The Day I Gatecrashed the Prez

His name was Jean-Pascal Delamuraz and he was the incumbent of the annually rotating presidency of Switzerland in 1989. I was a young man on a tour of Europe; I’d come to Thonon-les-Bains to get a ferry across lac Léman but had actually boarded the wrong ferry on this sunny Wednesday, July 5th, heading for Geneva. No matter.

Soon some Swiss girl and I had a conversation going at the front of the boat and I asked her what all the bunting and festooned lights were about all over the place.

‘Oh,’ she chuckled, ‘our President is on board.’

‘Really?’ I was in awe. ‘On this boat?’

‘Oui,’ she sniggered, ‘why don’t you go and say hello to him? He’s very friendly and he’s on holiday.’

‘But where will I find him?’

‘You won’t have any trouble finding him – he’s in the big room with the guards at the door.’

So off I went to the big room, found it, nodded to the guards and went inside. The Prez was at one end of the table, having lunch with about twelve dignitaries. I went up to him and then remembered my French was woeful. Not knowing what to say, I dropped my head and murmured, ‘M. le President?’

He turned, smiled and asked, in good English, if I was English and to say hello to the Prime Minister for him. I vaguely recall one or two other questions from him about my homeland but as there seemed nothing much else to hang about for, I took my leave, with apologies for my interruption, which he pooh-poohed and I made my way back to the girl who’d now been joined by her boyfriend, guffawing something awful over the little stunt.

‘Ah and you met our President?’

‘Oui.’

They made me describe him and still they weren’t convinced. Then he himself came out on the roof of the ferry, up to the railing, as the ferry pulled into dock and he waved to the crowd onshore.

‘Him?’ asked my new friends.

‘Oui, the one in the centre waving.’

The two of them looked at each other but I was as proud as could be – and he’d been such a gentleman too.