Les Rêveries d'une Flâneuse

Accident Grave De Voyageur

2011-04-25T04:07:00.000+02:00

Hello everyone--terribly sorry for going SO long without writing a blogpost. I just couldn't muster up enough...energy? No, not energy, cus I have a lot of energy to write, but...maybe inspiration. I just couldn't muster up enough inspiration to sit down and write a truly interesting blogpost because life in Paris, as great and wonderful and amazing as it is, it's normal life. I haven't really done anything that required a blog entry. Therefore, almost, what, 3 full months have elapsed since my last blog. FINALLY! Finally I can write something for you. Something worthy of my blog and proof that my life is more interesting than you all may think.

It all started today when Yasna and I decided to go to the 13th arrondissement for some Asian cuisine. We've recently become sort of obsessed with the 13th after we went to this awesome amazing spectacular grocery store with Hossein, the coolest guy ever, and everything was like no more than 5 euros. I mean, mangoes which are usually like 2 euro 60 for one piece, were like 4 for 1 euro!! Anyway, fun fact, I used to live there. Yeah, my apartment was RIGHT in the middle of all of this hooplah but I find that I never appreciated what I had until now, when I live somewhat far away from the area, and yet tend to go there at least once a week. Oh...also, to be fair, everything in Paris is closed on Sundays, especially when tomorrow is Easter and EVERYTHING and their mother will be closed, the 13th remains open quand même.

So we decided to go there, and we did. We wanted to go have pho, but then we found this awesome Thai restaurant and Yasna's been craving papaya salad for like 4 weeks since one day we walked past a papaya or something. So we had Thai food, and then we left and it was like, 10:30 when we left the restaurant? Something like that. Time matters here though.
At around 10:45-10:50, we got onto the metro, and I thought "oh good ok, we don't have to worry about missing the metro or anything, there is still plenty of time, even if we have to switch." Because on sundays and any day except for friday and saturday the metro closes at midnight. So, we got on the train and went about two stops, when all of a sudden in between two of the stations the train just stops.

Now, this isn't cause for worry since it always happens due to circulation or what not. Nothing to worry about. But this time, we were sitting in the metro for like 30 minutes and every two minutes the train conductor would address everyone on the train by saying it would take a couple more minutes before he would have any information.
Then in one of the messages he said there was an "accident grave de voyageur" which means...well its pretty self explanatory, right? But he didn't say more.
Then, like 5 minutes later, he got on, told us again about the accident grave, and said the trains would have to stop and they were stopping all of the trains on line 7 and that all of the passengers would have to be evacuated from the train. And of course, my heart was just beating so fast the entire time because I get so nervous during any situation like this.
This man came in and put this dinky winky ladder from the train door to the train floor like by the tracks, and we all had to walk down and walk through the tunnel of the metro to the station behind us. And the entire time there were only two things on my mind
1. What if I step on a rat? What if a rat climbs over my foot? What if a rat bites me? What if I stumble across an entire group of rats?
2. I wonder if the person is dead. I wonder what happened to him/her. I wonder if it was one of those German tourists who missed their stop and had to run to the other side to catch a train. I wonder if we'll see anything.

But once we got to the station, all we saw was about 30 pompiers (EMTs) around someone on a stretcher, but the security on the metro made us keep moving up the stairs so we weren't able to see more. Even though I kept stopping to look but the woman was like, "Mesdames s'il vous plait...." so we kept walking up the stairs.

And then we were like, welllllll shooooot! We definitely wont be able to catch the metro, so what should we do? Go to Chatelet (the center basically) to catch the night bus? Ok sure, why not? So we got onto the bus to take us to Chatelet and it was PACKED, like literally we were sardines! And everyone was just sweating because randomly its just summer here. And OF COURSE we end up standing next to these two Egyptian guys who start talking to Yasna and she's being like nice but you know, trying to avoid talking with them, but then one of them asked for Yasna's number and she was like, "nooo I don't think so." And then the guy was like, "well my friend here loves your friend." And everything was just really awkward and I just wanted to get off the bus because I get super uncomfortable in those sorts of situations.
And even once we got off the bus they got off too and he just kept asking for my number and I kept saying, "non, mais c'est gentille." and slowly inching my way behind Yasna and like pushing her towards them without thinking I was doing that. And finally they gave up and walked away.

