Les Anglais!

Before I continue with the pictures, here are several highlights from the trip:

- Chelsea buns: We bought these sweet glazed delicacies at Fitzbillies, a niche pastry shop and quintessentially English. Chelsea buns are like cinnamon rolls, but instead of icing, they have glazed honey (?) and little soltanas (some little fruit similar to raisins). We could feel the pounds being added to our stomachs, but kept eating anyway. I had my first Cornish pasty at the same shop. It's rather difficult to describe - imagine three flaky croissants combined, with meat and onions inside, and then baked to an almost unbearably hot temperature. Apparently they come in lots of varieties; I'd like to try a ham and cheese one next time.

- The "hostel" where Rachel lives is more like a hotel. High-speed internet access, a luxurious common room (where I was violated. Read on...) with TV and DVD, several fully equipped kitchens, sheets changed weekly, bedroom floors vacuumed daily and the bathrooms are, well, I guess they're still bathrooms in a student residence. Some were actually smaller than the smallest French bathrooms; I was shocked!

- Approximately twelve yards from the entrance of said hostel is a square with a fantastic open-air market each day; we visisted a couple times but had always just eaten and thus passed on the ostrich sandwiches. (What kind of barbarian can eat an ostrict anyway? Imagine how frightened the creature is when it's being pursued; it panics and shoves its head in the ground! What really must kill it when it's yanked from the ground is a brain aneurysm or cardiac arrest from the sight of a sharp, shiny machete.)

- After one late night outing, we had chips and cheese - French fries liberally covered with shredded cheese and kethcup, mmmm - from a little white van that mysteriously opened up shop in that square.

- Dojo: an excellent Japanese/Chinese/Thai/Vietnamese noodle shop with super-generous portions.

There were lots of other neat, quaint attractions, but I forgot them all in my hurry to return to second-world, riot-ridden, expensive, unhelpful and unfriendly France. Here's the rest of the pictures:

Getting ready for the Emma formal. This was a *ahem* quick process.


I had to sneak this picture after the head waiter reprimanded people for taking pictures. Apparently dinner photography violates some sacred culinary covenant. I was woefully under-dressed and kept my jacket on until the very last moment possible.


Rachel also snuck a photo - we were all stunned at her boldness, and fearful of being kicked out for guilt by association. Our dinner companions were all history grad students, and very interesting people. The guy to my right was friendly and extraordinarily intelligent. I enjoyed conversing with him and exercising vocabulary dormant for months. The fellow with glasses across the table was also smart, but a bit of a philanderer... apparently all the ladies were wooed by his performance on a British reality show.



With friends like these, who needs enemies? Yes, half my left shin is shaven. No, I didn't notice it until it was far too late. Yes, everyone at my korfball practice pointed and laughed. Note to self: don't fall asleep around mischievous WANKERS. Just kidding. It was pleasantly smooth but now's been overrun by evil stubble.



Unfortunately, the rest of my stay was marred with typical English weather - clouds and drizzle. Otherwise, we would have gone "punting" on the Cam - like gondolas in Venice, except it's do-it-yourself!


The mishaps continued as aforementioned reality fellow let his drink explode all over me at his otherwise very cool flat party. The napkin he handed me was nice...


Open defiance of the Emma maitre d'. Rachel, thank you for such a great time!