Dear Paris... Love you... Love your ambience... Love your Style... Hate your Metro Police

I am absolutely enraged, which is generally the only reason that I would be sitting in the business centre of a hotel, at 1 am writing on my blog instead of in my comfy comfy king size bed.

The complimentary slippers are a slight consolation though.

Tonight was girls night out in Paris. H. and I met up with a friend of mine from Switzerland... well, she's actually an American in Switzerland, now transplanted to Paris... We shall name her.... American Transplant.* So, H. and I met up with American Transplant and one of her friends right downtown at a beautiful spot overlooking the Eiffle Tower for some drinks and then dinner.

Drinks were had** and food was enjoyed, as were the company and conversation. I always enjoy being around American Transplant... she's one of the most grounded and sensible people I know that still manages to get every last drop out of life. It's rejuvinating.***

We decide to go on to the lively Latin Quarter to show H. the sights and sounds of the city. I was also excited because while I have been in Paris often, and often claim that it feeds my soul (in a slighty melodramatic way)... I've never been able to see the arts and festivities that the Latin Quarter is so famous for.

We get to the Metro stop and start souring for metro ticket vendors. There are none at this particular stop, so American Transplant and her equally petite friend go in together. Luckily, H. and I have our own extra tickets, because being giants and all... we would have a tough time fitting through together.

Now here's the obnoxious part. American Transplant & Co. get stopped by the Metro Police. OK...OK.... I mean, there were no ...and I mean NO obvious vending points, so clearly they were supposed to walk to the next Metro stop to get the appropriate ticketage... Sure, whatever.... but THEN....

Then as I'm walking through my ticket doesn't work. My bad, they all look the same to me, and I don't just throw them on the gournd, once used, like everyone else because I've been swiss-if-ied... so I ask H. to pass me another one from my purse, since we bought like a thousand. I play a game of trial and error with the machine, and finally I win and it lets me through.

My prize, you ask?

A 50 Euro fine from the ticket agent. Why? Because apparently I used an old ticket.

Umm. No. I didn't. I used a new ticket. Which is why he was able to fine me on the other side of the gate, because it let me through. Because it was a new ticket. Because you can't reuse old ones.****

Now, you see I had the great misfortune of being raised by several strong Irish women. If I'm wrong, I'll take my lumps, but if I'm right... I'm right, and you'll take yours.

So I may have yelled and made a small scene, which he quickly ushered to the side. He threatened to call the police, and it was CLEAR that I was contemplating it. But, at the end of the day, I wanted to get on with our night. American Transplant fronted me the cash, since at this point I'm all MasterCard or bust.

Naturally, I left him with the ominous threat of submitting a complaint and asking for his badge number. Once back at the hotel, I spoke to the concierge. He told me that I should have had the police come and that those silly little Metro Rent-A-Cops are known for harassing tourists and that they give all french people a bad name.

Honestly, I wouldn't go thhhat far... but it clearly could have been all settled if he has just LISTENED to me. But he didn't, so tomorrow I go to the police Dept to file a complaint. I will get you Mr. Badge number 5143*****.... I will get you.

I am, however, happy to report that the Latin Quarter did not disappoint. Besides the fire throwing Gypsies by Notre Dame, my favorite would have to be the 8 piece band of random rag tag boys....... two trombones, two drums, 1 clarinet, 1 trumpet, a sax and a TUBA! Not only did they play, but they danced as they played.... The talent abounded and we ended up watching them for like 5 songs because it was just THAT hard to walk away. It's kind of like one of them rolled out of bed and said "Shit, I got stuck playing the trombone in the highschool band.... easily the least sexy instrument....what am I going to do..." So he called the guy with the Tuba (the only guy in the band with worse sexy-insturment troubles than him) and they decided to start a busking group. And I thank God that they did. Made my night.

Well, I hope that this post was less confused and messy like the last 5... travelling just kills my focus. You understand, right?
No, of course you don't.
I'll do better next week. I swear.

KK.

*If you'd prefer, I can go back and rename you Princess Devine...?
** Kirch Chamapagne.... cherry cream champanage... Ammmmazing.
*** I'm not just sucking up because she reads my blog and I'm staying at her house in a few nights...I swear
**** I recognize the ciruclar logic here, but he clearly couln't understand me so I just wanted to doubley make sure everyone else did.
***** NOT his real badge number...