BUT he did tell us that the "accident grave" was that this man's shirt got stuck in the metro door and he didn't have time to get on and the train just STARTED and he was just stuck!!!!!!!!!

So then we were just in Chatelet and the night bus wouldn't leave until one o'clock. So we had an hour and we thought we would walk around, sit down somewhere, and pass some time. And we ended up sitting next to this Italian girl (Eva) and an Australian girl (Kristen) who were really nice, and we sat on the stoop with Kristen for like 2 hours until these three men came and AGAIN started talking to us and I was like, really? again? But then one of them was like, "do you want some champagne?" And I was like, "No."
And Yasna and Kristen were just having their own conversation so I was left to talk to them. And they kept asking me if I wanted champagne and I kept saying "no thank you." But then randomly one of them took out this remote control and opened up the gate to the store across the street (because he owned it?) and going inside and getting a bottle of champagne and a bottle of coke (for me since I didn't want champagne? I mean...I just thought I could get out of the situation by saying I didn't want to drink). But they just kept talking and we kept laughing nervously and looking at each other like, "please lets get up right now."

Then we took the night bus home and now it's 4 oclock in the morning and we just got home like 15 minutes ago and for some ODD reason while I'm typing this Yasna is listening to Edgar Allen Poe poems on youtube and sketching. A girl of many interests...

I think I'm going to sleep soon, only I really want to take a shower because I just keep thinking about walking alongside the metro walls and who knows whats happened there? Also, the entire time I was glad that it was Yasna with me and not some random person or someone I wasn't very close with because I think I asked about a million questions afterwards and she answered each of them without getting irritated. So that was nice.

Only now Im still thinking about the poor person getting stuck on the metro and I just feel so bad. Poor guy/girl. I hope he/she's ok.

Ranna is Incompetent

2011-02-22T17:47:00.001+01:00

So. Totalllyyyyy new experience for me just now. I was taking a shower and all of a sudden the lights went out! And at first I thought, shoot, the lightbulb burnt out or something. So I took my shower in the dark and I walked out, and I couldn't turn any of the lights on. And I freaked out because this happened before to Yasna before I came, and she didn't have electricity in the apartment for like a week. So I called Yasna and I was like, "uhhh, I was just taking a shower and all of a sudden the electricity went out!!"
And Yasna went "Well can you go downstairs and see if the hallway light turns on?"
And I couldn't because I had just come out of the shower and I was naked, but I asked "if the light in the hallway doesn't come on, what am I supposed to do? "
And she was like, "You have to call them."
"Who, Yasna?"
"The electricity company."
So I hung up the phone, got dressed, and went outside to check the light. And in my head I was thinking, "pleaseeeeeee! please light! don't work so it's not just our apartment!" But of course, the light turned on.
Just then, Yasna called me on Skype and was like, "well what happened?"
"It's our apartment."
"Shit, are you serious?"
"What do I do?"
"Go check the box."
"What box? The thing that spins that you always check?"
"No, Ran, the fuse box in the apartment!"
And then I had a momentary freak out and was like, "YASNA, I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THINGS LIKE THIS!!!"
And she was like, "Ran, when you go up the stairs, there is a box, go check if all of the switches look the same."
So I go and check and to me, all of the switches look the same. So I tell her. And she was like, "even the one at the top?"
AND THANK GOD IT WAS FLIPPED DOWN!!! Because otherwise I couldn't know what I was supposed to do. I mean, granted, Yasna said SHE would call the electricity company, but still. I was scared I would be stuck at home, and it's getting dark, AND I was in the middle of doing a load of laundry so the entire time I was thinking, shoot, now all of my laundry is going to smell.
But apparently (Yasna says) since I was taking a shower, and doing laundry, and the chauffage had been on...wait...chauffage? How do you say chauffage in English? The heaters? The heaters had been on for a while, I was just taking up to much electricity. So now, I'm sort of paranoid and I've turned off all the chauffages and I'm sitting in the dark until the laundry load finishes.
Thank God Yasna was around because otherwise seriously SERIOUSLY literally I wouldn't know what to do and I would pack a bag and go to Sara's house until Yasna came home.

