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At least these days, getting into Switzerland is a lot less problematic than it was way back then. And crossing the border is about to become a cunning way out of France's forthcoming economic woes. Thousands of hard-up Frenchies are already packing up their troubles in their old kit bags and heading towards the safe haven helvétique.
Despite a few high-profile banks having to grovel to the Swiss Central bank, the economy is strong, salaries make a mockery of Gallic pay-packets, jobs are relatively easy to come by and the Swiss Franc has today reached its highest level against the Euro since March 2003.
The average salary of CHF 5000 (roughly 3300 euros) is sniffed at by most, especially those who enjoy thirteen months pay in a year. And the recent bi-lateral agreements allow anyone in Europe to work in Switzerland - you can literally commute from Grimsby (UK) to Geneva if you've had enough of working down your local fish market.
All these facts have not escaped the attention of the 200,000 or so frontaliers who cross the Swiss border every day to benefit from this pocket of prosperity in a world of doom and gloom. The Swiss authorities believe that a shock increase in applications to work could be one of the effects of the global downturn, as unemployment bites throughout France and an increasing mobile workforce descend on the frontier zone.
A suivre......
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
What a boar!
Proud though these chasseurs look, they are showing off a mere lightweight compared to the Rasputin of wild boar's who almost felled a gun-wielding hunter near Bellegarde yesterday afternoon.
The pictured beast weighs in at 109 kilos but the Bellegarde-bruiser was a formidable heavyweight at 140 kilos, and he was not about to run for it when confronted by the boys of the 'Union des chasseurs de la Michaille'. Perhaps unwisely, he decided to charge the dog in the group, not banking on its 57 year old shotgun-toting owner leaping in between like Clint Eastwood in 'In the Line of Fire'.
If you've ever been to Bellegarde, then you will perfectly well understand the desire to throw yourself in front of a charging, quite unhappy wild boar, or indeed, a fast-moving locomotive. It makes Calais look more like Cannes.
Somehow the dog owner managed to fire off a few rounds in the wild boar's direction, fatally wounding the animal but not stopping it from taking a chunk out of the his leg. 'A mere flesh wound', he said, before being helicoptered to Annecy hospital.
But these hardy chasseurs are not confined to heavily wooded areas - the local papers report today that the locals in nearby Cluses have been taking pot-shots at passers by with air guns......
The pictured beast weighs in at 109 kilos but the Bellegarde-bruiser was a formidable heavyweight at 140 kilos, and he was not about to run for it when confronted by the boys of the 'Union des chasseurs de la Michaille'. Perhaps unwisely, he decided to charge the dog in the group, not banking on its 57 year old shotgun-toting owner leaping in between like Clint Eastwood in 'In the Line of Fire'.
If you've ever been to Bellegarde, then you will perfectly well understand the desire to throw yourself in front of a charging, quite unhappy wild boar, or indeed, a fast-moving locomotive. It makes Calais look more like Cannes.
Somehow the dog owner managed to fire off a few rounds in the wild boar's direction, fatally wounding the animal but not stopping it from taking a chunk out of the his leg. 'A mere flesh wound', he said, before being helicoptered to Annecy hospital.
But these hardy chasseurs are not confined to heavily wooded areas - the local papers report today that the locals in nearby Cluses have been taking pot-shots at passers by with air guns......
Monday, October 6, 2008
Nowt strange as folk
For anyone who hasn't been to Yorkshire, England, saying 'nowt strange as folk' indicates to the listener that there are some pretty funny folk out there. None more so, perhaps, than in my adopted place of work - Switzerland.
At the heart of Europe lies a small country of 8 million people with one of the world's most stable, wealthy, and organised set ups on the planet. Not to mention gorgeous scenery and the best horn players in town (pictured).
But it is also a country of contradictions - no surprise when you consider the non-fighting army. Undoubtedly rule-conscious, the Swiss are not tolerant of rule breakers. Despite their peace-loving reputation, on the occasions that I've crossed the road when the little red man was showing (probably risking deportation), drivers have actually speeded up in an attempt to run me over and teach me a lesson.
You would think that with banking as one of its main sources of pride and jobs, the current crisis would be causing a few ripples through all this calm and prosperity. And I suppose it has, with UBS being one of the biggest losers, but the evident richesse on the streets of Geneva is so enduring that it has a feeling of 'can't touch this' about it.
My watchmaking clients have never had it so good, selling watches so expensive that the box they come in will set you back 20,000 euros. Not the sort of present you would want to leave on the bus......
Anyway, bref, as the French would say, what is the point of all this? Well, just to point out that with the financial hurricance ripping through the heart of the financial world, the Swiss have been busy legislating on smoking (reversing the decision to ban it in public places before it gets too cold outside), and, er, guinea pigs. I joke not. A law has just been introduced banning the Swiss from buying just one guinea pig, as it might get lonely, and insisting on a two-some. Need I say more?
In a typically contradictory way, cats are still being kidnapped from Haute Savoie for their skins and if our feline friends escape this fate, they are said to be a very popular Swiss delicacy. Gastronomes beware!
At the heart of Europe lies a small country of 8 million people with one of the world's most stable, wealthy, and organised set ups on the planet. Not to mention gorgeous scenery and the best horn players in town (pictured).
