Sara’s abroad in Paris, France, until Dec. 13.

If this past week had a theme it would probably have to be the Paris police force. For whatever reason, as the weather starts to drop, the cops seem to come out in France.

As I’ve mentioned before, the public transportation here is unparalleled. Trains come about every four minutes and go pretty much anywhere in the city. That said, it’s a system that’s pretty abused by tourists and Parisians alike. Between hopping turnstiles and jumping through with paying metro users, there’s plenty of ways to get away with not paying the one euro for a ticket.

As Northwestern students, we all of course bought carte oranges (the monthly metro pass) but when someone changed purses or wallets and forgot to grab their carte oranges, it’s been pretty easy to just double up and get through the metro turnstile with a friend who remembered his/her ticket.

But all good things must come to an end. On the way home from seeing Mamma Mia — which was an experience unto itself, by the way. The French absolutely LOVE this movie, to the point where a group of what looked to be 25-year-old women memorized the moves to “Dancing Queen” and performed for the audience as the movie played. Hilarious — anyway, on the way home from Mamma Mia, one of the girls I was with forgot her carte orange. However, this time didn’t go so smoothly as we tried to sneak her in. The French metro police came out of nowhere and handed her a 50-euro fine. Ouch.

I looked around and saw pretty much everyone at the metro getting tickets. At least we weren’t the only law-breakers. In a period of 48 hours there were probably 200 euros worth of fines handed out to people in my study abroad program alone. Luckily I didn’t have any problems, but it wasn’t a cheap week for a lot of kids here.

But that being said, the French police aren’t all about giving out fines. Last night, I saw the friendly side of law enforcement. Leaving the Saint-Germain des Pres district past 12:30 meant that unless I felt up for walking the 1-2 mile walk back to my hostel, taking a taxi was a must. I was on my way to meet up with Casey, my roommate, when I got a call from her.

“Hurry up — we’re getting a ride from the police!”

Turns out if you ask the cops where to get a taxi they’re likely to just offer a free ride. And that is how I found myself in the back of a French police car — which looks and feels more like an ambulance minus all the medical stuff — trying to navigate back to the 14th, the district I live in. There was a lot of “A GAUCHE! CONTINUEZ! A DROIT!!!” Eventually we made it back. While they were all about business at the metro, the police were a little less professional this time. Before getting out they asked for our numbers and tried to get us to go out for a drink. With a “thanks but no thanks” we were out of the police van and back in bed.

Other than that, this week has been pretty calm and uneventful. But after I’m finished writing this, I have to start packing for my weekend in Nice. Hopefully I’ll come back with some good stories. Between the beaches of the Cote d’Azur and the casinos in Monaco, there’s bound to be something worth reporting.

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