The end.

When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most everything

2011-02-20T16:33:00.000+01:00

Where to start... where to start? I guess I'll start at the very beginning, a very good place to start. When you read you begin with A. B. C. When you sing you begin with Do Re Mi. Do Re Mi. The first three notes just happen to be Do Re Mi. Do Re Mi Fa So La Ti......oh dear, let's see if I can make this easier...

Do a deer a female deer

Re a drop of golden sunnnn

Mi a name I call myself

Fa a long long way to runnnnnnnnn

So a needle pulling thread

La a note to follow sooooo

Ti a drink with jam and bread

That will bring us back to Do Do Do Do DO.

Honestly, once I started it was hard to stop. I wanted to mostly prove to myself that I knew all the lyrics. Sound of Music, waddup.

Ok, but seriously. I've been in Paris for about three weeks now and it's just now that I'm picking up my parchment and quill to write this entry? Yes. Well, I apologize to all of my avid fans (que: look of exasperation from those who think I'm being too full of myself) who have been waiting patiently for me to write a blog about being back in Paris.

Paris. Paris, France. I can't believe that I'm back. I can't believe that I'm actually back. The idea of coming back, it was something that was always in my head since I left, but part of me was always hesitant to confidently believe that it would happen. I'm sitting here now, on the couch, in this apartment, and part of me feels like I never left.

That's the biggest difference I think. Last time, everything was so new and exciting and wonderfully different from anything that I had ever experienced. I was the young and naive college student in France for her study abroad. Every instant I would experience new feelings, sights, smells, sounds, that were so foreign. This time, it has been so easy to get adjusted.

To me, Paris has the element of "home." When I'm here, I feel like I'm back to where I first created my own life, created my own community. I don't feel separated from the people in the streets, I don't feel like a tourist, I don't feel like a student studying abroad. I feel home.

I'm so happy. I'm so incredibly happy. Just the other night, I was sitting in the metro, and I think I had to change metro lines like 3 times and at first, I was like, "mannnnn what the hell??? This is going to take so long! I'm going to be in the metro forever!" But then, I had to step back and say, "wait a second! I'm in Paris taking the metro! Why am I complaining?" And I swear it made everything so much better. It's as simple as saying "Ran, you're in Paris!" And everything that might potentially irk me, just doesn't. It's great. I'm just floating. I'm floating.

And also, at this particular moment I'm really proud of myself because last night I went to Marion's house, and she invited some of her friends over, and I spoke French almost the entire night! I really loved it. I want to put myself back in situations like that where I'm forced to speak French, because honestly, I speak pretty well if I do say so myself. So I'm sort of elated at the moment.

I don't know. Everything is really great. I haven't really haven't had certain and specific experiences to write about as one blog post, but overall it's been a really good three weeks. I'm really looking forward to everything that is to come.

Love, Ran.

So long, farewell.

2009-08-05T04:37:00.002+02:00

It's sad really. I never officially signed off from this blog. Everything moved so quickly, and the next thing I knew I was standing at Dulles International Airport, bags in hand, ready to go back "home." And there I have stayed for the last month, taking classes at George Mason, working at a laser clinic, driving a car, acting as though the last year never even existed. Yeah...acting. Let me tell you something, there is not one minute of the day when my mind isn't focused on Paris, when I'm not thinking about something that happened, someone I met, something I ate, smelled, touched...memories drown out the images around me and I am left in a dreamlike euphoria. I can close my eyes...and mmmmmm....I am sitting in my apartment, the window is open and the heating is on... the smell...the smell of the chauffage...Marion is standing just outside the door smoking a cigarette...Yasna's on my bed checking her email...we've just finished eating our doner kabobs...should we go out? the moose? aaaahhh the moose.

What was it that...that has cast a spell on me? I don't even know.

