paris...je t'aime, mon amour...ma vie...mon coeur...

dear paris,

 i should probably be writing this in french, but i'm pretty tired, and you seem to understand english pretty well...even if you pretend you dont...

we need to talk.

i leaving you for a while.  i need a trial separation.  its not you, its me.  it's totally me.  i need space.  i need distance.  fo real, i need distance.  like, across the ocean type distance.  

you know i love you, right?  i love you.  i'll always love you.  you'll be in my thoughts the entire time i'm away.   

I need to go home for a while to get my thoughts cleared up.  You dont give me a chance to clear my thoughts because with you i'm always living spontaneously.  its a good thing.  its such a good thing, paris.  dont you forget it.  but there comes a time when one must evaluate what she is doing with her life, what her goals and aspirations are, where she wants to be in the future.  

when im with you, you seduce me.  you seduce me into thinking i can remain a daydreaming dandy for the rest of my life.  

that's not life.  that's fantasy.  you are a fantasy.  

i love you so much, paris.  je t'aime.  je t'aime.  je t'aime.  i'll be back.  before you know it, i'll be back, and it'll be just like i never left...only it will be better.  because it will be warm.  well...you know...in march it will become warm.

with deepest affection, bisous, bisous, bisous, bisous,

ranna s.  

Guess what Ranna found today?

SWIFFER WIPES.......

and it feels soooooooooooo good.  

in other news:  yesterday we had a holiday party in our class.  It was the most amazing class holiday party of my life.  We were popping champagne and eating foie gras like we were Jay Z.  At freaking 10 in the morning...mhm...this is the life.  

 

and lastly--i fly home for Christmas in 3 days 01 hours 30 minutes 03 seconds 

Some songs I think you should listen to: 

yek

do

seh

bisoussssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

window shopper

I am a window shopper of the sweet sort.  My time is spent standing outside of the bakeries around Paris watching (yes, not just looking at, but watching) the tarts, the cakes, the macaroons, the flans, the napoleons, the eclairs....

People go in.  Come out.  Go in.  Come out.  They take out the pastries from the bag and take huge bites.  My mouth waters as I watch the the crumbs fall on their shirts, or the cream stick to their faces.  I imagine what it tastes like.  

I have the perfect comparison.  Who's seen "Hook?"  You know the part in the movie when they PRETEND to have a feast with the play-do looking food?  That's what I'm reminded of as I watch the bakeries.  I pretend to eat.  I pretend that I'm tasting the tarte aux framboises (too sugary), the pain au chocolats (not enough chocolate), the flan (just right).  Mmmmmmmmmmm.  

BUT, I will not give in to the pleasures baked goods have to offer.  

Ranna: Hey look at this bakery.  Mm, that looks good.

Whoever is with me: Yeah, woah, that one looks good too.

Ranna: I wonder what that tastes like.  Do you want something?  (silently hoping they say yes)

WIWM: No, not really.  Do you?

Ranna: Oh.  No.  Let's go.  (BEFORE I BREAK THE WINDOW AND EAT EVERYTHING ) 

Good thing I have an active imagination. Or else, I think I would be dead by now.  

Shab bekheyr.  Did you like the two blogs in one day?  niiicce.  

Marrakech Mint Tea

The mosque popped out at us so suddenly that I was taken aback at how large and beautiful it ended up being.  To me, it's location is arbitrary--near Place Monge, just a block away from Rue Mouffetard, close to the Latin Quarter.  

I wondered why it was the first time I was seeing it.  As we inched nearer I was excited to see what it would look like on the inside.  Already, I was noticing the beautiful tile work that ran its way up and down the colossal architectural masterpiece.  Turquoise, yellow ochre, greys and whites jumped out and created an image straight out of...Morocco (bt dubs, 'rents, I'm going to go in February).  Its authenticity was better highlighted by the old women sitting outside in "dahaat" garb drinking tea, eating persimmon, and speaking Arabic to one another.  

Afterwards, Yasna asked me what I thought these women did all day sitting outside of the mosque in the shivering cold.  I don't know.  That's their community...their group...their, "doreh-yeh zanah," (Mamman, Homah, Peggy style... only instead of Mamman's house eating khoresht bademjoon, aash, and halva, they prefer tea and persimmon).  

Through the entrance, we could see a courtyard filled with fountains and greenery.  It was refreshing, in the midst of all the grey (grey buildings, grey skies, grey people), to see all of the colors the mosque held. 

We wanted to go inside and explore (well, I wanted.  Yasna just wanted to get her eyeliner) but they told us it was not open to the public.  Later we found out it was Eid.  Really?  Was it really?  Well, Eid Mobarak.  Hey, is Dai Kami back from Makeh yet?    

The mosque had a hammam built into it and I was itching to go inside and see what the deal was.  The walls were emitting steam, and standing in the cold cold cold weather outside, I was envious of those inside the hammam enjoying the heat.  Imagine what a hammam can do for your sinuses!  It's like bookhoor X 10000!!!!

There was also an amazing cafe/restaurant.  Yasna and I went and sat there for a while.  There were golden tables, woven tapestries, couches and lush pillows all over the room.  Little birds flew in and out chirping.  The room was pretty full and in the middle of the hustle and bustle, a waiter running in and out of the kitchen carrying trays with dozens of "estekaneh chai" (glasses of tea).  

Sweet mint tea.  I was not expecting it to be shirin (sweet).  Minty, yes, but sweet, no.  My taste buds were pleasantly surprised.  The warmth of the tea was great.  It was relaxing.  It was...well, when there is tea these days, there is no cough.  So, my lungs got a little break too.  : ) Just kidding.  MOM IM FINE.  

The entire building, the entire experience inside that building was relaxing. Why?  I dont know.  If find religious sanctuaries to be very meditative in general.  I guess its because when there is always so much going on in the city, its nice to go somewhere where people are at peace.  

I'm going back again.  To drink some more tea and sit on the couches with the large pillows and sing with the birds.  

No.  I'm going back to sit with the old Arab women in front of the mosque drinking chair.  I'll even wear the "dahat garb"  to stay warm.  And I want to try to learn what it means to be a part of their community.  

Love.  

DONT

 i wish i was the relative pronoun "dont" so that i could understand the relative pronoun "dont" because if I was the relative pronoun "dont" then I wouldnt have to spend the entire weekend cooped inside the library studying the relative pronoun "dont."  

frozen bones and no nose

I wish the weather would become warm again so I could walk around again without wearing my hat and my gloves and my scarf and my coat and spandex under my jeans.  and they're telling me that it gets colder than this, and i say, "colder than THIS?!" and they say, "mais oui, colder than this." 

and i think to myself, oh dear lord, my face is already so cold i cant feel my nose.  i cant feel my nose and its scary when you cant feel your nose because then you dont know if its still there or not.  what if it falls off?  i wont know until the homeless man sitting on the corner of the street wrapped in a sleeping back and some old boxes looks up at me and says, "mademoiselle, s'il vous plait..." but before he has time to finish he screams, "VOTRE NEZ!!!" and lets go of his puppy who runs off into the street onto the ruthless traffic that runs over him and ends his short life. 

the chill is so spicy that even if im wearing my hat and my gloves and my scarf and my coat and spandex under my jeans it manages to get through down to my bones and it freezes my bones so that i have to go home and thaw.  and thawing can be messy when the water drips and drips and drips over my eyes and down my arsm and right onto my dirty floors that never get clean.  and i have to use one of my four towels to clean my wet floors.  but its ok because i would rather have wet floors than frozen bones.  

