Three years ago, while at the Grütli café’s terrace in Geneva, a friend diverged from our discussion on the historical legacy of our city, which led me to plan a trip to Chile for several weeks, disrupting all my existing arrangements. The friend, Jean-Dominique, a descendant of the renowned General Dufour—after whom the street housing the Grütli is named—recounted how, long ago, his mother, a Protestant from a respectable family, had taken him to see the Chilean singer Violeta Parra perform at the small Crève-Cœur theater in Cologny, inspired by an enthusiastic article in the Geneva Journal.
At that moment, I had no knowledge of who Violeta Parra was, but I would soon understand my mistake, as she is an extraordinary figure. My friend continued, explaining how the South American artist and activist reinterpreted her country’s folklore on stage. Accompanying her on the quena, an Andean flute known for its rich, soothing tone, was a Genevan named Gilbert Favre, dressed in a poncho.
The love of his life
“We ended up at home with the musicians and half the audience around an impromptu plate of spaghetti at midnight.” He recalled, finding my ignorance amusing. Violeta Parra is the creator of the song Thanks to life, a version of which I am familiar with as sung by Joan Baez, and covered by U2 among others. I was unaware that it had been penned by a Chilean. Similarly, the name Gilbert Favre was new to me. How could he accompany such a famed artist, praised by Bob Dylan? And what was she doing in Calvin’s city? “Gilbert Favre was the love of her life! It’s possible that his influence contributed to her suicide. Besides, she dedicated the song Thanks to life to him, shortly before her death. Hum the first few notes anywhere in South America and your neighbor will sing along.”
Once home, I immediately began my research. I sought out the mentioned article in the Geneva Journal, specifically the edition from March 11, 1963, which also included reports on a coup d’état in Syria, a break-in at a jewelry store on the Quai des Bergues, and political disputes in the France of Georges Pompidou. “A great show”: the venerable newspaper neglected any engaging headlines. “Violeta Parra refused the trappings of exoticism to endeavor to restore the original beauty of her country’s songs and dances,” wrote a certain PB on page 9, next to a brief piece detailing how a Savoyard plasterer-painter claimed that the brakes on his car failed on rue de Montchoisy, causing him to ignore a stop sign and collide with the vehicles of two honest Genevans, one a shopkeeper and the other a cinema operator.
Not a word about Gilbert
“Sovereign mastery,” “wonders of certain Cantos,” “your intentionally intimate tone,” and “warm familiarity,” PB was enamored and urged his readers, just like Jean-Baptiste’s mother, to rush to the next performance.
However, there is no mention of Gilbert Favre in this article. A Wikipedia entry describes him as a “clarinetist and anthropologist,” and indeed as Violeta Parra’s “great love.” An unpublished autobiography on a website dedicated to him may shed light on the Geneva Journal‘s silence: he was a bit of a rogue! A free spirit, often cloaked in mystery and fond of women. I later learned that he was also the lover of another woman I admire, Grisélidis Réal, a writer, painter, and sex worker whose work I have read and cherished, Short Chronicle of Courtesans (ed. Bertil Galland, 1976).
I came across a 2003 broadcast from RTS, two years before Grisélidis Réal’s passing. It humorously narrated the story of Gilbert Favre, who had died five years prior.
“He worked at the post office as a courier, riding a yellow bicycle to deliver the mail. Some days, he’d arrive a bit tipsy from drinking and say to me: ‘Oh, I got fed up, so I tossed it all in the Rhone.’ He was Grisélidis Réal’s lover in Geneva in the late 1950s. At that time, Swiss women were still fighting for the right to vote, and she had yet to foresee her future as a sex worker. “We were immersed in jazz, love, and poetry. We were quite poor, but it didn’t bother us.” A bohemian existence, marked by its transience, recounted by the woman who captivated Nancy Huston, who authored a biography on her titled Queen of Reality in 2022. “He was very romantic,” Grisélidis Réal continued in the RTS program, “until the day he lost faith in it… So, I attempted suicide at his place. There was a bit of a mess.”
