Life Under the Cathedral

August 16-18

We started Thursday with a little climbing to go to church. 

We took the D bus back to Bel-air, the end of the line, as we did Wednesday. Instead of going into the park, we took the steep road called Rampe de la 

Treille.

Ramp indeed. 

We took our time. We stopped to watch three contrails make an isosceles triangle. We paused every few feet to enjoy the view. We snapped photos of rooftops.

Once we got through the city gate, we found a small cafe where we could get a glass of wine and a caprese salad. Actually, the cafe, Restaurant des Antiquites, didn’t call it caprese, but it was made with sliced tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil, and it also had arugula. It worked well.

I visited Geneva for a few days several years ago. The thing I’ve remembered most has been the cathedral.

It is an architectural hybrid, begun in Romanesque and finished in Gothic. It has mismatched towers, a steeple that was added even later, and a chapel added during the Renaissance.

When the Protestants took over they stripped the interior of most of its devotional decoration. The stained glass windows survived. 

There are five in the chancel. One is a partly faded portrait of St. Peter holding the keys, appropriately enough, since this is St. Pierre Cathedral. 

Facing that is another that could be St. Peter in Chains. A prisoner is shown with broken chains as an angel kneels at his feet.

Three other figures are less familiar. One is a woman holding a jar. Mary Magdalene about to anoint Jesus? Maybe.

One is apparently a pilgrim—staff, floppy hat with the scallop shell, and out-of-place elaborate clothes. I’m not sure about that one. 

Another is a woman draped in blue, like the Virgin Mary, but she is holding a chalice. I have never seen Mary, or any woman, represented with the Eucharist before.

What really got to me is the archeological site underneath the cathedral. You go down a set of steps and get an audio guide. Then you follow the arrows on a circuitous path that represents more than 30 years of careful scientific excavation.

I’ve been in the crypt at Notre Dame, and I saw some of the relics unearthed under the cathedral in Frankfurt. I visited the breath-taking discoveries under York Minster. Geneva ranks up there with York.

The current cathedral sits on the site of a barrow that predates the coming of Romans. Archaeologists discovered a grave there.

It could have held a tribal chieftain or other spiritually important person. They also found a concentration of broken drinking vessels nearby and say they could be related to some kind of religious ritual. There is evidence that a shrine was built around the grave.

The wildest thing about it, though, is that the chancel—the sanctuary—of the current church sits right above the grave site.

They found traces of structures from late classical to medieval times. There were once three cathedrals on the site, along with monks’ cells, storehouses, and an impression that is believed to be the site where the principal bell of the church was made.

From what I could gather, the bell was named Clemence for the Antipope Clement VII.  

Much of the mosaic floor of the bishop’s reception hall is intact. It was heated like a Roman bath by channels running below the floor.

Some spots have caved in. Maybe guys stood there too long.

There are films along the way that help keep you oriented. 

The original pagan grave site appears as it was found—replica or original I don’t know.

Next we wanted to go to the lake’s end and the Rhone River. I wasn’t sure how to get there.

As we were coming down the cobblestone street from the cathedral, we came to a park on a small terrace, not unlike the Lindenhof in Zurich. It’s a shady square overlooking the city. 

Above the trees below, you can make out one of the landmarks of Geneva, the Water Jet, a large spout of water several stories high in the southern end of Lake Geneva, near the headwaters of the Rhone.

[Editor’s note: Harry’s American sense of world geography has tripped him up here. According to Britannica and Wikipedia, the Rhone begins at the Rhone Glacier in Valais. It flows into Lake Geneva and out again on its course to the Mediterranean.]

That pointed the way. We climbed down the stairs in a narrow alley to a lower street that eventually led us to a park at the water’s edge.

We first came to the flower clock, one of the prime photo ops in town. It’s built into the side of a small knoll. It’s cute, much smaller than the grass clock in Phnom Penh, but still a novelty.

The Water Jet, or Jet d’Eau, pumps water about 140 meters into the air. There was a much smaller version that served as a safety valve for a hydraulic power system.

It was moved and enlarged a few years later. The current jet is much newer, from the 1950’s, and I think its purpose now is purely decorative. 

We stopped for drinks at a bar in the park. It’s a very popular place. All the tables had been spoken for. They found us a table that was reserved 6:30, more than an hour away, so we could use it for a while.