Liberté, Egalité...Laïcité?

This came up in class the other day and it stirred up a lot of different thoughts, so here goes---- 

"La France est une République indivisible, laïque, démocratique et sociale." 

TRANSLATION: France is an indivisible, secular, democratic and social republic. 

Article 1 of the French constitution, and the French pride themselves on guarding those traits. 

Secularism?  The concept of laïcité was OFFICIALLY instated in 1905 when separation of church and state became viable by law.  Since then, the French have been doing their part on "strictly" upholding this secularism.  But, I think they're just kidding themselves.  

Per Constantine I, the French have adopted the Roman doctrine of refraining from work on Sundays.  But, they've taken it one step further than Ole' Const' by making it AGAINST THE LAW for businesses to open on Sundays.  The law.  Why?  Why because Sunday is the "Lord's Day."  It is holy and it must be respected (you are evil and you must be destroyed).  Apart from markets, Sunday is best identified in my mind by the constant chiming of the church and cathedral bells.  Everything is closed, grocery stores, government buildings, public libraries...school libraries... 

Museums stay open, as do SOME cafés around touristic hubs... which is interesting, but it's probably because they would face so many losses if they shut down.  What would the tourists do?  

Case numero dos: Same sex couples do not have the right to get married.  Wait...it's not that they don't have the right... it's that there's a LAW stating that it is illegal for them to get married.  There is no such thing as domestic partnership either (ie, civil unions).  The reasoning:  the church does not support same-sex unions; ergo, no ceremony for two people of the same sex.  ergo.  OK.  Then go through this "secular" state.  No can do.  The state will not perform unions for homosexual couples.  Why?  Although secular, France still has Christian roots and healthy ties with its religious commissaries.  They don't want no trouble with the big guy upstairs...

From a completely different angle comes this: while the French are in no hurry to give up these "Christian roots," they make it virtually impossible for other religions to play their part comfortably in this society.  The new wave of immigrants (and the old wave, and the even OLDER wave) practicing other religions have difficult times assimilating to the French lifestyle.  And in my opinion, the French... the "vrai" French, would like to keep it this way.  

 Immigrants from Northern Africa (Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, being the main three) have built rather large communities here (Paris and its suburbs).  Walking down the streets, I hear Arabic being spoken just as much as I hear French.  The Marais is filled with shops and restaurants run by Arab men and women.  

There is such a huge potential for an AMAZING Arab-French fusion.  They have the ability to build a great new culture.  And yet, the French denounce this culture again and again. 

There has been a long-running argument about religious relics being worn in school.  France says no.  No hejabs, no kippas, no crosses, etc.  But of course, that's a problem for a lot of people.  Young girls have gone to school wearing the hejab, only to be sent home again.  But, their parents cant very well keep them home from school now, can they?  

Freedom of religion in this secular society has caused wayyyyy more problems than originally anticipated.  

Moreover, apart from a religious point of view, Parisians have kept the immigrants at an arms-length by completely pushing them OUT of the city.  Go to any suburb of Paris (save maybe two or three) and you will see that it is filled with ONLY immigrants.  They come in, only to be pushed out.  They're labeled as "banlieusards," and they are frowned upon in the city.  I mean talk about creating a sense of hostility, the Parisians are totally stirring the pot!  

You know, everything in the world is ever-changing, ever-evolving.  The Parisians are trying SO hard to keep hold of the culture they used to be famous for.  The philosophers, artists, writers, walking around the avenues of Paris creating masterpieces, practically singing their ideas and theories to the world.  They want to keep a sense of who there were before--the Parisians who broke into the Bastille and sought their independence from the monarchy.  The Parisians who protested their rights and equality on the streets of Paris during the Communards.  They want to be famous for producing thinkers like Sartre, writers like Proust, artists like Monet... and they're so keen on holding on to the past, that they can't see what a wonder a future of new Parisian culture can become.  

I just completely went from secularism to cultural acceptance, but they work hand in hand if you think about it.  I mean, there can be secularism without all the hussle and bussle that France is creating.  And without the hussle and bussle, people can put their energy into rebuilding Paris into a cultural hub.  

Listen to this song: hyperlink, because it's cool 

Je pense donc je suis

Guess who's back, back again?!  Ranna.  So everyone report to the dance floor, dance floor, dance floor, dance floor.

I've been pretty down on the ground lately.  I got sick.  Really sick, actually.  The flu/sinus infection/feeling sorry for myself-itis.  I was alone, I went crazy.  

When I went back to school I couldn't quite get my energy level to the point where it had been before my mishaps.  I tried.  I really did.  Every day I woke up and said, "Ranna, pull yourself together.  You are in PARIS.  Be happy!  Be excited!"  I took Eckhart Tolle around with me every day, hoping that his words would help me get better.  

But, ehhhhhh, the weather was gloomy, it hurt me to swallow, and my hair was (excuse me, still is) RIDICULOUS looking.  

There was a cloud over my head (literally) and I just wanted it to go away.

And I am happy to say, ladies and gentlemen, that today it did.  

I don't know whether it was the blue sky, that we didn't have a verb conjugation test like we had planned, or the fact that I had the absolute BEST sandwich of my life while walking through the Jardin de Luxembourg, but all of a sudden I felt really good.

I think I needed a chance to chill out, take in my beautiful surroundings, and remind myself of where I was, and what I was doing. 

I feel really good right now.  Actually, I feel great.  

But, it's less about my stroll through the gardens, and more about my experience with...dum dum dum....the BUS.

What is Ranna rambling on about, you ask?  WELLLLLLL, let me tell you.

Since I've been here, I've pretty much avoided taking the city bus during the day.  I stick more to the metro, or I walk.  I blame my fear of transportation via bus to a terrible calamity that took place on my very first visit to Paris wherein my mother (as smart as she is) managed to get our family lost in Montmartre very late at night.  The very same night, in fact, when the homeless man with a missing eye decided to hop on the bus for a late night ride, and chose the seat right next to mine.  

I was affected for life.

OK.  I exaggerate.  But seriously, I avoided the bus.  The map was way to hard to understand.

But today, I was like, you know what?  I don't have anything else to do.  Let's do this janxx.  And so I did.  Granted, it took me 3 hours to get home, because I kept hopping off one bus, and getting on another...I don't know why I decided to take the longest route known to mankind.  But I did. 

I was pretty proud when the bus stopped right in front of Maison Blanche.  Hard work pays off... c'mon, it was difficult.

But I really can't wait to take the bus tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day.  

It's fun, you know?  It's exactly like the metro, only I get to see the city while I'm at it.  I mean, wow!  It BLEW my mind that Boulevard Raspail hit Rue de Renne hit Saint Germain-de-Pres.  Did everyone know that?  You know what this means?  It means, that I can walk from my school, to Boulevard Raspail, then down Rue de Renne and get to Saint Germain-de Pres.  

Although, it would be a lot easier just to take Boul Mich' instead....nevermind.  

OK, now I really am rambling.  I just... I was typing as I was thinking... because... haha, this afternoon, I thought I was so coy for coming up with the route from Raspail to Saint Germain...without thinking that Sorbonne is like 5 minutes away from it.  

