Le traditionnel week-end de connaissance.

En tant que classe 2 et après ma troisième année au Rosey , le weekend de « connaissance » devient pour moi une petite routine, quelque chose que je doit faire tout les ans, avec pour seule surprise des nouveaux élèves avec qui je vais possiblement sympathiser. A chaque fois les filles cherchent à se faire les plus belles possibles, sortant leur plus belles robes pour espérer faire bonne impression la première journée, idem pour les garçons qui eux préfèrent généralement une chemise ainsi qu’un blazer. Le bateau part et laisse un flot de Roséens s’installer sur le pont avant ou arrière, au premier et au deuxième étage. Au fur et a mesure de la soirée, le soleil se couche lentement sur le lac Léman, et laisse place à la fête, la musique se propage a l’intérieur et ravi en même temps les danseurs ainsi que les plus réservés qui eux préfèreront rester dehors, la marche des garçons est aussi un moment ou tout les potins de la soirée sont racontés dans la longue allée de l’entrée du Rosey.

Mais à peine avons nous le temps de respirer que les activités du samedi commencent, avec les mêmes grognements et les mêmes reproches : « il fait pas beau aujourd’hui, ce n’est pas comme ça que nous allons apprendre à nous connaitre, ca sert a quoi de faire ca, c’est trop fatiguant… » Pour au final garder des souvenirs impérissables ainsi que des moments de rigolades pendant et après l’activité.

A peine après être rentré, nous devons vite nous préparer pour la première vraie disco du Rosey qui est aussi une des meilleures. Petit à petit, les cadets iront sur leur étage, puis les jeunes seniors et enfin les seniors, voici l’histoire de ce week-end de connaissance.

Carefully slicked back hair, starched white shirts and pressed dinner jackets, polished black shoes, an excessive amount of Chanel Bleu and bowties perfectly clipped on, the boys were ready for the night to begin. As we checked in with Mr Pesse on the bus we took a seat, class 1s facing our elder class T brethren. Shortly thereafter departure for the Lausanne Palace, insults concerning the voluptuousness, corpulence, or ignorance of others’ mothers were being dished out like pasta on a Sunday night, which created more of a ‘hype’ atmosphere. It’s a tradition that the class Ts “roast” the class 1s, despite this year resulting somewhat anomalous. Dishing insults came back and forth seeing who can come up with the wittiest comments. Wittiness is measured by the roaring response of “OOOOOing,” by the crowd in the bus. There is no tension in the bus whatsoever; this is truly a time where people can be together, despite of course that these comments are not a reflection of who we are. It is one of those times, where one realizes that they rather be at school than at home, when you wish you could stay longer despite that IB is in full motion and that there are less than two years left.

As we arrived to the Lausanne Palace to greet the girls with roses, we realized that the night was going to be phenomenal. From photographs, to the first drinks of the evening, to sitting down to dinner, the atmosphere was just improving. When desert came, the traditional entertainment started as the awards began. Some awards were embarrassing, some funny, some risqué, nonetheless an experience to remember. To finish night, like moths to bright shining light, people gravitated towards the dance floor. This is truly a time where the suaveness of the boys is expressed as they take the hand of a lady to the dance floor. Dancing their hearts out, the 12:30 bell came around much faster than anticipated. Like an exterminator does to moths, teachers drove us out. Although we were faced to the disappointment of leaving the ball we encountered to a magical scene of snowfall in front of the bright Christmas lights outside the Lausanne Palace. As we waited for the buses to take us back home we stared into the night sky contemplating beautiful scenery. It was truly a night to remember.

Taking someone to the ball is a dream for many; however asking someone to go with them is a nightmare for all. Social pressure causes no one to risk the embarrassment of rejection anymore, thus very few girls are asked every year. Unless you want a guaranteed yes, you must go through the painstaking effort of occasionally foolishly flirting with your crush in Café Ljubo, until you are at the point of comfort to begin after class snap chatting and then surely losing sleep whilst late night texting. No one wants to do that either. Between risking embarrassment and requiring an unnecessary amount of flirtatious effort, just does not seem to appeal to anyone anymore.

There’s got to be a better way!

Wouldn’t it be easier to do as a people do in the Wonip village in the Toll Island and show affection by poking one’s love stick through the wall of their dream dates’ bedroom at midnight? Yes that’s right, there’s an actual tribe that does that. Now imagine a boy called Jimmy and his crush called Sarah. Just empathize with the embarrassment that Jimmy would experience if his little love stick is not accepted as it dangles in Sarah’s bedroom (note that love stick is a smooth wood carved ritual pole). Not to mention that Jimmy is loosing sleep over the thoughts of his crush. So do not think that you have it hard, put yourself in Jimmy’s shoes and go hang your love pole in your crush’s bamboo thatched covered hut. Man-up and ask someone to the ball with roses or else the committee will carefully select whom you sit next to, and as president of the committee, Varun, states: « we will have fun with that. » Trust me it is not something you want.

As the end of the vingtaine nears, we begin to see more and more yellow ovals accumulate on our devoir page and there’s a certain panicky atmosphere comparable to a strict night at Greengo. The first vingtaine is the worst in terms of grades for we do not learn much and when, and if we do learn, we are tested on everything in the last week. Some students are frantic about grades, others believe they can save their doomed vingtaine. It’s beautiful what the end of the vingtaine does to people. We’ve seen a multitude of different personalities come out this final week. I have strolled by classes where pitiful girls and boys have been on their knees crying to teachers, begging for that 7.

This week proves that nothing is impossible. A rare ethnically Asian, Hsiao-Chun, got a 3 in maths higher, the PSAT talks about training dogs with ropes and starring competitions, and even the girls might beat the boys in the debate. Just kidding, almost nothing is impossible; that last one was a joke.

One myth that has been proven impossible year after year is the fact that the last week in the vingtaine is the week to save it. “I totally saved my vingtaine by doing really really well on all those tests and projects in the last week!” said no Roséan ever. It’s a legend, a myth, common folklore some veteran students may say. Saving your vigntaine is a myth, do not try, you will not succeed.

Lastly, there should be no complaining since the mid-term break is approaching. The mid-term break is a week where students must relieve themselves of all the built up tension caused by the last week of vingtaine. It will not be surprising when the instagram feed will be constant pictures of beaches, lounges, and for less lucky, visiting colleges. Hashtags will range from “#IdotheIB” to “#TheIBisdoingme!”

You will all be wholeheartedly missed; see you after the holidays.

The boat party is truly a special occasion. It’s a time when old Roseéns return home and it’s a time when the new ones get to see their new one. It’s a time when the girls dress up and it’s a time when the boys get to gawk and see if the hot ones are in their class or not. It’s the first occasion for the students to associate. Everyone sits, eats and tells stories of their summers. The laughs and cries echo over the lake Geneva.

As the boat reaches Geneva the fountain sprays the decks, misting those outside trying to look nice for their selfies. As the boat turns away the real fun begins. The committee cranks up the music and the lights dim. Almost everyone swarms in like bees to dance to the music. Teachers flit in and out on patrol. Lights strobe. The evening is purely dedicated to the student body’s enjoyment. Even as the cruise arrives at its destination back in Rolle, students are still partying, like Ramon. Slowly, things dissipate and everybody gradually finds their way back to school. It’s a joyous occasion; definitely one of Rosey’s finest traditions.

Written by Carter