La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure

Marion Raison, mon amour, ma vie, mon coeur, mon âme, je t'aime azizam. 

look at the pictures while listening to this::

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Qx2lMaMsl8

Ameno

Salma's so annoyed at me right now because I keep listening to this song. 

its good!  i have faint recollections of mr. rene playing this when we were younger when he cleaned the garage in Colorado...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SvxaNQ6d7M

take it easy, love nothing.

so basically heres the deal.  im sitting here i just realized that the reason why my house smells is because sally has been putting trash into the trash can (that I never use) without telling me or without taking the trash out.  SO, there's trash in the trash can from god knows when, and i've been wondering why my house smells like, excuse my french, shit, and now I know.  because apparently my sister is the idiot who doesnt take the trash out.  

i mean, i wonder if she even thought about it when she was putting trash into it, like, "hmmm. should i take the trash out?  i put that sorbet container into there a while ago.  is this sanitary?  it looks questionable to me."  

good job, sally.  the trash can has got to go bye bye.  

also, just now I saw a moth fly into my house, and i was like, oh jeez, now i have to get up and kill it but I just sat there and watched it fly into ceiling light.  then i heard a few zap snap baps, and wouldn't you know it, smoke started to rise up and then stop.  that moth had to go bye bye.  

the point of this blogpost was not intended for such purposes as talking about the trash or the moth.  actually, i had a clear cut intention for this post.  i was going to come, see and conquer.  i guess i'll just start now.  then i'm going to have to go bye bye.  im so tired tonight, jeez.

Today I was meeting Marion at Place Monge to have lunch, and I got there super early for some reason.  SUPER EARLY.  But right when I stepped out of the metro, I noticed that there were wayyy too many people around there for it to be a normal day, and all of those people were coincidentally walking in the direction of the mosque.  So Ranna's curiosity blinker went off.  Blink.  Blink.  Blink.  Hmmm...I wonder what's going on?  As I started to walk towards the mosque I noticed police vans lining the smaller streets.  My heart started racing, "cool," i thought, "something really exciting is going on!"  

The outside of the mosque was crowded with groups of people standing and talking.  Around the area, journalists were standing with their cameras, smoking cigarettes, checking their portables, waiting for something to happen.  They looked bored.  Police were standing there on guard, with their shields and batons at the ready.  

If you ask me, they just like waving those things around...

Every so often, a man wearing a swanky suit, mixed deep within the crowd, would have an orange armband with black text, "SÉCURITÉ."  Security?  Police?  Reporters?  Yessss, I really hit the jackpot this time.

I took out my camera and started to take pictures of nothing in particular (i'll upload some right as soon as I empty some files into my hard drive to create some more memory on my computer.  I thought Macs weren't supposed to have this problem).  I mean, I didn't even know what was going on to have a purpose with my pictures.  All of a sudden this pimply, too skinny for his own good, punk came up to me, right up to me, too close for comfort if you really want to know my opinion, and said, "hey, hey, vous etes une journaliste?"  

No, no.  Not a journalist.  And then I started to completely lie to him for some reason.  I made up this elaborate story that I don't really feel like repeating since it was just...haha, lets just say, I have absolutely no idea why I couldn't have been like, no I'm a tourist.  

And then "Mr. I think I'm way more important than I actually am," was like, "ok, ok" and walked away.  

He went back to his friends who asked him if I was a journalist and when he shook his head they asked why I was taking pictures, and he was like, haha, "I don't know, I stopped listening." 

hahaha, I laughed.

Finally, I grew a pair and asked the people nearest to where I was standing what was going on.  I chose the wrong crowd.  Our conversation went as follows (in translation): 

Ranna: Do you guys know what's going on here?

Arab guy #1: Hey, where are you from? 

Ranna: the US.  What's going on here? 

Arab guy #1: Ohhhh Obama! Yassine, come here, she's American. 

Yassine: Hey, cool, you're American!  Obama! 

Ranna:  So, what's going on here?

Yassine: The police hate the Arabs. 

Ranna: No.  Why are the police even here?  What's going on at the mosque?

Arab guy # 1: We're just praying. 

Ranna: It's not like this every friday. 

Yassine: Hey, Faudel, come here, this girls American.  Yeah, it's not like this every friday, but today is a special prayer. 

Ranna: So why is there so much security? 

Yassine:  There are people here who don't like each other.

Ranna: What do you mean?  Who?  

