Goodbye France, hello Switzerland .
Ahhhh Switzerland , the bank of Europe.
A squeaky clean shiny country that is so packed with gold that driving through Geneva with a 3 series makes you feel like a pleb. Well that’s if customs let you in.
Don’t mess around with Swiss customs. Ever.
Don’t drive over the speed limit. They will send the fine to U.K
Just behave.
Anyway we head to Lausanne where my grand parents live, a sort of Ibiza for wealthy pensioners parked on Geneva lake so that Edwin can see his Great grandparents. Not every kid has that privilege so it had to be done.
Another restaurant (I need to stop these caloriefests).
Grandparents : Are you staying with us tonight?
No we’re in a tent.
Do you want us to pay for a hotel?
No we’re in a tent.
Can we do anything to make you do not sleep on a floor with pieces of plastic over your head?
No we’re in a tent.
Swiss grandparents live in an artificial world where they believe that any accommodation that doesn’t have the word spa/resort/golf is some sort of sordid lair where you’re guaranteed to be dismantled by a bunch of hoodies, so having 2 generation of heirs sleep in a camping was a big no/no.
Sorry (great) grandchildren . If you die tonight there will be nobody left to open those gold packed vaults. We haven’t “worked” all life to have this stash go back to the Swiss state.
We were subsequently forced into Swiss luxury. Queue the epic chalet hotel. You can’t even drive there. You parc in a big underground mountain hole and take an electric cart. With an immaculate white dressing gown, wooden floors you can eat on and chemical free orange juice made of fruits selected and picked by the hands of a Himalayan virgin goddess that sings every morning around the orange tree to enhance the life of the fruits.
Served in a mouth blown venitian crystal glass cleaned in a dishwasher that is thrown away after every use.
Oh and I forgot the sprinkle of saffron and cinnamon on top.
After dying of boredom having nothing to do apart from relaxing sitting on our balcony watching the sun go down on The mountains, we went to our silky beds whilst probably 4 ex KGB officers guarded our room.
THE EDWIN TOUR 