The first smell hitting me as I got off the train in Geneva was roasted chestnuts. The smell signifies falling leaves, nouveau Beaujolais and signs in restaurants telling that they serve dishes supplied by hunters.
Stands are dotted through out the city. Most are wooden chalets, although the one by Bellaire overlooking the river has murals of woodland scenes.
The chestnuts are roasted in big metal washtubs. Burlap bags full of unroasted chestnuts are stacked near or in the stands.
The men running the stands, usually wearing blue coats, scoop the hot chestnuts into a paper cone, serving a hand-warming as well as palate pleasing experience.
I did bypass the train station's vendor, but I will buy chestnuts regularly as the fall goes on.
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