Are you tempted by Chile?
Fortunately, this suicide attempt was unsuccessful. After parting ways with Grisélidis Réal, Gilbert Favre found himself spinning in circles inside a Saint-Antoine prison cell. Always broke, the troublemaker, then just 24, struggled to pay his military tax. Behind bars, he dreamed of riding a motorcycle to Crete, following in the footsteps of Zorba the Greek, the literary hero he admired for his profound freedom. Yet, he could hardly balance on a bike. Upon his release, fate, or perhaps providence, chose to have him meet one of his friends who mentioned, “My teacher, Jean-Christian Spähni, is looking for an assistant to accompany him to the Atacama Desert in northern Chile. Are you interested?”
It was then that I realized I had to go to Chile as well, perhaps even further. But in whose footsteps would I follow: Violeta Parra’s or Gilbert Favre’s? I initially delved into Gilbert’s story. Born in 1936, he maintained the disheveled appearance of a Gaston Lagaffe his whole life. He possessed the gift of gab typical of this anti-hero, often seen with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Hailing from Valais, Gilbert Favre came from a disadvantaged background. He grew up alongside his three brothers, his mother, and an alcoholic father in a slum with freezing upstairs toilets during the winter. He spent his days lost in daydreams at the back of a classroom in Carouge as Switzerland navigated through World War II relatively unscathed. His aspirations for a career remained non-existent. He helped the baker scrape out the oven and carried bags of cement just to afford a clarinet lesson or a beer with friends. Throughout multiple interviews, everyone who knew him agreed on one thing: this boy never had a penny to his name.
The 400 Blows with Poussin
I discovered a mutual friend, cartoonist and comic book artist Gérald Poussin. Last January, I visited him in his kitchen in Carouge. “We were always up to mischief as kids. We consistently managed to scrape together 20 cents to play pinball together. He was the one who made the bar patrons laugh. Gilbert Favre was the great guy who greeted everyone on the street. At his funeral, his friends played Bolivian music in the church in Russin. What a vibe! I crafted his gravestone in the shape of a pinball machine adorned with stars: he adored astronomy.”
I pieced together information online before launching into thorough research. The youthful adventurer naturally agreed to accompany the Swiss archaeologist, who specialized in the indigenous populations of the Andes. Spähni and his young assistant crossed the ocean on a Yugoslav liner, then traversed the Andes mountain range by train. There they found themselves, heavily laden like mules, amidst rugged expanse and vibrant mineral lagoons, using the Licancabur volcano—a sacred mountain for the Atacameño Indians—as their guiding landmark. Its cone reaches an impressive height of 6,000 meters.
Crossing the desert
Like a trickster, Gilbert had brought along his clarinet, hoping to make the stars waltz beneath the expansive sky. He participated in archaeological digs, despite lacking knowledge of the llama caravans that roamed the desert or the Aymara culture. He brushed dust off mummies but grew weary of piling up skeletons and enduring the nameless heat after four months. Music was his true passion. He had studied the clarinet at the Geneva Conservatory before immersing himself in jazz. Rather than stick to structured scores, his free spirit danced along with the notes of trumpeter Charlie Parker, which he would listen to repeatedly. A new idea sparked in his mind: to delve into Chilean music. With this goal, he resigned from his post.
For four days, he journeyed, tongue parched, across one of the driest deserts on earth. Without a compass, he thought navigation was simple: the country spanned 4,300 kilometers. On one end lay the Andes mountains, while on the other was the ocean. He guessed that Santiago, the capital, was right at his fingertips. Yet, he encountered no one throughout his travels. It was hard to believe that some scientists consider the earth overpopulated. He laughed, narrowly escaping death from thirst and hunger before being rescued by a truck that screeched to a halt nearby. Luck had led him to safety.