In any case, tonight I was looking through my old journals...and I mean OLD, but I came across the one I had just before I went to Paris. I had cut out this article, stuck it in between the pages, and forgotten about it. But I wanted to share it with you guys, just as a final hoorah! One final blog entry on rannaisinfrance.blogspot.com...i mean...until rannaisinfranceagain.blogspot.com starts up.... :) So here it is:

In Pursuit of Happiness by Holly Brubach

"I was 34 and lovelorn. Other people, under similar circumstances, turn to midnight snacks, old movies, psychoanalysis, tequila. I moved to Paris.

My hopes, to the extent that I had one, was that the mere act of going through the motions in another city, in another language, would turn out to be such a project that it would distract me from my misery. Amazingly, this proved to be true. Every errand, however mundane, required a new vocabulary, world I had never come across in Moliere or Baudelaire: tournevis, crochet, marteau for a trip to the hardware store; tache, doublure, before heading off to the dry cleaner.

But the truth is, paris also took my mind off my troubles in ways that I hadn't foreseen. Everywhere I looked, there was something urging me to pay attention: a taste, a smell, some subtle flourish that a person trudging through life preoccupied with her own small problems might otherwise miss.

That summer, I sat in my first apartment, a seven-story walkup half a block from the Seine, and i listened through open windows to the chamber-music concerts across the street a the Musée de la Monnaie, with Mozart's ripe harmonies carried upward on the dense, warm air. Going on midnight, the noise of the traffic was interrupted by lurching, bleating oom-pah-pah renditions of popular standards as the Fanfare des Beaux-Arts, a marching band made up of students from the nearby school of architecture, snaked its way through the narrow streets, its gusto fueled by wine.

Shopping for groceries, I brought home fraises des bois, plump figs from Turkey, and yogurt made from goat's milk. At the bakery on the corner, I discovered congolais--haystacks of pure, intense coconut. In the Luxembourg Gardens, where I went to run, children sailed their boats in the fountain. When October arrived, I found myself trailing golf carts with a cargo of citrus trees in their jardinieres, bound for the Orangerie, where they would sit out the winter; jouncing along the dirt paths, they waved their branches, like stiff arms, in valediction.

My middle class, middle-American parents had instilled in the the values their parents had instilled in them: honesty, diligence, discipline, thrift, and a particularly Calvinist delight in the virtues of self-denial. All of which, with the sad exception of thrift, had taken root in my soul. We went to church. We played golf. We drank iced tea. The goal was to get ahead. Work was every upstanding person's reason for being, and pleasure and leisure were the rewards for a job well done. The only possible conclusion to be drawn from this austere outlook on human nature seemed to be that a self was not to be trusted, a self was to be constantly policed and held back.

An A student, workaholic, a chronic dieter locked in a lifelong battle against five extra pounds. I gradually loosened my iron grip, with the French as my example. I envied them their capacity for moderation, a skill that had always eluded me, and realized for the first time that pleasure makes moderation possible. I began building little treats into my day; 20 minutes with a book in the Tuileries on the way to an appointment; a late-night glass of Champagne at a cafe; Poilanes walnut bread for breakfast.

In my family, flowers were considered a reckless indulgence, unless they came from the garden or if it was Mother's Day. But in Paris, I met a man whose policy was that no vase should ever go empty. He took to showing up at my door on Friday afternoons, his arms full of roses--an astonishing array of varieties and colors, some with poetic names like Cuisse de Nymphe, the pale pink-beige that evoked the unexposed skin of a maiden's thigh. On Saturday mornings, I awake to the smell of roses before I opened my eyes.

Paris is surely the biggest, and to my mind the best, pleasure palace ever built. I've heard it said, by other Americans, that their idea of paradise would be Paris without the French. What this fantasy fails to take into account is that Paris IS the French. If it's hard for us to grasp this, if we tend to view cities as stage sets animated by people who just happen to live there at the time, perhaps its because no single city is the outward expression of our intermost convictions and the workings of our minds: not Washington DC, not New York, not Los Angeles, not Boston, Miami, Chicago, San Francisco. Paris is the produce of a centuries-long collective endeavor--a society's accumulated wisdom on the subject of civilization, put into practice.

