Olivier has moved on...

and the Café du Soleil is just not the same.

He’s gone to another job, who knows where. For the thirteen years I have been going there he was there to greet, comment on those with me two or four-footed, offer a kir, give the three-cheek kiss sometimes a hug (which was especially fun when he was dressed as a cow) find me a table somewhere, etc., etc. etc. He is intertwined with my memories of the place.

He is even mentioned in an article I published in two anthologies although at the time I thought he was the owner not the manager. http://www.travelerstales.com/catalog/dogs/chapter.html

My writing group used to meet at the Café monthly, and now we just use it for lunch at our monthly sessions and our end of year readings.

My daughter when she arrives in Geneva doesn’t consider she has truly come back until we eat there. It has to be the first night, and likewise my buddy RB2, considers it a must-do whenever he is in Geneva.

Then there was the night I was having fondue with a friend. Stuffed, I hid the long fork under the paper table cloth to prevent myself from eating more. Olivier invited me to come upstairs to show me the new dining room that was remodelled. Mika, the waiter who shared the name of my small Japanese chin, came up after us and whispered to Olivier that he thought I stole the fork.

I said no, and told Olivier where it was and why. “That makes sense,” he said always ready to be the perfect host

I am not sure it did, but the next time I went to Café du Soleil no fork was at my place. I asked Mika for one, who didn’t believe I didn’t have one. Olivier had to intercede. The next time I went, I took my own fork making both Mika and Olivier laugh.

Mika left before. Now Olivier is gone. Fortunately the fondue is still good, but it isn’t quite the same.