Flags

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"I don't know her," Rick said when our doorbell ran. He was still in his night clothes, so I answered.

"Forgive me for  bothering you," the woman said. "What nationality is that flag?"

She was referring to the Geneva Canton flag, a gift from our Swiss landlady to remember Geneva whenever we were away. Rick had hung it and the Catalan flag a couple of days before.

"Geneva," I said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm Swiss, I live there when I'm not here."

"I was born in Geneva, but I don't remember it."

We chatted a bit longer about Switzerland.

Later, this morning walking back from buying stuff for our picnic today, we saw another woman staring at the flags than at the names on the mailbox as if that would give her a clue. I told her it was the flag from Geneva.

The story behind the Catalan flag is that back in the middle ages it was just yellow. A count was killed and his son avenged his death. The son dipped his hand into the blood of his father's killer and put four streaks of blood onto the flag. I have no idea if it is true or something made up by the tourist office.

Our idea was to fly the two flags whenever we were in residence, much like Queen Elizabeth does when she's at Buckingham, Windsor or Balmoral Palaces.

I never thought it would give us a chance to meet more of our neighbors.