It was the French who alerted me to the fact that pleasure is both something to be discovered, there for the taking, and something to be cultivated through my own efforts. Its pursuit, as it turns out, is not a mindless slide into debauchery but a science, rigorous and exacting, discriminating between the merely good and the sublime. The thing about pleasure is that it immerses you in the moment. The present becomes more compelling than the future of the past. There is no better cure for heartache.

Had I been as happy in Paris as I recall? Thinking back on my life there, I have to remind myself that there were long weeks in February when the heat in my apartment was no match for the damp chill; that there were times when disappointment or failure of frustration dominated my thoughts, as it would have anywhere; that there were occasions when I felt as if I didn't belong. I have to remind myself because those arent the things that I remember. What I remember is walking home from a wonderful dinner at the apartment of some friends: It's two in the morning, my footsteps reverberate off the walls of the buildings that flank the winding Rue de Babylone. The moon is full, and except for the gendarme on the corner, the street is all mine.

I lived in Paris for six years and held on to my apartment for seven more, until the building was sold. I cried the day I left, not dignified, silent tears, but embarrassing, heavy sobs. The movers came for my furniture and put it into storage--an absurd extravagance, necessary at the time, since the only way I could bear to leave was by telling myself that someday I would again live in Paris. And I still believe that someday I will.

Just recently, a friend asked me how, having lived there, I could ever be happy living anywhere else. But that's not the lesson that I came away with. It's no exaggeration to say that Paris restored me to my senses. But it also gave me something more. Because in the course of learning to love the city and its inhabitants, I learned to savor the texture of my everyday life, not only there, but anywhere."

And with this article in mind, ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for reading my entries through these months, and I bid you a gracious adieu.

La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure

2009-06-15T00:39:00.004+02:00

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

2009-06-13T01:26:00.001+02:00

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.

2009-06-13T00:23:00.003+02:00

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

2009-06-10T23:56:00.002+02:00

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

2009-06-03T02:17:00.002+02:00

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...

Ripe

2009-05-30T14:50:00.002+02:00

Avocados. You have to wait until they are JUSSSTTTT ripe before you can eat them. There is nothing grosser than eating an avocado that has not reached its prime. It's hard and has a weird consistency. Plus, it tastes like crap. But, once you've placed it in the sun for a couple days, it reaches that dark green color. When you squeeze it, it's not too soft, where you break it with a little bit of pressure, but you can definitely get that squeeze in. And then, then you cut it open, and the color is a light yellowish green; plus, its soft and spreadable, but if you'd rather not spread it, it stays in its solid form. And it tastes nutty, sweet (sweet?), and wonderful. But alas, sometimes we let the avocado rest on the windowsill for a few too many days, and then all of a sudden, when its cut open its just a little too brown. Even though it still tastes good, its bruises have diminished its appeal.

there you go, there's the avocado.

Now, I'm sitting here today, in my room, the window is open, and while there's a light breeze, the sun is still beating down, making it warm and beautiful. I am wearing my newly made shorts (made them myself), a light tank top, and my hair is pulled back by a headband. I'm eating a peach. I'm thinking about cutting up the watermelon in the fridge and eating that next. Maybe I'll go the the park for some sunbathing. I'll take a book. Right now I'm reading, "The God Delusion." Life is good, Paris is good.

I am the ripe avocado. I'm just scared that soon, I'll become the brown one.

Give me ideas on what to do with my time.

Please and thank you.

sverige

2009-05-25T18:01:00.004+02:00

for you i'd wait til kingdom come

2009-05-25T13:49:00.005+02:00

the weather is hot and sultry. i raise the blinds and step outside. the sun hits my face. i pack a blanket, water, book, ipod. i slip on a tank top and a skirt. i go to a park. people are sprawled out everywhere. i find a spot, set up my space. Paul Auster and the sun keep me entertained as Akon plays his catchy tunes. why Akon? because Akon rocks.

i deserve this weather. i have been waiting 9 months for this weather. and now, in my last three weeks here, I will fully take advantage of this weather. i thrive in this weather.

please sir, no more.

