I clawed my way through that crowd to get into the Bastille for yet another bout of music. These mini-concerts are called 'casse-croute', which is snack. They are free concerts offered in the small theater, at one p.m., where one can come in during their lunch hour supposedly and get an hour and a half of music. Members of Paris' Symphony Orchestra take turns playing.
Today the oboe was featured. I happen to love the oboe. There were four musicians, who made very beautiful music. Except for one contemporary composition that sounded just like cats in heat. I was truly impressed that these two violins, one cello and one oboe could so perfectly mimic the sound of over-sexed cats--a truly grating, discordant ode to music gone wrong.
But, so, back to my arrival to the mayhem, I'd shoved my way though the boisterous crowd to get in. "What's up," I yelled into my friend Emily's face as soon as she arrived.
"A strike," she said. "Did you know that the pilots of Air France are going on strike until Monday?"
"What?" I yelled louder, because I am leaving Sunday, on Air France...I hope. "But those guys out there don't look like pilots," I said. Maybe they are? And this is how they really look out of uniform? I went green around the gills.
"Oh no," said Emily. "That out there is a different strike."
They were cooking fabulous looking and fabulous smelling food out there for these very happy strikers--
The pilots are striking because their retirement age is being booted up from sixty years old to sixty-five. They have taken umbrage. I will desist with any and all comments until I am back in good ole CA, trying to get my cat to graciously, for once in her sweet life, take the medicine she needs, and then to pat me on my back for my effort.
I've checked my reservations, and all seems nicely confirmed and all, at this point, anyway.
Here's hoping Air France will move heaven and hell not to disrupt their very lucrative Paris/Los Angeles route.
And I suddenly remember that last year Air France went on strike just before I came home too. Last year it was the stewardesses causing the problem... they were a grim lot on that flight home.
So now I know why deja vu seemed to hover when Emily told me about the strike.
When the concert ended, the strike was over, and what do you know, there was our smiling First Couple Elect. And, by the by, that is my friend Emily, an American living in Paris, standing there, in approval of the elections outcome as well.
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