We went back to the Ramada to try the restaurant off the lobby, but were told it will not open for dinner till Monday. We didn’t want to wait that long for a table, so we went back to Molino. 

This time Joanna had a decent—that is, not too sweet—spaghetti Bolognese. I had a mild bucatini Amatriciana along with the house Chianti.

Friday we went back to the old town. We walked up a different street and found a charming narrow lane called Grand-Rue.

There are several art galleries along the way, so we stepped into one. A few pieces, like the lion head and the leopard done in some kind of shiny material on black evoked Elvis on velvet, but most were very witty.

Before we went in, Joanna snapped a shot of a gymnast vaulting over the Earth. That was before we saw the sign banning photography.

Two pieces that seemed to be from a series were multimedia. An effigy of a mad painter in overalls was busy painting curved lines on a canvas. It could take a couple of seconds, but letters would emerge: “Life Is Good” and “Just Do Art.”

Another set was an array of framed squares maybe a foot on a side, full of small cartoon-like line drawings of people, mildly colored on a white ground. Here and there a squid or some other creature was thrown in for good measure. I think the bunching of the pictures added to their appeal.

We visited the cathedral again. But before we did, we stopped for a drink at the Cafe St. Pierre. France, Spain, Italy—you always find a bar named for a church. Same in French Switzerland.

I had a local, fruity white whose name I didn’t write down. 

We found something at the cathedral that we had missed the day before, the Chapel of the Maccabees, on the south side of the church. On our previous visit we had entered and left by the north door.

The chapel was added in the first years of the 15th century for Cardinal Jean de Brogny, one of the French cardinals who had served Antipope Clement VII, whose secular name was Robert of Geneva.

Brogny wanted a tomb there for himself and his family. Then came the Reformation. 

The chapel was turned into a storehouse for salt. It may have served a couple of other worldly uses, too.

It was restored pretty much to its original state in the 19th century. The huge stained-glass windows show stories from the Gospels, including the Last Supper and Jesus receiving the little children. There’s a choir of angels on the panels of the chancel ceiling.

I don’t know where Jean de Brogny is. Maybe he’s still there under the floor. A historical pipe organ sits on the site of the tomb.

We retraced our steps to the Hotel de Ville, which is near the city gate we entered on Thursday. We had dinner at a restaurant named Hotel de Ville.

Joanna had a vegetarian plate that included potatoes done a few ways. There were two slices of a deep purple potato on the plate.

It may have been an heirloom variety. It was tasty enough, and the color gave it some added interest. 

I had more fondue and some reasonably good pinot noir.

Saturday is our last full day in Geneva, so we went to the railroad station to buy tickets. We have to change trains at Neuchatel before we get to Bern.

The area around the Geneva bahnhof feels a lot like the busy areas around trains stations in other European cities I’ve seen. 

We stopped for a light lunch at a Lebanese place called Marjise. We had a plate of Middle Eastern vegetable specialties, tabbouleh, hummus, felafel, baba ganoush. 

Drinks in the cooler included wine and beer, so I had a small bottle of white named for the Dauphin, the medieval prince of France who appears in Henry VI, Part I, along with Joan of Arc. 

The type on the label was hard to make out, but I think it said “since 1987.”

We walked up to the site of the old Roman forum, now called Place du Bourg-de-Four. In French, that would come out as “Place of the City Oven.” 

A web site, geneva.info, suggests that the name comes from a Celtic language spoken here before Romans came. “Borg de Feur” would mean “village outside.” A second possibility is that it derives from “Forum of the Burgundians.”

In any event, it is a lively spot full of cafes. We strolled around a bit, and then went to Chez Ma Cousine for chicken. Neither Joanna or I can remember the last time we ate chicken. It just hasn’t been readily available lately.

Chez Ma Cousine has a notice above its door: On y mange du poulet. “Anyone here eats chicken.” So we did.

It was grilled dark and served with Provencal potatoes, roasted with the skins on and seasoned. The combination paired very well with the Cotes du Provence rose.

Served cool, it was slightly tangy. A good drink for a warm day.

Good night, gang. And don’t forget to check the cellar. You never know who you’ll find down there.

Harry