I saw, and reviewed, five operas at the Aix Festival in July. An excerpt:

The first thing I saw was groups of soldiers. Aix-en-Provence, a wealthy tourist resort and college town, is not their primary target, and France is only the latest in a long series of countries to be occupied by the French military. But they were everywhere: at the airport in baggage claim, flanking the exit to the bus station. Each night, they stood in clusters near the doors of the theaters of the Festival D’Aix-en-Provence, celebrating its 70th anniversary of presenting opera this summer. Each identically dressed in camo shirts and pants and carrying an assault rifle, finger cocked on the trigger, the soldiers stared inscrutably from behind mirrored sunglasses. Some of them looked painfully young, most were skinny and seemed to be straining to hold their massive weapons across their chests. They watched as crowds came and went, lining up to go through perfunctory security checks at the entrances to the venues. They must have heard snatches of Purcell and Strauss echoing out of the courtyard of the Archevêché palace where many performances took place.