2009-05-23T01:06:00.002+02:00

In 6 hours I wake up to go take my final exam of the year. The final test I will take while in Paris. The final French grammar test of my life (hopefully).

These past weeks, I've felt a growing need to sit down in a large lecture hall and learn about supply and demand, opportunity costs, the hazardous effects of minimum wage! Ahhhh, just typing it out makes me want to go back to the classrooms filled with the economic minds of tomorrow. What I'm saying is that I miss real school. Real school! Real school where I had the capability to sit down and learn fun facts that actually matter! I'm so tired of learning grammar rule after grammar rule.

"You can use this tense when you are speaking about this, but uhh, sorry here are the exceptions to that rule." Subjunctive, conditional, passé simple, pronouns, prepositions...PLEASE STOP!!!!!!!!!!!

At the beginning of the year, I remember thinking, I would totally be able to become awesome at the French language and then one day teach people these rules about grammar. But, when I think about possibly taking another French grammar class in the future, I think I spit up a little in my mouth.

In some ways it's a relief, at least I can check French teacher off the list of possible things to do with my life.

Today as I was studying (haha, flipping through the pages of my binder, skimming, really. What? No mom, yeah I studied...haha, no I studied today I promise....huh?), I was thinking, "wheennnn willll thissssss evverrrrr ennnddddddddddddddd??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?" Torture, I tell you. TORTURE!

I also realized that my level of French has reached a pretty good level, still not perfect, but pretty good. I mean, I can totally communicate, and if I come back to live here (which, oh yeah, I want to), I'll be able to survive. I'm surviving now, right? Right.

So, au revoir French classes. Hello summa summa summa time.

I should probably go to bed now.

poems are cool

2009-05-21T21:05:00.002+02:00

I'm supposed to be studying for my oral exam tomorrow. But, I really want to share a poem with you; one that is part of the list of texts I may have to analyze in front of my teacher. I really hope I get it, because I connected so much with it while I was reading. Yeah, it's in French, and I think that's the way it should remain, but I'll try to find some sort of translation for all of you non-speakers out there.

Le Pont Mirabeau par Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Et nos amours

Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne

La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure

Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face

Tandis que sous

Le pont de nos bras passe

Des éternels regards londre si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure

Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante

L'amour s'en va

Comme la vie est lente

Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure

Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines

Ni temps passé

Ni les amours reviennent

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure

Les jours s'en vont je demeure

I think this poem has a very nostalgic quality to it, for those of us, well, for anyone really, who has lived somewhere, and who has had to leave prematurely, or without really wanting to leave. I know it has this "love story" theme running through it, but taking that out. Well, hell, why take it out? There's so much love in the hood, here. So yeah, time passes, people come and go, love comes and goes, and he keeps saying, "je demeure," or "i remain." Remain locked in this time, guarding a certain feeling, love; but love, I think love is the most fleeting of feelings. I think we try so hard to capture it, and once we do, we try so hard to keep it within us, but it slips away and again, we remain. Do we realize when it has left us? Or do we keep holding on to the memories, hoping that the memories will have will bring back the same feelings?

I dont know. OH. I just realized I didn't get a translation. Ok, go find on. I know you can. Do it. DO IT.

LOVE (because I have a lot of it to offer), Ranna

The Surprise

2009-05-05T10:06:00.002+02:00

I get a text last monday from thom. "It's my adopted birthday tomorrow, come meet me out for an early dinner and drinks."

How could I ever say no? Thom is my great friend and I want to spend his birthday, adopted or not, with him.

"I will be there." I text back.

I talk to Yasna online that night.

"So tomorrow is Thom's adopted birthday."

"He's adopted?"

"I don't know, I think he just decided it was his birthday. I guess? I dont know."

We start talking about trees.

Salma babysits on Tuesday. Her phone is not charged so I give her mine. I can't get in touch with anyone. Thom calls her 9 times. Finally she gives him her own number and he calls. I pick up.

"Here are the details. " [Details]

"OK, sure cool."

"Cool? Sure? No, you're supposed to say you're so excited, that you cant wait, you're supposed to sing for me." He starts singing.

"Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to meeee. Today is the day I was separated from my druggie parents. Happy birthday to meeeee."

Awkward pause.

"OK. Cool, I'll sing to you tonight."

So, he's adopted. I wish I had known.

I meet Marion at Hotel de Ville at 8:00. I'm late, as usual. We walk to a restaurant in the Marais. We have flowers.

"Hey, sooo did you know Thom was adopted?"

She looks at me, typical Marion look, "You didn't know?"

We keep walking.

Outside of the restaurant. We look up and see Thom sitting at a table. He smiles, waves, and walks down to greet us.

"So, who's coming tonight?"

"Just me, Thomas, you guys, and one of my Polish friends."

I'm confused. I always imagined Thom's birthday being a rather large affair. Simple? Really?

We walk in and up the stairs. Thomas stands up and greets us. We kiss twice on the cheek and sit down. I notice Thomas is drinking a martini and Thom is drinking a coffee...and beer. Gross. Really? Coffee and beer? Really?

Chatting begins. Chat. Chat. Chat. Chat. He extends his hands. Marion and I hold one each.

This is weird, kind of.

"My bitches are all back with me"

"Hi guys."

My stomach fell to the ground. Hey. I know that voice.

It all happened in a sort of slow motion. Marion and I both looked back to see who was talking.

When I saw Yasna I thought it was all in my imagination-that she wasn't real. And then I looked at Marion's face, who look equally as confused and shocked and it hit me like a bullet.

I got up and walked away with my hand over my mouth. "No f**king way!!!!!!!!"

Marion was still looking at her and Yasna was laughing hysterically. They hugged. No. Wait. Whattttttttttttttttttt??

"What the hell are you doing here?" Marion yelled.

"I don't know I just decided to come back to Paris for a week and surprise you guys."

Surprise. Yeah, you could say I was surprised.

I went in to hug her still not fully sure if she was real or if I was having a really vivid dream. Nooo. This cant be real, as I hugged her. I talked to her last night. No wait, I talked to her online this afternoon!

"Wait...you were in Paris today when we spoke???"

Evil laugh

"You bitch!!!!!!!"

As we sat down and [sort of] calmed ourselves the story about her surprise visit kept unveiling. Little details about the day and the weeks prior finally made more sense. And then it hit me...

"Thom. Are you actually adopted???"

Laughter.

"No. But wasn't it a good story?"

One of the best weeks of my life. And today we go to Sverige (did you know it's pronounced, Sve-ri-yeh? Fun fact).

Be gholeh mamanam, "Shomah dohtah az hamdigeh khasteh nashodin hanooz?"

Yeah. Not so much.

I'll update when we come back. Cheers.

the one where ranna tries

2009-04-25T00:10:00.004+02:00

What are we doing and what have we done? I've avoided writing a blog post because the amount of places we have traveled to in the last few weeks is quite overwhelming. Writing about it seems frightening. Should I write out every detail? Should I place more emphasis on one place and not another?

Every city has had its own unique charms. Little details that are etched forever in my brain. How can I write about them all without boring my audience to death. What is significant to me, will not necessarily be significant to you, dear reader.

Therefore, I have decided not to write about the past four weeks at all. Skip them and start anew. Why? Because I can. Because I want to. Because this way, I don't have to place any judgement on where we have gone. The observations I made are in my head, and that is where they will stay.

For those of you who are curious, however, about where we went, I will tell you this much:

Italia--Roma; Sabaudia; Napoli

Deutschland--Berlin; München

Czechia--Praha

Österreich--Vienne

There. That's that.

So whats on the schedule now? Time is moving so quickly--I'm not ready for all of this to be over. And yet, I'm so excited or the plans we have set up.

Next week, Salma, Courtney and I are headed to Svedala, Sverige to visit our very own Yasna for a week. Our return to Pareeeee marks the departure of Courtney (*tear*). School ends two weeks after--at which point I must bid my adieus to Madame Amsellem (this time for real) and Sarah Burke (gasp, you too, Sarah!).

