I’m in Riga, where there’s always music.  This year, it’s the venue for the World Choir Olympics.  I had never heard of such a thing, but never mind, it appears that lots of other people have.  The place is positively buzzing, with venues all across town, and impromptu street corner concerts for those who can’t get enough.

It’s grand.

Everywhere you look, groups large and small, all ages, in minimal or maximal choir attire, can be seen bustling about, off to some urgent event or another.  It wouldn’t be hard to be bowled over if you’re not careful.  The apartment I’m renting is directly on the path, it seems, between the Olympic Stadium and everywhere else, and all day long a chorus of languages files by, magnificent in its diversity, that would have made Babylon despair of towers forever

It seems every country in the world is represented, some more than once.  I’ve seen Russians, Bulgarians, Koreans, and even two flavors of Americans from the US.  I specify US to differentiate them from several Latin American groups.

Nor do they limit themselves to their own cultural heritage.  Just now, I’m walking past an outdoor bandstand, where a choir from somewhere in Asia is singing

Josha fixed a battle of Jericho
And the wuss come a ‘tumblin down

Gotta love it.