Interesting stuff, and stuff like that

Ok, normally I wouldn't post something like this, but I was by heckeled by Aimee and my mom threatened to put it in the Family Letter if I didn't blog about it. I suppose it is an amusing story though:)

So, let me preface this by saying that things like this NEVER happen to me, so that being the case I was completely caught off guard and unprepared in how to respond, which makes for an interesting tale. I was on my way to downtown Nyon to visit the lake again (I would be willing to build a shack and live out my retirement there:), and it was a completely gorgeous day with hardly anyone on the streets because it was a random Swiss holiday and most people were out vacationing or whatever. So anyways, I'm just loving life and smelling all the flowers I pass by, when I look over my shoulder and see a person riding a bike, and it's just us on the street. I smile in a reciprocal greeting (everyone says hi to each other here) and turn to smell a rose when out of my peripferals I see this person bike across the street and turn to head in my direction. I kind of get wierded out for a second, but whatever. It turns out to be this beautiful black man and he gets off his bike and starts talking to me, asking me how I am and stuff. Past that, I have no idea what he's saying because his french is rapid, so I tell him I don't speak much french, then he responds by asking if I speak spanish. I do, so I tell him so, and he starts babbling away in spanish and asking me what I'm doing here and where I live and where I'm from. I respond politely and ask him where he's from and how he knows spanish. He grew up in Paris and his mother is Cuban, so that's cool. Then he asks me if I want to go into Geneva this weekend to have drinks with him, and I tell him I'm busy this weekend (lie). He asks me about tonight and I tell him I have other plans (lie). He asks me about next weekend and I respond that I also can't because I'm busy (half lie), so he says that we can do something after that. Then he asks if I have a cell phone and I say no (yet another lie) but that he could email me. He doesn't like that answer, so he asks if the people I'm staying with have a home phone, and I say no (last lie, I promise). So instead he writes down his number and gives it to me while saying "When you are ready, give me a call." He was really attractive. To top the whole story off though, was the fact that I was wearing the ugliest pair of bulky, unattractive running shoes (Elisabeth, you know the ones), jeans and a t-shirt and my hair wasn't even cute. In short, not the best looking day by far, but of course that is the course of my life. It was an experience, let me tell you. Still, when a really good looking Parisian black man who's part Cuban hits on you, there's no way your ego doesn't inflate a little. I promise it will be back to its normal size when I come home though:)
On a more pleasant note, here are some more beautiful pictures!

This is in the garden right below the castle.

Also in the castle garden. There are a lot of grape vines and flowers. That pretty much sums up Switzerland:)

In all the places that there was nothing planted, there were wild flowers. I love it when people let wildflowers grow!

 One more thing. I don't think I've talked enough about the immaculate food here. Let me give you an example. Roberta, the mother of the family I'm staying with, recently had a baby, so the ward got together to bring meals over (not unexpected or out of the ordinary). What was out of the ordinary, though, was the quality of those meals. Let me tell you, they were AMAZING. The first sunday here the lady who was supposed to provide the meal completely forgot about it, so she ran home and whipped up a casserole. I know you're thinking 'oh, that's kinda not anything to be excited about'. Permit me to correct you. It was the best, most delicious casserole I've ever had, full of frest vegetables and delectable chicken (they were probably begging to be chopped up just so they could be thrown into this meal) all covered in a sauce that was just the perfect mixture of creamy and brothy. To. Die. For.  While back home we think it's a good idea to throw some pastaroni in a can of cream of mushroom soup and call it edible. Come on America, shape up! Thank goodness my mother had the good sense to not really experiment with casseroles too much when I was growing up, therefore I wasn't forced to eat some of the nastier stuff that's out there. Besides that, almost  every meal that was delivered came complete with artisian bread, fresh fruit/vegetables of some kind, and a dessert of unbounding possibilities. One night we even had authentic African food. Ok, I'm finished:)