what

I sat on the bench studying the anti- genital mutilation in Africa poster with my back against the wall in the tiny, windowless room waiting for the doctor. The rectangular room had two doors, one opened into the waiting room and the other opened into the X-ray room. The doctor had instructed me to undress from the waist up, and I was patiently awaiting my privacy robe. When the doctor opened the door, he gave me a surprised look and explained the instructions again, complete with hand gestures. OK then, I thought. I was really hoping that I hadn't just missed the gown somewhere in the little windowless room when I timidly opened the door, exposing myself to the unnervingly large, cold florescent X-ray room and French doctor alike. Without a second glance, the doctor guided me towards the antiqued X-ray box directing me to smash myself against the interior wall and inflate my lungs, while he took the picture of my hopefully non-Tuburculosis infested lungs. I thought they were giving me the X-ray of my lungs as consolation prize, but it turns out it's standard procedure.

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This past weekend I went to Geneva to visit a friend. In short I did not like Geneva. Strangely, I found it too international. That is to say, there were so many international people in Geneva that I could not identify one particular culture. I heard 50 different languages while walking down the street. It was confusing. I learned that I enjoy visiting places that have one predominate culture to explore. I guess it didn't help that it was raining and everything was closed on Sunday. I missed France and was glad to be home again.