About a month ago, I commented that it seemed the dramatics in the French strike had disappeared. I was wrong.
I woke up this morning to a distant angry thrum of voices. There was chanting of incomprehensible slogans, yells, and whistles. For the first few minutes as I lay in bed, trying to pick out words, I was scared; we all remember the horrors that took place in Mumbai so recently, and bombs were discovered in a popular Parisian department store earlier this week. The American Embassy sent out a warning to all Americans in Paris to watch out. Fear was not a good feeling to wake up to.
But then, slowly, comprehension trickled back. My older host sister was going to skip school today, because the lycéens (high schoolers) were striking, protesting a law that would severely change the French education system, cut out most of the arts and languages, and downsize teaching staff. Ever resourceful, the students stole the big garbage bins around the quartier early this morning and are now using them to block off the school - barricade-style. I can still hear them shouting, whistling, and screaming; after all, the school day is only beginning.
Oh, someone's using a bullhorn to address them - a police officer, I guess? It's really bizarre to be sitting inside and hearing all of this. I need to venture out of the apartment in two minutes to get on with my last day in Paris, so maybe I'll have more to report on later.
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