So anyway, yes.  I am here.  I am in Paris.  Thursday is thanksgiving, thats cool.  Dad is visiting on Friday, hella excited.  

Oh but on Thursday, Marion and I are hitting up one of those American bistro's thats serving some good ole fashioned turkey day grub.  So, I have that to look forward to.

Shaabaaammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.  

Dedicated to: Aziz Joon.  I love you a lot.  Say hi to Daddy. 

hahahahahahaaa human interaction is great.

I have been sick for the last week.  I have done nothing but stayed home in bed.  

life is just such a mixed bag.  

Montmartre semble triste et les lilas sont morts

My favorite song, thus far, is one by Julien Clerc, "Fait-Moi une Place."  

Youtube's selections were all lacking, but I'm posting this one so that you get to hear the song.  For some reason it starts off during the middle of the first verse, sorry about that.  

The link.  Hyperlink.  Haha.

Today Marion, Arash, Jean-Charles and I trekked our way up to the 18th arrondissement of Paris to visit Montmartre.  This district of Paris is placed on top of the hill, overlooking the rest of the city.  Ever heard of the Basilica of the Sacre Coeur?  Well, its there.  It's interesting because Montmartre was not considered part of Paris during the time Napoleon III and Baron Haussman (the guy who basically renovated the entire city) were doing their thaaang.  Ever since then, it's had it's own sort of vibe.  It's kind of quirky in the sense that it's kept its old school vibes while the rest of the city has really changed with the times.  

I realized today that if I really wanted to find the artistic hub of the city, it was no longer Left Bank, Montparnasse, but Right Bank, Montmartre.  

The view from the very top of the city, right next to the Basilica is unworldly.  I thought Centre Pompidou was good, but this view was even more panoramic and even more...ideal.  It's like you're looking down at the city from the clouds.  The only problem I had (and Marion laughed at me and told me that I should stop behaving like a Parisian) was that the Tour Montparnasse TOTALLY takes away from the view of Paris.  Everything else is so classical and charmant, and then there's this tall building, randomly jutting out from the middle.  I just find it random and unnecessary.  haha.  "Je suis parisienne.   c'est d'accord." 

We went inside the Sacre Coeur and it was absolutely breathtaking in all of its architectural grandeur.  I mean, the way it's built is really unique to any other building in Paris.  The building itself is completely white, while the stained glass windows add a hint of color, causing the inside to have a red glow.  

Millions of candles with burning flames line the walls.  People come from all over the world and light candles and prayer.  The pews are scattered with people sitting, praying, crying.

Marion and Jean Charles, who are both very religious (I actually didn't know this until later) both took lit candle, sat down and prayed. 

I realized how different the experience inside the basilica was for them, than it was for me or Arash.  For us, it was a beautiful building from which we could find pleasure.  It was a historical landmark that needed to be seen.

For them, it was a sanctuary.  A place where their prayers would be heard.  

When they walked out, they were both uncharacteristically subdued.  Marion later told me that praying in the Sacre Coeur today was very paradoxical for her.  She has been having a hard time getting adjusted to life in Paris, she misses her friends and family back home.  So she said, praying, meditating, self-reflecting, they are hard tasks for her.  It was very hard for her to be in that sort of spiritual sanctuary.  And yet, she told me, she felt like it was something she HAD to do.  That the pain she felt in the moment was worth the ease she felt afterwards.

I don't know what else to type after something like that.  It's cold and rainy here a lot, so everyone takes advantage of clear sunny weather like we had today.  It was nice to be outside and take in the fresh air.  

I like Montmartre a lot.  In Marion's words, "I think I go back soon."  

love, Ranna 

im interesting enough to be in the louvre

I just had a really strange night...

I've been sick for the last few days.  It started off as a little cold, turned into a sinus thing, and today its my throat.  I spent the entire day inside, studying, drinking chai and juice, eating soup.  Good times.  

Then Arash (a friend introduced to me by Narges B.-- hollaaa 021), sent me a text reminding me that there was a Sufi concert going on tonight; asking if I was still going.  I was like, "hmmmmmm.  why not?"  It's interesting, its cool, its chill, its chill.  

So I call up my friend Yasna (super cool Swedish-Iranian girl who's in my class) and I'm like, "Yo Yasna, theres this Sufi concert tonight, wanna go?"  

I later found out that she thought I said "sushi concert" but she said yes, nonetheless. 

So around 5:30 Yasna and I met up at the metro near the concert venue, got kind of lost trying to find the place, but finally after asking around a lot reached the spot. 

There were like 7 people randomly standing outside the front of the door, looking at us like someone had just died...

"Are you here for the concert?"

"Yeah."  

"It's been cancelled. "

"It's been cancelled???" 

"Baleh, Ostad geer kardeh Iran."  (The..i dont know...Rosa says its maestro... is stuck in Iran) 

"Geer kardeh Iran???"  (he's stuck in Iran???)

"Baleh, kardanesh zendan."  (Yes.  They've put him in jail.)

"Kardanesh zendan???"  (They've put him jail???"

"Baleh, chon keh........................"  I didnt really understand the reason.  I dont know if Yasna did either.  

So, we're like, great.  What now?  So we decided to go and eat something before we headed back home. 

There are randomly 8 million thousand lebanese restaurants around Paris.  Randomly.  And they all have AMAZING food.  We walk into one of the little restaurants and all of the sudden we hear these people speaking Farsi.  

We giggled a little bit, and ordered our food, and I was like, this is silly, I'll just say hi to them.

WORST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE.

I was like, "Salaam" and right then, one of the guys (he had a hezbollah beard and a loud voice) was like, oh lets get you guys chairs, and you sit here and you sit here, and lets get you settled, and now tell me....

He and his friends were students that came with a larger group from the University of Tehran.  The two other ones, Perssia (pronounced Purse-siyah) and Reza were cool.  But this one, Arash (Arash#2).  I wanted to slap him at the end.  

Every time Yasna and I would open our mouths to say something, he was like "JOOON.  ELAHIIIII.  GORBOONET BARAM!!  CHEGHAD NAZ SOHBAT MIKONII"  

I was like, dude, shut up and let me talk.  

So Yasna and I sat there and ate our food, and they sat there, and when we finished they were like, "Ok, berim McDonalds."  

I was like, um, we just ate?  and i think you did too?  But for some reason we ended up going with them to McDonalds, where Arash and Reza ate ice cream and Perssia, who was actually a really nice girl, I liked her, spoke with us about her life in Iran compared to her life here.

We were having a good conversation, but then Aghayeh Arash-eh gol was like, "Bachehah, quiz."  And he started to quiz us on slang words in Farsi.  Yasna and I were like, baba vel kon.  And we couldnt get up to leave because we were sitting in a booth and somehow we were in the middle.  No way to get out.  Stuck.  

Darab va Sara aab doost darad.  Sara va madar miravan beh baazar. 

I showed them what I knew how to write in Farsi.  they were pretty impressed.

Um.  So anyway.  I just wanted to leave because my throat hurt and I was tired.  And Yasna got so bored that she took out a pen and paper and was drawing. 

 

Oh, haha.  Arash wrote down his name and told us to go youtube him because he was like a musician in Iran and had a bunch of concerts.  I dont remember what his last name was though.

Bichareh was nice, he just talked a lot.  And he couldnt get over the fact that we had never lived in Iran but we spoke Farsi.  Like, he told us that we should be placed in the Louvre because it was so interesting.  

