I know what hookers charge

Paquis is my favorite section of Geneva with its multi-ethnic restaurants, strange stores, funky apartment buildings, hotels, The Casino where I’ve heard Marianne Faithful, Barkley Harvest James and Patrick Fiore sing and the American Library. You can buy Japanese, Indian, Asian food products, Arabic literature, jewelry and much more. The American store is also there and for the cost of your first born child you can get brownie mix and a can of Fresca. The area is between Cornavin, the train station and the Lake. As you walk towards the lake you can see the Jet d’Eau spewing its water, ships on the lake, and the mountains behind. A former Swiss president lives here as well as several of my friends.

It is also the red light district.

When former neighbors visited, since he was a minister I took he and his wife first to see the Reformation Wall, a stone wall with Calvin and other Protestant Fathers carved in stone. I hate it. Their faces are hate-filled. The first time I saw it I came home and showered. I was curious to see Gary’s reaction. “Makes me shudder,” he said.

We then walked across the city ending up in Paquis. A hooker with breasts that had to be artificially enlarged stood with her short skirt and boots as we walked by. Gary looked at her. “I think I like this part of Geneva better,” he said. His wife agreed.

Yesterday hookers of all ages were hanging out, reminding me of the day I came down to have lunch only to see a colleague walk off with a hooker. Although we saw each other, we never mentioned it. I was curious how much he’d paid, but that wasn’t a question I’d ever ask him.

One woman who could have been a Hollywood starlet with red boots and a matching mini-mini-mini skirt was waiting for a customer as was the woman who solicits with her Westie in tow. Sometimes they dress in matching outfits. The Thai restaurant, which is below ground but visible from the street and where the hookers take breaks, was full of working women.

I have often been tempted to stop and ask them about their lives, where they come from, why they chose this kind of work, what about their families, friends, what they do in their spare time, but never have anymore than I asked my colleague on costs, although I just read a book in French about a Brazilian woman who came to Geneva and worked as a hooker until she could buy a farm back home.

As I approached Rue de Bern, I saw a nice looking blond man standing next to a hooker that was neither young nor beautiful, although the starlet was clearly visible. I heard her say, “100 CHF.”

A question has been answered.