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March 25, 1994

Much less busy day. Some vague palavers at [. . .] 's offices ([. . .]); I escaped for 15 minutes, not translating for anyone, to get some fresh air — and wound up witnessing some wreathlaying ceremonial at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier under the Arc de Triomphe, involving apparently an ambassador or foreign government visitor, some military from an Eastern European country, and an orthodox bishop in black veils and carrying a silver pommeled staff.

Later, I decided I needed medical dictionaries for the weekend's seminar, and mostly walked, partly subwayed it, to 98 bd. du Montparnasse, La Maison du Dictionnaire, where I met the owner M. Michel Feutry and bought $200 of dictionaries.

Because of the student demonstrations (against a government-mandated program to employ them for 20% less than adults), involving chiefly a march from Denfert-Rochereau to Nation, the subway was bollixed up a bit: i.e., it ran better than the one in Chicago on a normal day; and the body resolutely wanted to demonstrate with them and took me 2 stations the wrong way before I realized it and got out and reversed route: I fairly flew back to a meeting at the hotel, a weird consultant whose English was such as not to require me, but I was 10 min. late.

More palavers, then a break, then more palavers mixed into dinner at the Brasserie de la Poste, rue de Longchamp nearby. Excellent marbré de lapereau au foie gras, mediocre choucroute despite it being their specialty. Mine is much better.

Back to the hotel, and as always on these trips, lonely and looked at TV for hours, then got James on the phone, long talk, everything OK.

Finally, now, to sleep, exhausted.

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