Every night outside the Festspielhaus a middle-aged Chinese woman with wire-rim glasses has been handing out leaflets and otherwise protesting something. I wasn't sure what until I declined a leaflet by saying "sorry" and she exclaimed "English!" and handed me the English version of her pamphlet. It turns out she's from Falun Gong, protesting organ harvesting by the Chinese government. I have no idea why she chose the Bayreuth Festspielhaus as her protest site, unless she figures a lot of the audience is looking for replacement organs, which is possible. Otherwise I haven't seen any other protests.
The Japanese lady was back last night in another beautiful but subdued kimono, this one very pale skyblue with faint pink petals and leaves on it. That obi is a stroke of genius. But the seats aren't bothering me as much, possibly because the Ring operas tend to fly by for me. Really.
I did try the ice cream vendor during Tristan, since that seemed less inappropriate than during Parsifal. I had kirsche, which was excellent and had a very deep cherry flavor. Yesterday beforehand I had malaga. Sometimes I'll order things just to find out what they are. It turned out to be rum raisin, and very good.
I'm turning into Homer Simpson at breakfast. I eat piles of bacon and then go back for more. The bacon is very bacony. Hmmmmm . . . . bacony. . . .