Anyway, after McDonalds, we hastily walked to the metro...not before he asked Yasna if her parents wanted her to marry and Iranian...wink wink, nudge nudge.  

Yasna and I were like, "ok, yeah, khosh hal shodim.. mhm, mhm, ok.. CIAO!" 

Well.  It was random.  But, in retrospect, I wanted to go to the concert to get my fix of Iranianness for the month... this pretty much covered it for the year.  

 

 

RE: Zahra, Salma's comments

Ranna takes the point.  

Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!

I've mentioned before that I love the market across the street from my house.  Every sunday I wake up, get ready and head over to do my weeks worth of grocery shopping.

I have this ridiculous suitcase-looking thing that I swore I would never use.  

Mamman: Ranna, bebin chii kharidam barat!!  (Ranna, look what I bought you!!)

Ranna: I swear I will never use that.  (Ghasam mikhoram keh hich vakht estefadeh nemikonamesh)

Mamman:  Kheyli chiseh khoobiyeh (It's a really good thing)

Ranna: It's weird.  (Weird-eh) 

Alas, my grandmother was right, and now I use it religiously.  It's really great, because it carries all of the groceries, and it has wheels, so I don't have to lug everything home on my shoulders...even though its literally RIGHT across the street from where I live.

I now know which stands I should go to, and which ones I should avoid.  You see, most of the produce vendors are Arab men who are hilarious and really nice.  

I've made friends with one of the older vendors who, each week, gives me another fruit to sample.  Last week it was a clementine, this week it was some grapes.  

Their produce is always amazingly cheap and amazingly tasty (except the lemons which have not been the best for the last two weeks...maybe its a seasonal thing).

EVERYONE flocks to these stands.  I can barely get through to buy what I want sometimes because there are so many people picking out what they need.  

But here's the deal:

there are about 4 or 5 produce vendors at the market who are Frenchy French French French (as in, non-Arab) and there are always like three or four people around their stands buying their fruits.  The first week I was there I thought it was sort of strange that people would push and pull their way into the crowded stands when there was so much space at theirs.  

But for some reason, their produce is about two euros more expensive than any of the other places, and they're selective about who they sell to.

They have their usual customers.  The rest can push and pull.  

Whatever though, I have wayyyy more fun at the crowded stands.  

I also have a favorite cheese stand.  The very nice older couple behind the counter are more than happy to help you choose which type of cheese to buy.  The first week I stuck to what I knew, "bouche de chevre."

I saw chevre and I was like, oh!  I know that that is!

But then I went George Perec on the situation and made a game out of my cheese buying.  Each week when I go, I try to buy another sort of cheese so that by the end of the year, I'll have tried all of them.

So, as of now, I've tried, the Pont Eveque, Bouche de Chevre, and this other one, man I totally forgot what the name of it was but it doesnt matter because it was really weak...

This week, I bought the bouche de chevre again, after taking a break from it last week.  I bought the St. Amartine (first time, havent tried it yet) and a Creme Vache (new too.  I'm excited, it looked aamaaazzziinnggg).

I sound like Monsieur René.  

I never thought I would be excited about tasting cheese.  

So, apart from that, I steer clear from the fish stands because I still havent quite adjusted to the smell, to the way the ice melts and the sidewalk gets wet, and the fact that the fish look like their looking at you...blahssshajfd.   I don't like it.

I also don't go to the meat stands because 1. there's a cool boucherie right by my house. 2. for some reason they have the dead animals, with like fur and feathers displayed on the counters.  

Like,  if anyone is confused about what they're eating,  here it is! 

OK.  I'm gonna go try me some cheeseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.  

Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man wealthy, healthy and wise

Apparently there's daylight savings time here.

All my life, I thought it was only something that was done in the US.  

Plus, my phone and television set didn't automatically reconfigure their times so I was hella confused for like 3 hours this morning.  I had to do some extensive research to figure out if there was actually a change in times or something was messed up with my computer.  

Ok, cool.  I get an "extra" hour to sleep.

Only, when I was younger, my mom used to always use that ploy on us.  She'd be like, "Great, tomorrow we pull the clocks back girls, you can sleep one more hour in the morning!" 

but then technically since we slept one hour later, it didnt really matter and I was still tired in the morning and it was still hard to go to school.  

but i think that was mostly because i didn't like high school to begin with.  

or junior high for that matter.

or actually, any year after like 3rd grade when we moved from Montessori to, "real school." 

Et, ALORS!

I think I mentioned before how comfortable my bed is.  But really, this bed is amazing.  I've never in my entire life slept as soundly and deeply as I do here.  Plus, I have these amazing blinds that go down automatically with a push of a button; they drown out all the light.  On the weekends, I have the hardest time waking up.  Sometimes, I put an alarm on just to wake up before 2:00 in the afternoon. 

This morning, while slumbering peacefully, my phone started to vibrate.  At 7 in the morning, I don't usually receive phone calls.  It was from the FranceTelecom operator telling me that someone would be at my apartment in 30 minutes to set up my telephone and television.  I was contemplating whether I should tell him not to come until my scheduled appointment (noon); but, over here, if opportunity to get something finished quicker than anticipated comes your way, you take it.  Otherwise, it may be lost forever.  

So, I jumped out of bed, got ready, made my bed, cleaned a little here and there and waited. 

The man who came, Christian, was VERY French.  The first thing he checked was to make sure the computer was working; my internet page was actually already opened to Facebook.  He started to laugh and asked me what it was, this Facebook.  I told him, in my broken French, that it was a place where friends could share pictures, notes, and keep in touch.  He told me he had a cousin living somewhere in the US.  The West, he thought.

That's nice.  

Maybe Arizona, maybe California.  "Ollleywoood, tu connais?" 

Oh, yeah, Hollywood.  Mhm, yeah, I've heard of it.  

So, he asked me to try to find his cousin on Facebook.  

What's her name?

Rebecca Nicholson.  

As I was re-logging onto Facebook, he started to tell me how amazing and cool it would be if he found her.  

She must have two children by now.  Maybe three.  I wonder what they look like.  I visited Arizona once before, did you know?  Yes, Flagstaff.  You know it?  

Yeah, I know it.  

137 results found for Rebecca Nicholson.  

Yeah, I'm really sorry, but there are a lot of Rebecca Nicholson's out there.  

Ah, merde, is there any other way I could find her?  Could you show me how?  

Welllll, considering the fact that I paid 49 Euro for you to come and fix my television, and its 7:30 in the morning, maybe not today.  

Only I didn't actually say that.  I looked at him, smiled, and told him, well maybe if you knew exactly where she lived.........I think he got my point.  

So then he started to fix my television.  Apparently the password they had given me was incorrect, so he had to call the store to get the real one.  The conversation with his employee went a little something like this:

Alo baba, oui it's Christian.  How are all the female colleagues doing? 

To me: He's moroccan, you know.  We all call him baba.  It's a joke.  The girls are a joke too, you know.  We have a lot of females working with us.  It's nice, you know.

I'm sure. 

To baba:  Ok, thanks for the password.  Hey, what are you doing tonight?  You're not busy?  Ok, well then do you want to go out?  Well, you know, I work every day during the week, saturday nights are the only night I have off.  Lets go out.  Great, sounds good.  Tell all of your female colleagues.  

