I went to the Eiffel Tower. I walked along the Champs-Elysees. I took pictures of the Arc de Triomphe. I strolled around the Left Bank. I had coffee and croissants for breakfast and baguettes for lunch and pot au feu for dinner. I sat outside numerous cafes drinking even more numerous Stella Artois, some of the time smiling at the pretty girls and stunning women walking by (one of whom, I'm quite convinced, even smiled back a little) and the rest of the time pondering one of the great questions of the modern age -- namely what exactly the fuck is the plural of Stella Artois?