Seeing ghosts
“The road was straight and monotonous, enveloping us in a cloud of dust. Tarmac had not yet reached this region, yet it was referred to as the Pan-American,” he recounts in his unpublished autobiography. “The journey was lengthy; we exchanged few words, only occasionally to locate ourselves and count the kilometers to the next village. On the first night, I noticed the guide, who later turned out to be the truck owner, panicking in the darkness. He appeared truly terrified, pointing out things I could not see, aside from a few foxes that vanished quickly in the truck’s headlights. I inquired with the driver about the issue. He shrugged and replied, ‘Oh, he sees ghosts everywhere; don’t pay it any mind.’
As luck would have it, he arrived in Santiago on Violeta Parra’s birthday. She was a poet, artist, activist, feminist, and host of a popular radio show. Students had suggested that he meet this folklorist, who traveled throughout the countryside to document over 3,000 traditional songs at risk of disappearing.
- “Don’t be upset; I’ll bring you a Gringo,” said the woman who brought Gilbert to see Violeta.
He is the one who continues to narrate the story.
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It was a very small room, with an upright piano leaning against one wall and behind the door, a large bed, where an impressive woman was sitting under the covers, with long black hair, a face marked by pox, piercing and highly expressive eyes, and at her feet, (…) a five-liter basin of wine (…). It was her birthday. I found it rather peculiar and asked Violeta,
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“But aren’t you going to join in?”
She replied curtly:
- No, parties bore me.
She dismissed the other guests, poured and refilled his glass with wine, played the piano, discussed everything with him, and showered him with affection. What a wonderful gift, she must have thought, a handsome gringo, 19 years her junior, eager to learn from her. Thank you, life! Two kindred spirits had just discovered each other on Earth. Like him, she had always been broke. Like him, she defied the racist and classist society of Chile with her freedom. After a few weeks, she humorously said to him:
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“My Gilbert, if you want to do things the right way here, you must ask the head of the family for my hand.”
Indicating her son, Ángel Parra, who blushed and hurried to affirm their love. And now, here I am, preparing to board the long-haul Air France flight to Santiago.
The Connection Between Violeta Parra and Gilbert Favre: A Cultural Exploration
Three years ago, on the terrace of the Grütli café in Geneva, a friend launched into a digression in the middle of a discussion about the historical heritage of our city that would send me to Chile for several weeks, upsetting all my current plans. The friend in question, Jean-Dominique, a descendant of the illustrious General Dufour, who gave his name to the street where the Grütli is located, told me that one day, a long time ago, his mother, a Protestant from a good family, attracted by a glowing article in the Geneva Journal, had taken him, as a child, to a concert by the Chilean singer Violeta Parra at the small Crève-Cœur theater in Cologny.
I didn’t know who Violeta Parra was, but I would soon realize that I was wrong, because she is an immense personality. On stage, my friend continues, the South American artist and activist reinterpreted the folklore of her country. Accompanied on the quena, an Andean flute with a tone that is both rich and caressing, by a Genevan in a poncho named Gilbert Favre.
The Love of His Life
“We ended up at home with the musicians and half the audience around an improvised plate of spaghetti at midnight” he remembers. My interlocutor is amused by my ignorance: Violeta Parra is the author of the song Thanks to Life of which I obviously know the version by Joan Baez, covered in particular by U2. I didn’t know that it had been written by a Chilean. And the other name, Gilbert Favre, I also hear it for the first time. How could he accompany such a famous musician, dubbed by Bob Dylan? And besides, what was she doing in Calvin’s city? “Gilbert Favre was the love of her life! And maybe it was because of him that she committed suicide. Besides, the song Thanks to Life was dedicated to him, shortly before his death. Just hum the first few notes anywhere in South America and your neighbor will sing along.”
Back home, I immediately start researching. I find the article in question from Geneva Journal. This is the edition of March 11, 1963, which also reports on a coup d’état in Syria, a burglary at a jeweler’s on the Quai des Bergues, and political quarrels in the France of Georges Pompidou. “A great show”: the venerable newspaper did not bother with headlines. “Violeta Parra refused the facilities of exoticism to try to restore, in their original beauty, the songs and dances of her country” writes a certain PB on page 9.