So we fixed the television.  First he showed me how many channels there were.  I have a lot.  I have all the French channels, some Polish ones, BBC, CNN, Al-Jazeera.  

I made a comment about how I thought it was cool that I had Al-Jazeera.

He frowned: There are a lot of Arabs here, you know.  It's a problem.  It's a really big problem.  They come into our country, have a lot of children, and take all of our money.  I don't think they should be allowed in.  Hey, just between the two of us, I'm really not happy with the situation. 

Uhhh, yeah, yeah. 

No, just between the two of us, I think they should try to handle how many people come into our country, because right now its just not right.  What about in the US? 

Well, it's different there.  PLEASE JUST LEAVE CRAZY MAN 

Yeah, it's different?  The elections?  Who's going to win?

I don't know, it's pretty close.

Yeah, I can't believe they've chosen a black man though.  Just between the two of us, I think it's going to be just like Kennedy.  

And then he started to pretend he was shooting a gun. 

I kind of looked at him for a second thinking he was kidding, but it was just like something out of a movie.  He kept saying, "Just like Kennedy, just like Kennedy," and then pointing and making shooting noises.  

I was dealing with a crazy person I needed to get out of my apartment immediately.

So then I changed the subject to the television again, thanked him for fixing it for me, and he was like, alright, well good, everything works, have a good day.  But then the TV program caught his eye and he sat back down and started to watch TV.

Huh?  I was just so confused.  I thought he was going to leave!  He shook my hand! WHY WAS HE SITTING DOWN!? 

It was a tennis match between Serena Williams and someone else.  After a couple minutes of him watching TV and me watching him watching TV, he got up and scowled as he said, "Women are not supposed to look like that.  Why is she so BIG?  She's like a monster."  

And then he shook my hand and left.  

I sat on my bed for a little, and then decided to go back to sleep in my comfortable bed and pretend that it was all a dream.  

Julien says BON JOUR

Well, my, my.  It has been a long time.  I have not been ignoring my duties of bringing stories of my life for those living vicariously through my experiences (Naaaazzzyyyyy.  It's OK Ninka, I love you).  Due to a strong form of clumsiness that only few possess, I was able to spill the entire contents of last friday night's salad on to my keyboard, and thus for a week now (GASP!  One week, I know!), I have been without means of getting through to the rest of the world.

POSITIVE OUTCOMES OF SAID EXPERIENCE 

1. I learned a new word--Le clavier--the keyboard.

2. The time I would usually spend checking email-facebook-email-facebook-email-facebook-email, I spent decorating my apartment, studying all six tenses of the indicative mode for 809 different verbs, and, yes, you guess it , cleaning my floors. 

**Just as a side note: I pretty much gave up on the floor thing and bought some ridiculous blue, glittery slippers.  I call them "dampaee zeshthah" They can collect the grime instead.  

3. Because I didn't write several blog entries, I now have reason to write a really long one.  woo! 

So, what's happened since my last entry?  What hasn't happened?!?!  

Just kidding. 

My classes...actually...two of my classes started this week.  

One of them is my most intensive course, two and a half hours of straight grammar, vocabulary, complete concentration.  

--ok.  im sorry, so i'm writing this blog in my apartment, right?  and i just want to let everyone know that Mims is learning the words to the song that's like, "One, you're like a dream come true.  Two, just want to be with you...." for a classor something, and she plays it over and over and over and over, and the part where all of a sudden he hits the alto she decides that she would like to sing, so she starts.  8 times, people.  8. times.  I need to make that girl a mixed tape of music I actually enjoy. 

So anyway, the time I spend in class each day, I learn the equivalent of the amount of French I would learn in a year in the US.  I can go on and on about the problems I have with the foreign language system at home, but I'll spare you...it all comes down to the fact that my class is amazing.  

The other students in class are super cool too.  They come from all over the world, and we all speak French with each other.  It's cool how fast we became friends, really.  I think it has a lot to do with the fact that we're all in a new place by ourselves.  Bichareh, this one girl from Japan was like, ''Yeah, i spent my birthday by myself.  all alone.  in paris"  she totes deserves a cake one of these days.  

Besides the language class I'm taking this retarded phonetics course.  

REASONS WHY IT'S RETARDED:

1.  It's at 8:00 in the morning.  When I leave the apartment, it's still dark outside.  

2.  Since it's a phonetics class, it's organized by nationality and so I'm in a class filled with American people who have decided that they would much rather speak English than try their hands (or mouths) at French.  So this morning, I tried to speak French to the girl sitting next to me and she started laughing and loudly said, "WELL, LOOK AT YOU!!" 

I'm never sitting next to her again.

3. The class itself is really strange.  The teacher stands in front of the class and says little phrases, which we must repeat.  It goes something like this:

Prof: "Il est fatigué"

Students: "Il est fatigué"

Prof: "Non, il est fatigué" 

Students: "Il est fatigué"

Prof: "I L'EST FA TI GUÉ"

Ok lady, you know what, je suis fatiguée.  Make me wake up at 6:30 in the morning for THIS!?

The only cool thing about our class is that the second portion is lab and we get to wear cool headphones with built in microphones.

ok. so it's not THAT cool, but at least I'm searching for the positive.  

No, you know what?  They ARE really cool.  I wear them and I'm all like, "Yeah, I'm a pilot, what now?" 

But, its all part of the learning process, so despite being...not my favorite...phonetics is a very important part of learning any language.  Think Audrey Hepburn in "My Fair Lady."  If I want to be a flower girl, I MUST be able to perfectly articulate the rain in spain sits mainly on the plain...in French.  It's just the way it goes.  

ANYWAY, apart from that, I'm also taking History of French Art and The Origins and Results of the French Revolution, which start next week.  So excited.  I think for the art history class we get guided tours around the Louvre!!!!!! 

And now, a list of my favorite things to do.  Amelie Poulin style (if you havent seen the movie, Amelie, I suggest you go to blocks right now.  RIGHT NOW.  and rent it.  Fave movie ever). 

RANNA'S FAVORITE THINGS

1. Walk through Saint Germain-des-Pres and take expired art gallery posters from the walls/windows and decorate my apartment with them.  Whenever I have little to do, I hop on the metro and go find new posters. 

2. The farmer's market across the street.  Every sunday.  It has everything I could every want to satisfy all of my taste buds.  I basically plan my entire week around the market.  I basically have nothing to eat at home on Fridays and Saturdays.  So I go over to Marion's and she doesn't have anything to eat either.  So thats when I make a salad consisting of one tomato with olive oil dressing that spills on my computer.  I go to sleep those nights with an empty stomach and a broken...what is it, folks?  CLA VI ER.  

So yeah, the market is really amazing.  All of the vendors are Arab men who sing and yell and kind of frightened me the first week I went. 

Actually, haha, the very first week I went to the market, I walked through the entire thing without buying anything.  When I got to the end I was like, "RANNA, pull yourself together.  You can do this.  You need to eat!  Think with your stomach."  So then I walked through again and bought like 2 tomatoes, 1 lemon, some cooked potatoes, and 4 oranges.  I think I ate at Marion's that night.

3.  I like to walk from L'Acadamie Française to the Louvre using the Pont des Arts.  My dad introduced it to me and I love it.  I think its because it's sandwiched between two amazingly wonderful buildings filled with amazingly wonderful histories.  I always take my time and stop in the middle to check out what's going on around me.  One time, I threw a piece of bread on a bateau mouche just because I wanted to do it.  Thats right,  you know me, rebel without a cause.  Piece of bread, bad a$$.  

