At the start of August, I found myself in France just as the ¥Ñ¥êÎå݆ (Pari gorin, Paris Olympics) were getting underway.
Since the Îå݆ are a time of Û¹ú (aikoku, patriotism), the French put their culture on display for the world to see. This meant a proud showing of ¶à˜”ĞÔ (³Ù²¹²â¨²õ±ğ¾±, diversity) and ÃñÖ÷Ö÷Áx (minshu-shugi, democracy), sentiments that run deep in their national identity and were on full display during the é_»áʽ (kaikai-shiki, opening ceremony). My French friends like to tell me, ¥Õ¥é¥ó¥¹¤Î¥â¥Ã¥È©`¤Ï¡¢¡¸×ÔÓÉ?ƽµÈ?²©Û¡¹¤Ç¤¹ (Furansu no mott¨ wa ¡°jiy¨±, by¨d¨, hakuai¡± desu, France¡¯s motto is ¡°liberty, equality and fraternity¡±), and many of them were happy with how the Olympics turned out.
My Japanese friends, however, had some mixed feelings with how the é_»áʽ turned out. One thing that stood out for them was the portrayal of a headless ¥Ş¥ê©`?¥¢¥ó¥È¥ï¥Í¥Ã¥È (Mar¨© Antowanetto, Marie Antoinette), queen consort prior to the ¥Õ¥é¥ó¥¹¸ïÃü (Furansu kakumei, French Revolution).
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