Yassine: Different groups.  Hey, what's your name?  

Ranna: It's not important, which groups? 

Faudel: Don't tell her anything until she tells you her name.  

Ranna: OK.  Thanks guys, see you later.  

Yassine: No no.  The Algerians and the Moroccans.  

Ranna: The Algerians and the Morccans don't like each other?  Since when??? 

Faudel: We're not telling you anymore.  Whats you name?

Ranna: Salma.  Since when? 

Faudel: Salma?  How old are you?  

Ranna:  Why is this important?  Since when?

And then....I guess while we were having this delightful conversation, this news correspondent was reporting on the situation and saying things that didn't tend well with the people around him.  So, out of the blue, people start yelling at each other and screaming at the reporter, who is just standing there like, "what just happened?"  And in the middle of it all, one of the old homeless women who stands in front of the mosque begging usually, stood up and started yelling at the reporter too.  It was probably one of the funniest things I've ever seen.  So, the men pushed the reporter out of town while the police stood there, picked their noses and looked on.  

I took that chance to escape my enlightened group of boys, and went up to this older man standing there and asked him what was going on. 

Well, apparently, the head of the mosque right now is a Moroccan man, BUT, this mosque is state-run and state-sponsored, so the government is replacing him with a new man, however, this one happens to be Algerian.  And it's causing a lot of problems, because the Moroccans want a Moroccan to stay in power, while the Algerians want one of their own.  

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was what was going on. 

So, let me get this straight.  These muslims, not only do they fight between their different sects, when it comes down to it, it becomes a cultural struggle as well?  Let me get this straight, these Arabs that come into France, not only are they barred from their French community, but they have created hostile communities between each other as well?  Let me get this straight, ya'll are standing here fighting because the head of the mosque is changing?  What happened to your "God?"  Isn't he really the head of it all?  Where does he fit in, in this little game you're playing?  

Shoot, they just can't seem to get it right, can they?  

Baba, take it eassyyy.  

It's cold in the desert but not at the beach

It was the first time that Sally (Salma's nickname du mois) and I had stayed in a hostel.  Actually, in fact, it was the first time that Sally and I had ever traveled alone together.  Our MAJOR beach trip.  It was quite interesting. 

Quite the interesting few days.  The hostel, it was an "Auberge de Jeunesse," which are owned and operated by the government and so this means (apparently) that while the privately owned hostels in France may not be the nicest, the ones owned by the French government have to adhere to certain rules of conduct which therefore make them a little bit nicer (Justin, thoughts?).  I must say that it was quite the pleasure.  

I mean, I have nothing to compare it to expect for one time in Seville, Ramin Ostad stayed at this hostel, and omg, it was the sketchiest place ever with this random man behind the counter who was like Romanian or something and wayy overcharged Ramin for this tiny room and he wouldn't give Ramin a receipt because he couldn't find a pen or paper when Ramin paid.  Remember I was so creeped out and I felt legit bad for Ramin. 

So anyway, the rooms were built in a dorm-like manner, our roommates changed quite frequently, and during the five nights that we stayed there, I can honestly say that I met some of the most interesting people I have ever known.  let me tell you something, its the people you meet par hazard who seem to make the biggest impact on your life.  You may not think that a brief conversation is going to lead anywhere until a person says something that completely surprises you and you're just left thinking about them for a long time.  

It's funny because these people, you dont even know specific things about them.  I know them now by, for instance, the Chinese girl, the Australian guy, the strange Quebecois.  In my head they are labeled like that, but only because its so unnecessary to really learn the specifics if your encounter with them is so fleeting.  

So the young travelers who were there with us, they literally had no money and they were going around Europe, trying to fit in as much as they could on  a very very limited budget.  They came equipped with HUGE backpacks, the best stories, and amazing attitudes about life.

Our roommate the first couple of nights was this Chinese girl who was traveling around Europe for 60 days and she was trying to fit in like 25 countries in that time.  Which, she admitted was the most exhausting thing she had ever done.  Anyway, she fascinated me.  She was funny because she could sleep in an instant, but then she would have these long and loud rambling sessions in Chinese.  One night, Salma swore she heard her yodeling.  

Who else? 