4. I like to count how many people look like they're not paying attention when really they think it's the funniest thing when homeless men and women get on the metro and make speeches about needing money and start singing.  It happens so often that people lose interest after a while, but there are some people who look like they put a lot of effort into ACTING like they've lost interest.  Right when a man/woman walks in and starts performing, they start to read their newspapers more intently, or they start playing with their phone.  My favorite is when they act like they're asleep.  They'll be dead awake and then when the bichareh homeless person comes in starts belting "La Vie En Rose," and they close their eyes and start breathing deeply.

5. My bed is very comfortable. 

OK.  My fingers are tired and also, the Picasso exhibit just opened up at the Louvre so I think I'm going to head to that.

Cheers. 

actually, PS I've gotten some emails from people asking for pictures of some certain and specific things, so here they are.  

  Marion, and the devil dog, "Angel"  the bedroom, office, dining room, living room, tv room

 another view of the bedroom.  the hallway leads to the kitchen and bathroom, WC, closet, and front door.  

Saidi, Abol Qassem

Let them eat cake.

Today dad and I went to Versailles.  

I am disappointed.  

I guess I'll go on....

Sitting at dinner tonight I felt like I was unjustified in my disappointment.  I mean, what did I expect?  But see, that's it.  I had fantasized about it so much, and expected the best.  

I expected grandeur, charm, women walking around in over-the-top 18th century garb eating macaroons and drinking champagne.  

What I encountered today was bleak and uninviting. 

As I tried to explain myself to my dad, nothing seemed to describe the chateau quite like I wanted.  I finally resulted in describing it as though, "rangesh parideh bood," or literally, "it's color had jumped out."

Baba looked like he finally understood what I was trying to say.

I've been impressed with French royalty since my first year of French class, seventh grade.  I continued to be fascinated with it through the years I spent reading about Josephine and Napoleon, and last year when I watched "Marie Antoinette" for the first time.  My obsession with learning about the monarchy and dreaming about the monarchy was out of hand.  I knew I had reached unhealthy extremes when I started to question the French Revolution.  "I mean, did they REALLY have to storm the Bastille?"  

But it was more that my imagination had taken the reigns:  I kept thinking about the past and how beautiful it was, and how perfect it was, and how ethereal it was.

Of course I would be disappointed with the reality. 

The reality being that it was 200+ years ago, and now it's just another spectacle for the tourist's eye.  

So anyway, that's that.   

"Restaurant is my temple"

My pedar is visiting for a couple of days and he's really big on eating (great, the gene comes from both sides.  really great, parents).  I feel like for the most part, a huge chunk of our time has been spent in various restaurants.  I mean, as long as he's paying, I'll eat...

We've had a few really interesting experiences with food in the last two days.  Here are some I'd like to share: 

1. Yesterday when he arrived, we went and dropped his stuff off at Amoo Joon Abol's place (I'll dedicate a blog entry on AJA later in the week once I've spent more time with him), which is right off of Rue de Beaux-Arts in the swanky Saint German-de-Pres.  We decided to catch a quick lunch in the neighborhood before we went off to explore.  The place we chose was your normal, everyday brasserie.  We didn't think it was anything too special.  It had the conventional Parisian menu with salads, sandwiches, poulet frites...you know.  Right when we sat down, the waiter came and asked for our drink orders; my dad ordered a beer.  

What size, the waiter asked.

Big.  

Big is very big, monsieur.  

Big.  

Um, I don't think I've ever seen a beer that size.  21.20 euro.  That's like $30.00.

My dad justified the cost by saying, "it's OK.  Restaurant is my temple." 

I was like, um, this restaurant specifically, or....

No, restaurants are his temples apparently.  You know, I'm not too sure what it means yet, but I'm just going to go for it...

2. I thought we weren't going to eat dinner.  I'm not going to lie, I was pretty surprised when my dad woke up at 9:30 and asked if I was ready to go find a restaurant.   I really wasn't that hungry, but my dad was enthralled by the fact that I live in Chinatown and wanted to go check it out.  We walked around a bit and we decided to venture into a Vietnamese/Chinese/Korean restaurant that seemed pretty packed.  We chose the right place.  1. the food was amazing.  2. everyone eating there knew the owner by first name (Robert) and he knew who they were. 3. At the end of the night, for the first time since I've been here, someone spoke to me in French and I understood EVERYTHING they were saying AND I responded perfectly.  Afterwards I was like, ooh snap, look at me!  It was great.  

3. Tonight we were around the Champs Elysees area and we were just walking around looking for a place to eat dinner when we ran across a little cafe (for the life of me I can't remember it's name), a steakhouse, with a loooooooooooooooooooooooooongggggggggggg line outside of it.  Dad and I stopped, laughed, then kept walking.  We were like, "psshhh, who waits this long for a freaking steakhouse??"

Yeah, apparently we do.  

50 minutes later and we finally had a little table in the corner (ironically, we were seated right next to these three Iranian women.  It was cute because they incorporated French into their Farsi dialogues, just like we do.  They would be like, "badesh residam oonjah, et la fille a dit..." 

It was like Finglisi all over again.  Not gonna lie, I spent at least 1o minutes sitting there thinking about what the word would be if French and Farsi were joined together.  Although, the French say Persan, so technically if French and Persan were meshed...Farancavi, Persan.  Persancavi?)  

Even though we had no idea what we were in store for, the wait was totally worth it.  It was a steak frites place.  It only served steak frite.  Ready? 

You sit down.  The waitress comes over and asks how you want your meat done.

Medium, you say.

What do you want to drink?

House wine.  Which I didnt like at first, I thought it was too dry, but it went really well with the main course.  

First course, salad and bread.  The salad had a really great dressing, olive oil, lemon juice, mustard, salt, pepper.  Light, but delicious.  And walnuts, it had crushed walnuts on top.  

Then the main course, the steak is perfectly tender with this sauce.  This sauce.  I never even figured out what kind of a sauce it was.  Apparently the restaurant is famous for it.  It was like "sabzi" drowned in butter and just sooo great.  And the frites!  Joy to the frites!  I could spend the entire day eating the frites and the sauce.  

So after you finish your first dish, out come the steak and the frites again for a second serving.  

Then, you have to get dessert, because the place is also famous for dessert. 

They have everything, from fruit dishes to café glacé, to creme brulée.  

And to top off the amazingness of dinner, dad paid.  

restaurant is my temple, baba joon.  

the negative blog entry

things i dont like about this place:

1. my floors never seemed to get clean.  no matter what i do.  i've vacuumed, swept, mopped (several times) but for some reason they wont get clean.  i made a sign at the entryway to my apartment asking people to PLEASE take off their shoes (in several languages so that it's very clear).  But what's the point if the floors are already dirty. 

2. i cant find Swiffer towelettes to clean my floors.  

3. My other neighbor, her name is Mims (yeah, I dont know) is kind of obnoxious.  She has this little floofy dog that she keeps LOCKED in her room all day long.  Only today, she decided to keep the dog outside and the poor thing is crying and barking, only I dont want to invite her in because she'll just make my floors dirtier.  

4. Mims also likes to listen to loud and strange music (think: "Everytime We Touch" and then imagine other songs like that...).  I wonder if she cleans her floors.  

