Driving along in an automobile at the Swiss-French border where the cable-car comes down from the Salève (the mountain backdrop to Geneva) I was treated to a blink-of-an-eye vision that transported me back to pre-COVID19, pre-grandchildren, pre-job, pre-motherhood, almost pre-adult days.
Trudging from the Swiss border bus stop was a young couple, a man and a woman, who each pulled a small wheeled suitcase. Bags and other accoutrements were slung around their necks. They wore light summer clothes, hats, sunglasses and sandals. Their attitude was of pleasant purpose as they strode towards the “teleferique”.
In her free hand, the woman carried a big transparent bag full of fat carmine-red tomatoes. They were off to have a picnic to the top of the Salève. They were going to fill their minds and spirits with the twin bird’s-eye views of the Lake of Geneva on one side and Mont Blanc on the other. They were going to eat the tomatoes!
And it was those tomatoes that punched me backwards into summers past: Catching the ferry out of Piraeus to the Greek island of Samos; hiking through the parched landscape of Göreme in Turkey; climbing up the jungle-draped ruins of Guatemala; canoeing to One Bear Island in Algonquin Park.
The lady had a food bag.
Most of my travelling career has involved food bags of one sort of another. On Geneva train trips down to southern Italy there was the exciting combination of equally-important daughter, dog, husband and food bag. There were tins and openers and wine bottles. There were Cornish pasties and meat balls and cucumbers. There was the can of coke that accidentally drenched a nun in a train compartment while pulling out of Rome (No. She did not turn the other cheek, but left in a drippy, sticky huff.)
There were Swiss army knives and rolls of toilet paper and bread and chocolate bars. There were matches and raw potatoes and tortillas and squished fruit. There was a grapefruit that lasted an entire trip. There was cheese, kirsch in a baby-food jar, and an earthenware pot and a fondue in the snow. There was a 30-franc apple and a bag of seaweed crackers.
Having a food bag is almost as good as having a camper van. It represents independence and commercial freedom. A food bag gives your life gravitas; you are dependent on no one. As you eat your sandwich beside the hiking trail or the ski run, you are wished “bon appetit”. You have risen beyond the world of tacky restaurants and mundane tables and chairs. You are lightened and liberated and filled with untold potential.
So, grab a food bag and head off. Pick a clear day and view-rich destination. Take some buns and sausages with chocolate cookies for dessert. If possible communicate your intent to others by packing it all in a transparent bag.
And don’t forget the mustard
