Sainte-Chapelle est...

MAGNIFIQUE!

Missing everyone in the States, but this stuff here in Paris is pretty neat...

Photos de la Loire

Here are some photos of my class trip to two Chateaux de la Loire: Blois and Chambord. Chronologicaly, they should be read bottom to top, just like stain glass windows. This is entirely intentional.
We also had an amazing two-hour lunch: foie gras and duck, then duck and hazlenuts, then the cheese- I tried three kinds of chevre, one of which was local. It was amazing that the all tasted differently! Then dessert: chocolate cake, a grapefruit tart and a hazlenut-chocolate bar, and sorbet. Followed by coffee. And with excellent wine. Magnificant!



This is Chambord, which was magnificant. It really is out of a fairy tale: one girl kept asking, where did they keep the princess?

This is the entrance to Blois. The statue is of Louis XII , whose capital was here.

Here you can see the Renaissance facade and the Classical facade, as well as a fine profile of Steven Sawyer, our professor.
The outer Renaissance facade of Blois.

La Justice

So we're on the Metro last night, going out to dinner, when these drunken meat-head americans all pile on to the same train. Now I would not claim that we are the perfect guests in this new land, but these guys were absolutley stereotypical: baseball hats, t-shirts, jeans, sneakers, loud, pushing. We all move away, hoping to avoid association.
As the train pulls away, they quiet down. Suddenly, one of them, obviously the most angry at the French for some reason, starts saying, "God Bless America." Panic runs through our
little expatriot group- please do not start this!
"GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!"
He laughs with his friends, repeating his joke. No one on the train says anything, but you can feel the anger rising.
We reach our stop and, unfortunatly, they get off with us. They stumble around the platform a while, and finally one of them asks us which way to go to get out of the station.
They stumble ahead, and we pull back, trying to lookas French as possible (read: scowling).
But what do we find ahead? Un Contol! A line of uniformedofficers blocks the exit. The meatheads all get very quiet as they approach the line. We bunch up behind them, waiting
to pass through.
Two of them fumble through there coats and present their purple Metro tickets. Mais- qu'est qui passe- il y a une probleme? M. "God Bless America" does not have a valid ticket! Quelle domage!
"Ca, c'est la justice" I say to my friends, quietly.
The turnstile jumper continues to argue, in very poor English, that he bought his ticket and that is is still valid.
The officer just shakes his head.
"Ca, c'est la justice", he says, as he leads the American over to pay his fine.

Paris! In the Cold!

Sorry I havn't updated in a while. Living in a dorm doesn't lead itself to the same adventures as hostels. But here are some pictures!



Thanks to Somy- everyone elses cameras are better than mine, so I let them do the picture taking)

Paris

I'm in Paris. I havn't done anything touristy. The dorm is nice. Food is good. When I do something fun, I'll let you know.

Scotland Yard...foiled again!

[I've posted the picture in the previous post]

So the money was lost. I kept hoping that it would turn up in my bags when I reached France and I would *snif* have no way to return it. No such luck.
Anyway, the cops leave and I figure we'll all go back to bed. But the Brazilian is laughing about something. I ask him what's so funny. He pauses,
"Well," he says, "you see...I am stripper."
He pulls up his shirt to show me his six-pack to drive home the point.
"I am stripper at club in town, and that cop you take picture with...he come and see me all the time. He come in and he like 'Marcos?' You see, Marcos my stripper name. But he like, shh, don't tell no one!"
To make the story even crazier, turns out that 'Marcos' is putting both his brother and sister through Havard by working as a stripper. And he used to be in the French Foreign Legion.

We all laughed and laughed, until the old man came back in and made us all go to bed.

The Inspectors from the Yard pt. 2

So the police never show up. I decided to go to bed around 1, figuring that the hostel would be too afraid that the cops would discover all their undocumented workers if they came searching.
3 am: Pounding on the door, and in comes the manager, the victim, and three of HM E II R's finest. They ask us a bunch of questions, take down my passport info and home address (note to parents: if you get a call from the police looking for me, it probably doesn't mean I am a fugative. They just need to get in touch with me about this case. Probably.) I had been asleep at the time of the incident, and hadn't seen anything. So they all leave, and we try to go back to sleep.
4 am: Pounding on the door, and they all come back in.
'This gentelman has asked if we could search your bags. We have no power to do so, it would be completely voluntary'
After a few seconds of getting my bearings, and trying to think if I had anything overly embarassing or illegal in my bags, I agreed.
There were three cops: An older boss, a grumpy veteran, and a young rookie. The grump started searching the bags of the old British guy, while the rookie searched the other Brazilian's bag, pulling out about 7 pairs of jeans.
'Blimey' (he really said it!), 'how many pairs of jeans have you got?'
He then patted down the Brazilian, checking all his pockets.
Then he started searching my bag. He was shocked by all my pills ('You must rattle when you walk'). He did pull out the piece of chalk I'd taken from Dover- not from the National Trust, of course. He looked at it, maybe trying to figure out if it was a hunk of crack or something. After he'd finished, I asked 'Umm, would you mind getting a picture with me?' They all laughed, and I got a shot of me and the cop who searched my bags.





Anyway, they didn't find the money. The poor victim packed up his stuff and left.

But the best part of the story is yet to come! Keep reading to find out the stunning conclusion....