Welcome to Lourdes
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ou’re seated at a crowded sidewalk café on a mild spring morning in the South of France watching the world go by. Literally. There in the street, close enough to touch,
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colorful platoons and loud military marching bands from all over the planet stomp past your table one after the other in no particular order. You sip your café au lait and admire the pomp and pageantry of it all: the passing tight columns of young men and women in crisp uniforms—some formations go by chanting in unison—their jaws set and eyes fixed straight ahead under the ripple of proud
