A Cheesy Situation

At the advice of the woman I'm renting a room from, I decided to take a day trip to Gruyères to do a bit of hiking and check out the H.R. Giger Museum (which was quite cool).  All week, whenever anyone asked me what I was doing with my weekend, and I said "Gruyères," I'd get this funny look and he/she would ask me if that was the "cheese place."

Now, as my parents well know, I only came to tolerate cheese in any fashion as a teenager.  I'm still not well versed in the dairy product, and so I had no idea Gruyère was even a type of cheese.  But it is, and it indeed comes from Gruyères.  I mention this because I was heading to the quaint village of 2,500 with no regard for its cheese-making capabilities.

I got off a rickety old train in the middle of no where, found myself walking up a steep hall and past a city gate, and BOOM!  I was hit by a most pungent odor.  I was gagging, going so far as to breathe in my heavily deodered armpits to dull the smell.  Everywhere around me were pizza places, so I spent a good minute trying to think what type of pizza could smell so awful.

Then my stupidity halo lifted and I realized I was smelling an overpowering scent of cheese.  I made a beeline to the H.R. Giger Museum, which was musty and hot but cheese free, and then escaped Gruyères for the cheese-free countryside.  Lesson to be learned: when a place is known for cheese, it'll smell an awful lot like cheese.

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