Oh yeah, at breakfast we met this Australian guy from Adelaide who had moved all the way to Nice to be with his French girlfriend, but then a couple days before he came in, she broke up with him.  So he was lost and looking or jobs on boats.  We became friends and he was genuinely surprised when I recognized Adelaide, and was even more surprised when I told him that I had a friend from Adelaide (I considered explaining to him that for a bulk of winter term, I pretended I was from Adelaide myself, but I refrained).  So anyway, poor guy was looking for work, looking for anything!  Each day when we saw him, he looked more and more jaded by the lack of opportunities he was finding in the south of France.  Of course, Salma got emotionally involved, and as we were walking to the train station she said, "I feel so bad for our friend.  I really hope everything works out for our friend.  I sure hope he finds some more friends. "  

Our roommate for the last couple nights was a super-cool girls from Vancouver who was studying photography at school in Toronto.  She was traveling around Europe, but we bonded over the fact that she was a music festival fiend and she shared all of her thoughts and hints on music festivals.  We had an amazing conversation about the Kings of Leon and the story behind "Cold Desert."  It's so interesting, want me to tell you?

Ok, so apparently the name of the band, "Kings of Leon," comes from the three brothers of the band, whose father's name was Leon.  And he was a traveling, what, priest?  Who would go around middle America and take the three young boys around during their childhood.  Needless to say, they grew up with a religious backbone which has continued to follow them during their time as musicians.  Although it's not the forefront of their music, you can definitely find little hints pointing to their faith in some of their songs.  So, ok, one night, the singer of the band, he got really drunk, or high or something, under some sort of influence, and he went into the recording studio and started messing around with things, and just started to sing some lines, and somewhere along the way, "Cold Desert," was created.  The recording on the album is the first time he ever sang it all the way through.  And then he fell asleep in the recording studio.  The next morning, he woke up and he was like, "what the hell, what is this?" and he listened to it, and there's this line that says, "Jesus don't love me, no one ever carried my load," and he hears it and turns off the track and he's like, no way, I would never ever ever say that, like Jesus don't love me?  Of course Jesus loves me!  But the band ended up keeping the recording, and adding music to it.  So when you listen to it, his voice which is already pretty raspy, is a lot raspier.  And after hearing the story, I've been trying to pick out different things that fall into this story.

Now go and listen to the song.  Cold Desert--Kings of Leon 

SO ANYWAY, we met some other crazy weird people too.  I'm pretty sure Sally got over, what she calls, her "anti-social tendencies," and she can totally go up to people and talk and have conversations.  I loved meeting new people.  I thought it was the coolest thing in the world.  I love the hostel life-style, I want to do it again.  Maybe I can travel again when I start making money.  Oh money, what a concept!  

Anyway, apart from some minor pitfalls, the trip was great and we had a lot of fun bronzing and getting out of Paris.  

But now, wow, 8 days are left.  8 days!  We have so much to pack and soo much to do.  Oh man oh man.   Ok, I'm not going to get emotional.  That's for the next blog.  I think my next blog will be my goodbye blog.  Wow.  Wow.  Haha, I remember when I got here.  Seems like forever ago....

Alright guys and gals, hope you enjoyed this blog post as much as i enjoyed writing it. 

Ranna    OUT.  

Time

Time is a funny funny thing.  We dont know how it happened.  When it happened.  Why it happened.  

Salma and I can't sleep.  No I take that back.  We sleep.  But we sleep at 3 o'clock in the morning.  And the earliest we can wake up is 1 o'clock in the afternoon.  This is bad.  We tried setting an alarm, but apparently this morning when our alarm rang, our conversation went as follows: 

Salma:  Ran, you wanna wake up?

Ranna: No Salma, come on, we have to sleep until 1 at least.  

Salma: Ok...snoorrreee...

we slept until like 2.  You know its really sad when my mom calls me when she's woken up in the States and we're still in bed.  What's worse is that the other night, Salma was skyping with Neda Movahed and Mina Javid, and Zohreh Joon came into the room and was like, "ok, time for bed in the Movahed household." 

Aberoomoon raft, vaghaan.  [we were really embarrassed]

We don't even do anything special at night.  tonight, for instance, we watched "the notebook," talked to Yasna and Neda, drank diet coke, went and got some popcorn even though we were looking for Oreos....

Thursday we head to the beach.  Niiiccccccceee.  I can't wait to get really really really tan.  Even though, oh yeah, thats impossible for me.  But I'll try.  Don't worry, dont worry, I'll wear sunscreen (uhhhhh).  

Alright, this was just the most unnecessary blog post.  

A demain, ou peut etre a mardi...bisous...