Forget the damned Bastille — it was an ugly scene of death. Go for the pure and holy.
PARIS, FRANCE — Arriving here late last Friday evening, I had essentially a full Saturday with my family to see as much of this historic city as we could muster. I had never visited before. The weather was hardly ideal — mid-90s, nasty hot. The week preceding likewise had not been exactly ideal for a visit. Rioting had broken out over the fatal police shooting of a teenage boy. For several consecutive days, protests raged. Fortunately, the street fires had cooled by the time we got there.
“Has the rioting stopped?” I asked our cab driver. “Yes,” he replied. “It is finished.”