The Mystery of Gilbert
“Sovereign mastery” and “wonders of certain Cantos,” “your deliberately intimate tone” and “warm familiarity,” PB is won over and invites his readers, like Jean-Baptiste’s mother, to rush to the next performance.
However, there is not a word about Gilbert Favre in this article. A Wikipedia page presents him as “clarinetist and anthropologist” and, indeed, “great love” by Violeta Parra. An unpublished autobiography on a site dedicated to him perhaps explains the silence of the Geneva Journal: he was a bad boy! A son of the wind, often in the fog and fond of women. I discover that this good man was the love of another woman I admire, Grisélidis Réal, the writer, painter, and prostitute whose work I have read and reread Short Chronicle of Courtesans (ed. Bertil Galland, 1976).
A Troubled Past
I came across a RTS program from 2003, two years before Grisélidis Réal’s death. It humorously tells the story of Gilbert Favre, who had died five years earlier. “He worked at the post office as a courier, he had a yellow bicycle and delivered the mail. Some days, he would arrive a little wasted because he was drinking and would say to me: “Oh, I got fed up, so I threw it all in the Rhone””. He was Grisélidis Réal’s lover in Geneva in the late 1950s. Swiss women did not yet have the right to vote, and she was still far from imagining that she would become a prostitute. “We were immersed in jazz, in love, in poetry. We were very poor but we didn’t care.”
Into Chile
After leaving Grisélidis Réal, Gilbert lands in a Saint-Antoine prison due to unpaid military taxes. In a surprising turn of fate, he is offered a chance to travel to Chile as an assistant to Jean-Christian Spähni, a specialist in Amerindian populations of the Andes. This is where my journey to Chile begins to take shape, but in whose footsteps am I following—Violeta Parra or Gilbert Favre?
Exploring the Andes
With no aspirations to be confined to a desk, Gilbert takes the leap into adventure. He travels across the ocean aboard a Yugoslav liner, and the Andes mountain range by train. Loaded like mules, they traverse rocky expanses and colorful mineral lagoons, with the Licancabur volcano towering in the background.
The Quest for Music
Despite his clarinet skills, Gilbert discovers a frustration for archaeological digs. Consumed by a desire to embrace Chilean music, in search of folk songs and vibrant sounds, he decides to leave the archaeological work behind and venture into the heart of Chile. “No more compartmentalizing scores, my free soul wanders with the notes of Charlie Parker,” he vibrantly recalls.
Survival and Encounter
On his journey, Gilbert faces the harsh realities of the Atacama Desert, one of the driest in the world. Without a compass, he uses the Andes and the sea as his navigational beacons, narrowly escaping death from thirst and hunger. Finally, he reaches Santiago on Violeta Parra’s birthday.
A Meeting of Kindred Spirits
Under the guidance of local students, Gilbert is introduced to Violeta Parra, a pivotal moment in his life. Describing his first encounter, he notes, “It was a very small room, and sitting under the covers was an impressive woman, long black hair, a face pitted by pox, and piercing eyes…”
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As they bond, Violeta pours Gilbert a drink and, without hesitation, they discuss dreams and philosophies.
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“My Gilbert, if you want to do things right here, you must ask the man of the family for my hand,” she playfully suggests.
Impact on Chilean Culture
Their relationship not only fuels personal creativity, with Violeta embracing Gilbert’s adventurous spirit, but also prompts a cultural exchange that enriches Chile’s musical landscape. As the couple navigates the complexities of love and commitment, their influences ripple through the artistic community.
Traveling to Chile: Practical Tips
- Plan Ahead: Research cultural hotspots like Santiago and the Atacama Desert.
- Engage in Local Culture: Attend folk music events, art shows, and local festivities.
- Stay Hydrated: Always carry water, especially when traversing desert regions.
- Learn Basic Spanish: It enhances interactions with locals and their rich culture.
Conclusion on Heritage and Legacy
The artistic legacy of Violeta Parra and Gilbert Favre continues to inspire musicians, artists, and lovers worldwide. Their entwined stories exemplify the transformative power of cultural connections, reminding us of the universal language of love, music, and art.
