Back before I landed here on the Swiss Riviera, I was blabbing about feeling that there was some reason for me to be here, that I was being drawn to this charming town by some intangible force beyond the lure of snow-capped mountains, sparkling lakes, chocolate, watches and multi-function army knives.

Charlie Chaplin spent his last days here and, in what can only be called a fitting tribute, there’s a statue of him not far from where I live.

What does a statue of a short, American man with a goofy mustache that have to do with me? Well, the point is the crowd here have a tendency to erect monuments to greatness—food, silent film stars and unusually tall Canadian women with plates and screws holding their necks together…

This goofy giraffe stopped another one in her tracks the other day. I’d never seen it before. It’s enormous and I have no idea what the hell it’s doing there. There’s no toy store nearby, no zoo, no pet store, no nothing. Just a gigantic, twisty neck giraffe in the centre of town. Although, the fact that it is just outside the French language school was not lost on me. Clearly, they’ve been waiting for me all along.

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