 

Puisque la beauté est aussi dans les yeux de celui qui regarde

Standing on the top floor of the Centre Pompidou was the most amazing experience of my life.  I wasn't prepared to see the view that I saw.  It caught me completely off guard with it's magnificence.  

Even before I head to the top I could feel the creative juices bubbling inside me.  I was thinking about how much I appreciate art, how much of an emotional release it is for me to draw, to create my own artwork.  The question of whether Economics is really the field for me comes up in daily life.  

So, you can imagine what I was thinking when I entered Pompidou.  Apart from having a HUGE library and a noteworthy restaurant (although c'est très cher!) it's also the national museum of modern art in Paris.  The building itself is a modern masterpiece, in my mind.  It is literally an inside-out brightly colored building. 

So, ok.  I deviated from my original point.  

To enter the first gallery (the temporary exhibit--right now it's Jacques Villeglé--wikipedia him or something, he's really cool), you must go up three or four flights of stairs.  Fortunately, they have escalators.  As i started to go up, I was fascinated by the sight of the apartments in front of me.  They had the look of typical Parisian apartments, windowpanes with flowerpots, brick roofs.  They contrasted perfectly with the Pompidou building.  The old meets the young.  Classical meets futuristic.  

As I went up, I decided to skip the first gallery to check out what the view was from the top.  From the moment I caught my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, I was captivated. 

Imagine this:

To your left: a full image of the Tour D'Eiffel

To your right: Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur 

Next window: Notre Dame and Pantheon.  

In the middle: Perfect, wonderful Parisian skyline 

There are some moments in your life that you'll remember forever.  Standing atop the Centre Pompidou, I thought no matter what else happens this year, the view I saw today and the feeling I felt will characterize my idea of Paris.  When I close my eyes I can still imagine the sight.  It was just... breathtaking.  

Just a cute anecdote: A little girl standing next to her grandmother was fascinated with the famous Stravinsky Fountain.  She pointed at it from where we were standing and yelled, "Regardez la mer!!"  I love French children.  

C'est Ge-ge!

Language is a funny, funny thing.

My neighbor, Marion, moved in just a couple of days after I did.  Her family is Italian, but she grew up in the south of France.  Her friendliness comes from the fact that she is new to town and doesn't know anyone, but I think it's also because she is not Parisian.  Parisians tend to keep to themselves.  Ben, we've developed a fast friendship.  

We have a system.  Marion speaks to me in English and I respond in French, that way I can correct her mistakes, and she can correct mine (which seem to be more frequent. mais c'est pas grave).  Sometimes, neither of us can understand what the other one is saying.  Like tonight, she came to my room and said, "I want to make a tea, but it's not really a tea, only it's like a tea, but not really.  You want?" 

I looked at her for a second, "Uhhhh, quoi?" 

"It has the duck bonbons"

I mean, at this point I was past confused.  

"Duck bonbons?  Tu sais que 'duck' est 'canard'?  

"Noooo, not duck, darrrrrkkkk" 

I still didn't get it--a tea, that's not really a tea, only it's like a tea, but not really with dark bonbons???????  

Anyway, I never really found out what she meant, but the "tea" was good.  So I drank it.  

The same goes for me too.  Sometimes she looks at me like I'm completely crazy.  When I get excited, or I REALLY want to get a point across I start to speak fast, screw up my tenses, and end up going around in circles trying to explain myself.  

In the end, there's always sign language.  

I'm pretty optimistic about the situation though because 1. I can tell my French is improving already.  I've learned so many cool slang words and phrases (like, c'est ge-ge.  It's an abbreviation for "c'est genial" which is like, "that's cool"), plus, I keep a little notebook nearby so I can jot down all the words I don't know and I go look them up at night.  2. Tonight we watched "L'auberge Espagnole," and we decided that if they can do it, so can we!  We also decided we need to meet some more people in our building and go out like they did.  

So, that's on the agenda for tomorrow.  

C'est ge-ge.

Fashion is art. Art is Life. Fashion is life.

Today I dedicated my life to fashion.  I found a quote last night that read, "Fashion is art.  Art is life.  Fashion is life."  

It pretty much rocked my world.  

Soooo, I wanted to go to Musee de la Mode et du Textile, only it's closed until November : (  But, there's another one dedicated to fashion and costumes.  My handy dandy BIBLE, "The Irreverent Guide to Paris," gave me the metro exit, only not the address.  I figured it should be somewhere in the general vicinity...yeahhhhhh, no.  

I don't know how it happened, but all of a sudden I ended up at the swanky, overpriced, "George V" 

yes.  THE george V. 

as in: luc- "where are you staying?"  

kate-george V"

luc-"*whoooOOOOO*" (if you got it, then the quote was for you.) 

i dont know.  i've basically just started to laugh at these occurrences, because they really happen a lot.  where i just randomly end up somewhere that wasnt my initial destination, only i'm happy it happened.  

its cool, its cool.

yeah, whats cooler, is that ALL of the famous houses of fashion were in that area.  Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Chanel....I was like, **GASP, GULP** HOW DO I GET IN THERE?! 

only you cant.  but whateve, its cool, i was just fine standing outside.  I even saw a famous model walk into YSL.  Whats her name?  Chanel Iman?  I think that's it.  Yeah, i saw her.  

anyway, i was completely and utterly too underdressed to be in that area.  but i didnt care. i was *THIS CLOSE* to walking into Chanel and being like, "Hi. Um, Karl?  Yeah, well I love you.  And also, I named my dog Coco Chanel because that's how obsessed I am, so please give me a job. any job? please?  no?  please?  oh."  

only, i thought that it wasnt professional.  so tomorrow im going back with a resume.  

2004-2005 Aeropostale-sales

July 2007-August 2007 Borders-sales/barista

May 2008-August 2008 Lumiere Skin and Laser-receptionist

that should REALLY win them over.  

ok, im having too much fun with this blog.  I'm making myself crack up left and right.  

i need to go grocery shopping because i dont have food in my refrigerator.  also i need a broom because my floor is dusty.  also a television, a printer, and a new telephone....mom, I'm going to use your credit card for all of the aforementioned items.  juuusttt kidding.  

I GO TO SLEEP IN PARIS

I've spent the last couple of days by myself in Paris.  Although it was strange to say goodbye to my parents and Salma, I couldn't help but feel exhilirated by the prospect of exploring Paris for the next couple of weeks.  My classes don't begin until the 9th of October and I really don't have anyting to do until then, so I've been walking around a lot, discovering new places, new sights...

Today the weather was lovely.  Breezy, but sunny.  Warm and perfect.  All of the Parisians seemed to be outside taking in the warm sun before winter weather returns to the city. 

My adventure began this morning when I decided that I was going to the Louvre.  I've visited Paris three or four times in the past and I've never been to the Louvre, which I see as quite the misfortune.  So, since I've been here, I've made it my mission to head to the Louvre and spend as much time as I need taking it all in...there is a lot.  A lot, a lot.  

I woke up, got ready, hopped on the metro, hopped off at Palais Royal. got to the entrance and noticed that 1. I had to pay 9 euro to get in and I only had 5E on me...hahahha (what!!!?  I thought it was free for students!) 2. The weather seemed too nice to spend the day inside.  

