We spent the first part of the morning taking care of vital chores. We changed a small amount of money at a very slow bank. We called ahead to Paris and reserved Rick Steve's first choice in hotels, suspecting that it would be a definite winner. And we also waited a long time at the bank that Doug had used when he lived there to see if there was any money left in it, but they couldn't find him in the computer anywhere. Funny, because at home the one place you can always find Doug is at the computer!

I also insisted we go back again to the Metz cathedral, since it had become my favorite cathedral in all of Europe. Notre Dame[119] really can't hold a candle to this one; sure, it may have been built as much as a century sooner, but the Metz Cathedral had at least twice as many stained glass windows, which meant it was twice as colorful and twice as light. I think it is much larger as well, the steeple raising some 90 meters (120+ feet, 12 stories) into the air. Hard to believe that such an impressive cathedral lies hidden in a small, obscure city. We had been chatting with locals about the cathedral, and they kept going on about the Chagall stained glass windows...we had naturally assumed that they meant the vividly luminescent ones which dominated our attention the day before. But according to the map in the cathedral, the one we liked was by Villon, a little known architect who was 83-years-old when he forged those lustrously hued shards of glass into artistically and impressionistically brilliant windows. If those were so incredible, the Chagall would be even better, right? So we tracked them down, only to find three small ones, interesting in their dominance of one color, but nowhere near as impressive as the other in the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament. Why were these getting all the attention? I really wanted to buy one of the church's brochures to learn more about them all, but the `gift shop' counter was closed yet again. The guard suggested I try again tomorrow.

This is most definitely the before picture at the train station!

We also had a few disappointments along the way. We had asked at the banks we went to if they had any 10F bills with Berlioz on them, but they all declined and suggested we try the Banque France. Once we got there, the clerk could do nothing but give us the number of a collector, who wanted $10/each for the $2 currency, and those were not for mint condition! Forget them! We also went back to our favorite pastry shop and bought vanilla eclairs, etc., but were dying for some milk to go with them. Doug led me to the cafeteria which he had frequented, and they were willing to sell us a glass of milk, but were really snotty when they realized we had pastries from another place, and wouldn't let us eat them there. Forget them! We lastly went to the "no longer the oldest church" to explore the inside, but it was also denied. Forget everybody!

After those frustrating adventures, we once again sheltered ourselves in the relative comfort of our Cold Box, taking a nap I sorely needed and watching interesting nature television such as the one on seals that even I could follow. But afterwards, we were ready to go shopping. We wanted to stock up on stuff to take home with us, since we knew that we had only 2 more days that we'd have to lug it around. Doug went to a bookstore and bought a French Bible. We went to a small market and bought some unsweetened cocoa and a giant chocolate bar. We finally found a tire store with an `F' sticker for Doug, and they were nice enough to give it to us for free[120]. Just as we left that shop, however, we happened to glance across the street. Giant letters spelling out `ATAK' loomed on a giant warehouse-sized building...

And attack it we did...but those letters were actually the name of a supermarket chain. And a supermarket it was. "Sensory overload!" Doug burst out, and boy was he right. If we wanted to stock up with stuff to take home, here was the place. This was definitely the largest supermarket we'd seen for a whole month and, though it was still smaller than the typical Pac n' Save or even a large Safeway in Sacramento, to us at that time it looked enormous. There were many goodies to choose from, but we really hadn't changed over all that much money, so we had a hard time deciding. We looked for Chartreuse, but couldn't find it. Great, now we find little butter packets that we could have been using on our baguettes all week long. Knowing we could each bring home a bottle of alcohol without paying duty, Doug picked out two $3-$4 bottles of French wine. I got chocolate galore, including a pack of 5 giant candy bars for $1 that I figured we'd only use for cooking[121], more unsweetened cocoa[122], a chocolate mousse recipe bar actually made by Nestle[123], and probably other stuff I can't remember. As I was checking out, Doug ran back to get some M&Ms[124], so I was left to decipher how much the total of our purchases was. I had thought she had said "quatre" something or other, so, thinking she had said "40", but all I could hand her was a 100F bill. Luckily for me, she had said "96" and I was saved embarrassment by coincidentally handing her the right amount.

For dinner Doug convinced me to try the Kebab place in Centre St. Jacques, and I was in love! In case you were never quite sure what that was, it was like a gyro: shaved lamb in a pita bread with yogurt sauce and (not for me) onions and tomatoes. Man, I could really go for one of those right now! Doug also introduced me his beloved "Irish Pub", where we sat at the bar and met with Ian, a cynical, Dennis Miller faker who, and you might guess, really was Scottish and really was an English-speaker. I could then see why Doug came here a lot, because it was nice to hear everybody speaking our native tongue after hearing incomprehensible languages for so long. God knows he certainly didn't go there for the prices--a ,5 liter `pint' of Guinness ran $7, and a ,25 liter `half-pint' of Kilkinney was $5! Can hardly get drunk on a budget there!

Though Doug was a little apprehensive, he had really wanted to visit the place again, knowing that, even though he had once had loose-end `girl'friends there, he had also had real friends, too. Doug explained to the bartender Ian that the grubby Irish pub was so much cleaner and better-taken care of now, and Ian was describing how the owner bought it from Ivan and...boy, that customer over to the left of us sure was rudely demanding our bartender's attention. Ian blew him off, telling us to ignore him and instead started talking about how his mom was presently on holiday to India and...but that guy was now screaming at him and waving his arms. Ian kept ignoring him, until finally the man just came behind the bar himself. As if that wasn't shocking enough for me, what Doug then said to him made me practically fall off my stool. "Hey Fat Fuck!" Doug exclaimed to this stranger, who then looked at him for more than a moment, looked confused, then said "It's not Doug!" What a relief it was for me to find out that Doug actually knew this guy; this was Patrick Culhane, one of the friends Doug had told me about!

We spent the rest of the evening in the Irish pub, nursing our "tres cher" beers as slowly as possible, chatting with Patrick, and playing more than our share (cher?) of darts. Again, now Doug was able to add some good memories to the distraught ones he had made there three years ago. I guess some things we took back with us couldn't be found in a supermarket.