But it is also a country of contradictions - no surprise when you consider the non-fighting army. Undoubtedly rule-conscious, the Swiss are not tolerant of rule breakers. Despite their peace-loving reputation, on the occasions that I've crossed the road when the little red man was showing (probably risking deportation), drivers have actually speeded up in an attempt to run me over and teach me a lesson.
You would think that with banking as one of its main sources of pride and jobs, the current crisis would be causing a few ripples through all this calm and prosperity. And I suppose it has, with UBS being one of the biggest losers, but the evident richesse on the streets of Geneva is so enduring that it has a feeling of 'can't touch this' about it.
My watchmaking clients have never had it so good, selling watches so expensive that the box they come in will set you back 20,000 euros. Not the sort of present you would want to leave on the bus......
Anyway, bref, as the French would say, what is the point of all this? Well, just to point out that with the financial hurricance ripping through the heart of the financial world, the Swiss have been busy legislating on smoking (reversing the decision to ban it in public places before it gets too cold outside), and, er, guinea pigs. I joke not. A law has just been introduced banning the Swiss from buying just one guinea pig, as it might get lonely, and insisting on a two-some. Need I say more?
In a typically contradictory way, cats are still being kidnapped from Haute Savoie for their skins and if our feline friends escape this fate, they are said to be a very popular Swiss delicacy. Gastronomes beware!
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Female passengers more deadly than the male
As someone who spends 32 days a year on the trains of Haute Savoie, it has to be said that normally the trip into Geneva and back passes without incident. Admittedly, you are often spared the excitement of fist-fights, drunks, and armpits in you face that I used to experience on London's Northern Line, but you get a seat and fellow travellers are usually a fairly amicable bunch. Some have formed commuting cliques, and regard travelling to work as a somewhat hilarious activity, while I, true my British Northern Line roots, sit miserably behind a newspaper and growl at everyone who looks my way in case they turn out to be mentally unstable.
So imagine my shock when a bit of a ruck, brawl, call it what you like broke out on my way home as the train stopped in Reignier, near Annemasse. Essentially, a youngish fellow who seemed to be carrying only metal bars as luggage, had refused to buy a ticket from the conductor, who had taken offence to this attitude and called the Police, thereby delaying the train and causing a growing tide of displeasure among my fellow passengers.
Argue though they did, the non-ticket carrying gent seemed as stubborn as a mule, before he was suddenly accosted by a gaggle of young women who looked ten times more terrifying than the conductor and seemed to be winning the dispute hands down before the arrival of the boys in blue. Hell hath no fury and all that. The transformation from shy, slightly awkward adolescent into something that would have looked at home in one of the 'Predator' movies was shocking to say the least. As luck had it, just when the screaming and screeching of abuse was beginning to make me side with the ticketless miscreant, les gendarmes hoved into view.
I was happy to see that they approached the situation in a typical French policeman fashion, walking alongside the train in a slow, patronising but slightly wary fashion, as if they wanted to exude confidence but feared receiving a metal bar on the napper. The arrival of the old bill nailed the coffin in the young scamp's argument and he swiftly disembarked, metal bars and all, and he was subjected to an interrogation by the two policiers who looked like they were giving him a severe dressing down for having so rudely interrupted their afternoon cat nap.
As the train remained at a standstill, conversation spontaeneously erupted along the lines of thwarted connections, and loved ones waiting needlessly at the next stop, and what a ba**ard the guy standing on the tarmac was / is. But these train conversations are hopelessly selfish - if you say 'my beloved cat died this morning', they would no doubt reply 'Really? My neighbours got a nice cat'.
So imagine my shock when a bit of a ruck, brawl, call it what you like broke out on my way home as the train stopped in Reignier, near Annemasse. Essentially, a youngish fellow who seemed to be carrying only metal bars as luggage, had refused to buy a ticket from the conductor, who had taken offence to this attitude and called the Police, thereby delaying the train and causing a growing tide of displeasure among my fellow passengers.
Argue though they did, the non-ticket carrying gent seemed as stubborn as a mule, before he was suddenly accosted by a gaggle of young women who looked ten times more terrifying than the conductor and seemed to be winning the dispute hands down before the arrival of the boys in blue. Hell hath no fury and all that. The transformation from shy, slightly awkward adolescent into something that would have looked at home in one of the 'Predator' movies was shocking to say the least. As luck had it, just when the screaming and screeching of abuse was beginning to make me side with the ticketless miscreant, les gendarmes hoved into view.
I was happy to see that they approached the situation in a typical French policeman fashion, walking alongside the train in a slow, patronising but slightly wary fashion, as if they wanted to exude confidence but feared receiving a metal bar on the napper. The arrival of the old bill nailed the coffin in the young scamp's argument and he swiftly disembarked, metal bars and all, and he was subjected to an interrogation by the two policiers who looked like they were giving him a severe dressing down for having so rudely interrupted their afternoon cat nap.
As the train remained at a standstill, conversation spontaeneously erupted along the lines of thwarted connections, and loved ones waiting needlessly at the next stop, and what a ba**ard the guy standing on the tarmac was / is. But these train conversations are hopelessly selfish - if you say 'my beloved cat died this morning', they would no doubt reply 'Really? My neighbours got a nice cat'.
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