Today is Armistice Day in France, which is a national holiday. Holidays here are scared-nothing shall be open, no one will work, and merriment will reign supreme. Or something like that. Unfortunately, I remembered that it was a holiday after leaping out of bed super early and readying myself at lightening speed to make it to the bank before noon. I had my coat on before I remembered what day it was. Poop.

However, it was not a holiday-as-usual in my neighborhood. As I was later walking along rue du Commerce, all the stores were open and filled with happy shoppers. An older woman was walking down the street in bewilderment and stopped me. “It’s all open?” she said, “Even the post office?” I replied that the post offices and banks (hurrumph) are closed, but, yes, everything else is indeed open. She slowly shook her head, as if to indicated that this was the ultimate sign that all has gone to hell in a hand-basket.