So I started to walk.  I didnt have a destination in mind; I didnt really know where I was going.  I just thought I would take a stroll.  And stroll, indeed I did.  

Through the Jardin des Tuileries I went, stopping and sitting next to one of the large fountains.  I was more relaxed there than I had been since I arrived in France.  Perhaps it was because sitting and watching is my favorite activity, or perhaps because the situation was totally and comptely ideal.  

As I began to continue forward, toward the Obelisk (placed at the end of the gardens...or the beginning depending from where you are coming...) I was fascinated by the blatant public displays of affection shown from couples all around.  I couldnt help but smile to myself after passing an older couple locking lips, just like two lovelorn teenagers.  Their love seemed so pure that after initially slowing down, I picked up my speed; I didnt want to interrupt their moment (by being creepy....).  

So I walked, and walked, and I walked, and walked, around one building, through another.  I crossed streets, followed hoards of tourists, walked over bridges, and trampled across graveled paths...only to reach the Eiffel Tower.  

It was one of those perfect Parisian moments, you know?  When you finally stumble across the tour and you gasp at its magnificence.  Parisians have had their doubts about the tower, as you may well know, but it's a damn great piece of architecture right there.  Huge.  Daring.  Bold.  I dig it. 

I notice a lawn in the distance scattered with people taking naps or eating lunch, so I head over.  The spot was still very close to the tower but very far away from all of the tourists.  There were people reading, painting, writing, listening to music, making out, eating, napping.  So, I put on my headphones, turned on my Ipod, lay on the grass and took a nice nap.  I would probably have stayed asleep, but as time hit late afternoon, the weather got a little too breezy...

It was the perfect day.  I really, truly love it here.  Everything about Paris makes me fall deeper in love with it.  I hope this euphoric blissfulness never goes away.  

No wonder people live here.  No wonder this place exists!!! 

Tomorrow I promise I'm hitting the Louvre, and this weekend its off to Versailles for me so that I can pretend to be Marie Antoinette and get the whole "being queen" thing out of my system (don't ask).  

BISOUS.

Eaux de Vie- Vins d'Alsace

"Petite France" in Strasbourg.  i came up with dozens of reasons why the area was called, "petite france," but it ended up having to do with a bout of syphilis that went around the area and the hospital was located there and....in any case, it was a far cry from romantic...

Obernai, one of the many villages in Alsace; the first village on the wine road

 the most beautiful sight of my life.  imagine, acres and acres of green ripe wonderful amazing vineyards.  

  Monsieur René told me that when the grapes start to grow that sort of sugary coating it means they are ripe for harvest.  the day we were on the tour was the first day of the harvest.  driving alongside the vineyards you could see workers in and around the area working to get as many buckets filled at possible.  when the day was over, they all gathered together and drank their vineyard's champagne to celebrate.  

My camera ran out of battery along the way, so i didnt have a chance to take pictures of the third day of our journey around the area.  Monsieur René had rented a car for the three days and on the third day we decided to go to Germany.  

We decided to go to Frieburg because we had heard it was beautiful.  The town itself was alright, I personally think we could have gone somewhere nicer, BUT all is not lost!!!  I had the MOST AMAZING meal of my life there.  We didnt think it was that special, the cafe we decided to go to, it was small, it was sort of out of the way, nothing too great.  But when we opened the menu we discovered that we had stumbled upon an Afghani restaurant.  An Afghani-German restaurant.  

OK.  Let me just describe what I ate because it was tooo good.  The chanterelle mushrooms were sauteed and mixed with a creamy dill sauce (it was amazing, because you could taste the mushrooms, the dill, and the cream--nothing was too overpowering) which was served next to a plate of thick noodles that were just slightly browned and had the perfect consistency.  not to crunchy, not to chewy, just perfect.  mmmmmmmm, my mouth is still watering. 

and then for dessert salma and I had these beautiful ice cream sundaes.  they called them blechers, i dont know what that means, but it was delicious.  

i think im going to go eat now.  i'm pretty hungry now that i think about it.  

tomorrow i'll write about some of the crazy weird things that have been happening to me in Paris.  

I put on for my city

I love it.  I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it.  

This is the first time since I have arrived in France that 1. I have had time to sit down and write 2. I have had any internet access.  It has been one thing after another and now most of the difficult tasks are completed.  I am proud to say that I am now a full-time resident of Paris, France.  Reppin' the 75013.  

What does that mean?  It means I have an address in the 13th arrondissement (district/neighborhood) of Paris.  There are 20 arrondissements in all, and they are arranged circularly (1eme being in the center and 2oeme being at the end).  I live in a fairly quiet area of the neighborhood.  Actually, it's near a little Chinatown...although, I would call it more of an Asiatown; the restaurants range from Chinese, to Vietnamese, to Korean.  So anytime I "havas," or crave some Pho, I can walk down my street, and VOILA! 

My apartment is to. die. for.  It's soooooooooooooooooooooo lovely and wonderful and I LOVE it.  It's tiny, tiny, tiny--a small bedroom, a little kitchenette, a washroom and a WC (toilet room).  BUT, my favorite part of the apartment are the sliding doors that lead me directly into the courtyard.  I'm obsessed.  My entire wall is basically made up of sliding doors so the space is filled with light.  

What else did we do?  Basically everything.  It's pretty funny because in order to get a long-stay residency card here, I first have to have a French bank account, live in a French residence, be enrolled in a French school, have a French telephone number...the list goes on.  So, Monsieur René and I worked tirelessly to get everything finished by today (because it's harvest season in Alsace and I'm dying to go wine tasting).  

The French system of doing anything is amazing.  Things that could have taken us one hour to finish in the US took us two days here.  I enjoy every second of it.  All you need is a little patience and the mind set that, "OK, its OK that it's taking this long, I can just sit here and drink a little café while I wait."  That's how everything is in Paris.

Parisians themselves are an oxymoron.  They walk and talk in jet speed, but then you notice they're walking fast to go to a brasserie (a little restaurant) for their two-hour lunch breaks.  In the hustle and bustle of the city, everything is just so f-ing relaxed.

Some other key things I would like to share: I'm immensely thankful that Monsieur René is here with me.  I would never have been able to finish everything so promptly without his help.  The language is so technical when you go to the bank, the mobile phone shops, or the consulate.  I would have been out of my league without him.

Also, yesterday I took the proficiency test at the Sorbonne.  I was pretty nervous beforehand because...well, I generally get a little nervous before tests.  But it ended up being pretty busy AND a man from Senegal blessed me right before the test...what now. 

I'll write back in a few days about our trip to Alsace.  Until then, cheeerrrrssss.  

I can't sleep because I'm excited and I'm excited because I haven't slept

OK, hi, hello.  I will be documenting my adventure on this blog.  

Les Rêveries d'une Flâneuse.  "The Daydreams of a..." well, actually, pause.  Pause.  I'm actually unsure how one properly translates une flâneuse.  

Flâneur/euse n.

Flâner v. 

Simply put, it means "to wander." 

"A wanderer," I suppose.  But it encompasses so much more than that.  It's more of a flamboyant, aimless wandering, associated with the likes of Baudelaire, who would walk down the cobble stoned streets of Paris with his head searching the scenery and a feather quill in his right (or left) hand, poised and ready for when inspiration hit.  

Salut, ciao, à bientôt, au revoir, bisous, bisous, bisous, bisous.  Mon dieu, I'm so excited.