«It was a dark and stormy night.»  [The sun had set and it was raining.] Although I had been sleeping, the sound of thunder and the effect of jet-lag had resulted in an awakening. It was dark. I wanted – no, I “needed” a drink of water. But: it was dark. I couldn’t see anything. The Geneva apartment, while small was also cluttered. (I tend to be less ‘neat’ when Nazy is 5000 miles away.) Gingerly I arose, put my arms in front of me and stepped in the direction of the ‘kitchen’. I stubbed my toe on the bed post, stumbled into my suitcase and sat down awkwardly (and heavily) on an end-table that couldn’t take the strain. I crawled back to the bed, located my iPhone and turned on the “flashlight” application.

“Let there be light,” I thought. Biblically, The iPhone illumination was limited and generated considerably less light than the Big Bang. I expected this result because I was using the ‘free’ version of the app: the ‘paid’ version would have been brighter. I made it to the refrigerator, opened the door and enjoyed a flood of comparatively bight light. I got a bottle of San Pellegrino (bubbly) water and maneuvered back to the bed.

“I need a nightlight,” I thought as I drifted back to sleep.

Before shopping the next day, I consulted Google Translate. “Night Light” turned out to be léger nuit. (Or so I thought. It turns out that Google Translate differentiates between “night light” and “nightlight”.) The correct translation (perhaps) is veilleuse. Unable to pronounce either of the options (and equally unable to find a sales person who “knew” nightlights), I considered alternatives:

“A Canon printer with a WiFi capability has a nifty blue light that will meet my night time visibility needs and, simultaneously, print beautiful photos of Geneva to share with my friends and family,” I thought.

“You are thinking like Nazy.” My (thrifty) conscience muttered.

“Excuse me.” I thought as I walked into an electronics store.

“A WiFi printer is a very expensive nightlight solution,” my (annoying) conscience continued.

“It’s not expensive. It’s a multi-function nightlight. A heavy multifunction nightlight,” I thought as a lugged it toward the apartment.

I am happy to report that the printer functions perfectly in nightlight mode.

Reader Interrupt: Why haven’t you shared some of your beautiful photos of Geneva?

Answer: I am waiting for a sunny day. And while on the topic of sun, let’s flashback to Santa Barbara - while we were packing.

Flashback

“A red belt,” Nazy said, “is not professional. This belt is reversible.” Nazy began to detach the buckle.

“Do not touch it!” I exclaimed.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I have been wearing belts for years - decades and...”

“Millennia?” Nazy interrupted.

End Flashback

“And so, Jose,” I said with an expansive gesture. My belt failed and the buckle clattered to the ground. “I knew this was going to happen,” I thought as I added ‘belt’ to my mental shopping list. “Did your wife give you that?” Jose asked.

At the belt store, I remembered Nazy’s comment, so I decided on something debonair and suavely professional. I knew that my jeans belt wouldn’t do .. it didn’t fit through the belt loops of my suits. I found the belt I wanted:

While we were packing for my trip, Nazy and I agreed that I would carry two week’s worth of underwear. (Isn’t that a clever transition from belt to underwear?) My second week in Geneva was coming to an end. The dilemma was obvious: buy new underwear or figure out how to use the washing machine.

Alternatively, I could follow Darius’ example. (He didn’t know the difference between a dry cleaner and a laundry. Have you ever dry-cleaned your socks?)

I located the (shared) laundry on a random floor of the apartment. (In Zurich, they always put the laundry in the basement.) A sign informed me that the laundry could only be used between the hours of 8:00AM and 8:00PM. Moreover, this rule was ‘strictly enforced”.

“I wonder how they do that,” I thought as the lights in the laundry room went out. I looked at my watch (8:01PM) and decided to try the next day. Unfortunately, I had forgotten how long European washing machines take to finish. So, at when the washing machine stopped at 7:58PM. I knew it wasn’t going possible to use the dryer. I carried a load of damp (well, ‘wet&rsquo socks and blue jeans upstairs. The sign on the dryer (“risk of explosion” if I did, well, eh, ‘something’ wrong) facilitated the decision.

“I’ll dry stuff on the shower curtain rod overnight,” I thought. I tuned in CNN.

Aside: The TV is smaller than Nazy’s iMac and the only useful (i.e. English) channels are BBC Prime (reruns), MSNBC (business) and CNN (repeats itself after an hour). Luckily, I hadn’t watched CNN for about 24 hours.

As I settled into Quest Means Business, the shower curtain rod crashed into the bathtub. Either the spring-loaded mechanism that held it in place had failed or the damp socks had overwhelmed the friction that normally kept the mechanism stabilized. I considered my options:

1. I could buy a new shower curtain rod. (No good, the shops were closed.)

2. I could reinstall the rod and hope for the best. (That didn’t work.)

3. I could scratch-up the tiles to which the rod was affixed in hopes of increasing the coefficient of friction. (I would pay damages when I left the apartment.)

4. I could use the hair dryer. (I didn’t have one.)

5. I could ..