Bastille Day summary...
'Twas a grand party they held yesterday, though a bit toned down from last year's do, but I get ahead of myself...
One and all were invited to come at 8 pm for before-dinner socializing and a few drinks. One of the special treats the French laid out as aperitifs was a marvelous mixture of white wine and armagnac, but even here, I remain ahead of myself...
The story of the evening begins while walking to the Proton Club, where I spied one of the "outside" (feral?) cats who inhabit the area off to the side of the path I am walking upon. The cat was figuring out what to do with a small snake. I shooed the cat away to get a better view of the snake, and was able to take the following picture.
The critter was perhaps a foot long (I didn't bother to try to straighten the animal) and remained motionless - except for the flickering of its tongue - and made no move to attack while I leaned over it and flashed my camera at it. I figure the snake felt it was better than having to deal with the cat. Here's a picture taken of the business end of the snake, and the shape of the head got me to thinking that perhaps I was dealing with a poisonous snake.
I showed the picture to one of the ladies on duty at the Proton Club as I entered, and she said the snake was a гадюка, a word I was not familiar with, but which I can presently tell you translates as "viper." A search of the Internet turned up no vipers with such markings native to Kazakhstan, although there is a species that is commonly found here, V. ursini.
Anyway, after this brief foray into the study of natural history, I went over to where the preparations were coming to an end, in time to interpret some last-minute instructions from the French head of security on the proper care and handling of the red wine, the white wine, the rose wine, and - most important - the champagne. Then he disappeared, saying that the French team would make a grand appearance in something of a reenactment of the storming of the Bastille. After giving the rest of us enought time to congregate (and for themselves to be fashionably late to their own party :^), the French did make their appearance, as shown in the following shot.
The French, it seems, are about as reverent - or pehaps less so - about Bastille Day as we Americans are about the Fourth of July, at least if this group provides a representative data point. Sure, most folks wore a patriotic cockade, and some wore a distinctive red headdress that, I was told, was symbolic of the Gallic rooster (Coq Gallois), which is one of the national emblems of France, but others took the opportunity to show the colors in their own unique manner:
The party, I am told, went on until the wee hours. I left around midnight, having been granted a delay in the start of my day today, from 6 am to 8 am. I am now playing catch-up with day-to-day chores (laundry again, as well as some things I've promised to some people). I am standing by.
Cheers...
One and all were invited to come at 8 pm for before-dinner socializing and a few drinks. One of the special treats the French laid out as aperitifs was a marvelous mixture of white wine and armagnac, but even here, I remain ahead of myself...
The story of the evening begins while walking to the Proton Club, where I spied one of the "outside" (feral?) cats who inhabit the area off to the side of the path I am walking upon. The cat was figuring out what to do with a small snake. I shooed the cat away to get a better view of the snake, and was able to take the following picture.
The critter was perhaps a foot long (I didn't bother to try to straighten the animal) and remained motionless - except for the flickering of its tongue - and made no move to attack while I leaned over it and flashed my camera at it. I figure the snake felt it was better than having to deal with the cat. Here's a picture taken of the business end of the snake, and the shape of the head got me to thinking that perhaps I was dealing with a poisonous snake.
I showed the picture to one of the ladies on duty at the Proton Club as I entered, and she said the snake was a гадюка, a word I was not familiar with, but which I can presently tell you translates as "viper." A search of the Internet turned up no vipers with such markings native to Kazakhstan, although there is a species that is commonly found here, V. ursini.
Anyway, after this brief foray into the study of natural history, I went over to where the preparations were coming to an end, in time to interpret some last-minute instructions from the French head of security on the proper care and handling of the red wine, the white wine, the rose wine, and - most important - the champagne. Then he disappeared, saying that the French team would make a grand appearance in something of a reenactment of the storming of the Bastille. After giving the rest of us enought time to congregate (and for themselves to be fashionably late to their own party :^), the French did make their appearance, as shown in the following shot.
The French, it seems, are about as reverent - or pehaps less so - about Bastille Day as we Americans are about the Fourth of July, at least if this group provides a representative data point. Sure, most folks wore a patriotic cockade, and some wore a distinctive red headdress that, I was told, was symbolic of the Gallic rooster (Coq Gallois), which is one of the national emblems of France, but others took the opportunity to show the colors in their own unique manner:
The party, I am told, went on until the wee hours. I left around midnight, having been granted a delay in the start of my day today, from 6 am to 8 am. I am now playing catch-up with day-to-day chores (laundry again, as well as some things I've promised to some people). I am standing by.
Cheers...