just be the most hilarious thing that has ever happened to me, and I almost fell off my bike laughing when it happened (although it was slightly less amusing as I was carrying my bike home…). In any case, it all started out one not so fine and not particularly sunny day when I, in a dearth of pretty much anything edible whatsoever in my little monk’s cell, determined to go grocery shopping on my way back from an appointment I was convinced I had but actually didn’t. I managed to collect the essentials (or ‘the usual’, as I pretty much always buy the same things…), pay, and in true German style pack everything in my backpack before the checker was done checking (if you’ve ever been to Aldi and in danger of having your purchases more or less pushed off the counter for not being fast enough, you’ll know what I mean). Everything fit except the bananas and the baguette; I had managed to stow the heavy, indestructible objects a the bottom of my backpack, the box of fresh figs on top (PS, for those of you in Switzerland, currently ‘en action’ at Migros this week), and in true German fashion had even brought my own plastic shopping bag in case it didn’t all fit in the backpack (again, veterans of deutsche Discountmärkte will know that additional bags cost money). Under the weight of my several kilos of müsli, coffee, carrots, milk, and god knows what else I bought I stagger outside, unlock my bike, push the bike across the street so I am set up to start riding in the direction, jump on, start riding and…

…that’s when it happens. I often boast of being able to transport much of anything on a bicycle, as if dangling all manner of baggage and accoutrements looking like I’m carrying all my earthly possessions in one go is some kind of virtue despite looking utterly ridiculous. So I figure one backpack, one plastic shopping bag would be no problem. And it usually isn’t: ask me about transporting a flat of strawberries, several watermelons, or bottles of wine and we can talk about ‘difficult’. In any case, I start off, and in the first five or so yards as I am gaining equilibrium, the bag dangling from my handlebars keeps touching the spokes, generally just making a terrible noise and damaging the bag for which I at one point paid money. All of the sudden, pendulating as it was, the bag suddenly swung into the spokes with enough force that the bag was essentially grabbed and swallowed by the front wheel like a wood chipper, as my bike manages somehow, in the space of about 8.2 seconds, to puree five bananas and half a baguette before I could get stopped and sort it all out. Unfortunately, this had already broken a bracket on my fender and managed to wedge the thingie holding on to the bracket under the front wheel, meaning I had to literally carry the bicycle—dripping banana—home in heels.

LATER THAT DAY: I did manage to fix my bike, but it involved taking off the brakes to get to the fender to get to the bracket to put it all back together again. Go me. And I have no bananas left ☹

...enter the bicycle

I’m pretty sure the species of small children are closely related to the species of zombies: as soon as you have been discovered by a small child, particularly one of an inquisitive nature, its face breaks into a lopsided grin and it begins to stagger towards you, its motion unhindered by and unheeding of obstacles in its way. You may observe the Zombie Effect when riding a bicycle through the park: all of the sudden, garishly clad small creatures start wobbling, scenting a live one and moving in for the kill. As a person, I love children and I love dogs, but as a bicyclist, the two things I hate most are… children and dogs. Dogs on their own are bad, but as soon as they figure out you’re bearing down on them at 20 kph they move out of your way; the only problem is knowing where they’ll go. The only hitch: dogs on leashes. The dog notices you’re coming, and often the owner as well—and then the owner goes left and the dog goes right and you get clothesline. Children are worse; they lack the situational awareness, keen senses and self-preservation instinct of your average pooch, they move erratically and you have no idea in which direction they will move next—and unlike dogs, they often don’t respond when you call them.

Biking in Geneva has been fun. Compared to Germany the place is either a biker’s paradise or anarchy, depending on your view. In Germany, it’s considered a moving violation to cross ON FOOT against a light; therefore, the joke is, it’s always the Germans waiting at a deserted streetlight at 3 AM for the light to change. Doing so on a bike can cost you 90 euros. I couldn’t imagine biking in Italy or even in France; there, traffic is so chaotic as to make the endeavour practically suicidal. Geneva is the pleasant mix of the two: there are bike lanes and traffic lights for us—but basic traffic rules seem to be generally disregarded by bicyclists. You look, if no one is coming, you go, and you expect traffic to yield to you---and it does! However, the traffic in Geneva is worse than in Freiburg, and it is likely you will cross intersections with two tramlines, four lanes of traffic coming in at odd angles, and a mass of pedestrians, and the tram tracks provide interesting spice to your navigation of traffic. My one and only bike wreck involved me diving full-on into a creek when my tire got caught in the track on a rainy day.

I’m getting better. I can make it to class in 20 minutes and home in 25, if I’m in a hurry—and I seem to be perpetually in a hurry. I feel like I should wear motorcycle leathers, though, or a bike messenger bag instead of my usual skit and heels.