AND THEN, for anyone who I have not already told: rather than returning to the United States during the first week of June, Salma and I have extended our trip to the first week of July. Back to Mason, we will go then for lovely summer classes.

We will be hanging out in Paris for a couple of weeks. Hit the beach au bord de la Seine, and then jump on a plane to go to Copenhagen where we will attend Scandinavia's (and I think one of Europes) biggest music festival, Roskilde, http://www.roskilde-festival.dk/. It's basically a huge equivalent to Woodstock (without the fires, crossing fingers now). For a list of musicians playing, check the website.

We were pretty surprised that the plan to go to the festival actually went through. i think its going to be the perfect end to the perfect year.

But, who really wants to think about the end? Not me. for now, I will sit back--actually, I will probably lie back on the grass at Luxembourg, and relax, take in the beautiful weather. Maybe I'll even eat a gelato or two.

Because, as my mother likes to say, I'm living in an alternate reality--an imaginary, perfect life--and I'm going to hold on to it for as long as I can.

Take that, real life.

SIH

2009-03-28T18:43:00.002+01:00

Salma is here!

She arrived safely and soundly yesterday at 11:50 AM. I was late (comme d'habitude) to pick her up. It wasn't my fault though, first I got stopped by RATP security because I didn't buy the special ticket to go to Charles de Gaulle Airport. I feigned innocence by speaking English (love that you can do that), apologized profusely and they let me go...granted, I smiled coyly and batted my eyelashes--that may have had something to do with it too :) And then I was stuck at Gare de Nord for 15 minutes...mètro, tu me soulle, quoiiiiiiiii.

Anyway, we passed a lovely day. OH OH. I'm losing my English speaking skills. I hang out with Marion so much that I've begun to say things that she would say....

"We passed a lovely day." "On a passé une bonne journée"

"Do you want to take a coffee?" "Tu veux prendre un café"

My English grammar is going down to the ground. How irrelevant.

So, we walked around; I took her to café Parvis (yas, love you, jaat khalli), and I made her ultra-tired so that she would sleep well that night. On our way back home in the metro we had quite a scare when a drunk woman stumbled passed us and was waiting for the metro to arrive but right near the edge of the platform. She couldn't stand up straight and she was freaking us out. I thought, "this woman is going to fall down any second now and its going to be bye bye random French woman."

I went up to her and asked her if she was alright.

yeah, yeah, I worked all day and now I am a little drunk

Madame, you should be a little more careful, do you want to sit down?

That's nice of you, but I'm ok. Where are you from?

The United States

I am Moroccan but I've lived here all of my life. Here in France, it is different than the United States, people can do things like this. We drink. No one asks us if we are alright or that we should be more careful.

Nervous smile...where is she going with this?

Thank you, it's very nice of you. What are you doing in Paris?

Actually, I live here and study.

Where do you live?

The 13th.

Where in the 13th?

Near Place d'Italie.

OHhhhhh, my best friend lives there. I'm going to go visit her right now. See, I have more wine in my purse. But its very nice of you to ask me if I'm alright. Very nice...

Metro arrives.

I like to say I saved her life. Salma says, "Ranna, idiot, she was capable without you."

Today we went my friend Courtney's house for brunch...OH, so we finally had daylight savings, only neither my phone or my television configured automatically, so I was late and we didnt wake up. We started the day off late.

But, we had french toast and strawberries. And then we went to Montmartre and sat in at Mass at the Sacre Coeur.

The coolest was that I understood the sermon. I mean, I spent more time thinking about how it was cool that I understood to REALLY understand (you know what I'm saying?).

I hope Salma hit it off with Courtney and Marion. I hope she likes them because...well, she's going to be spending a lot of time with them. She better like them, is all I'm saying. :)

Tonight we are having a "Welcome to Paris" party for her with pizza and birthday cake...because Marion wants to pretend its her birthday tonight. I dont know...Oh man, I'm late. I have to go order pizza. And buy candles. I hope people arrive later than I told them to arrive.

WHATS WRONG WITH ME? I'm always late these days.

These blog posts are going downhill. Maybe if I actually DID something....OK BYE.

the one where ranna acts melancholy

2009-03-20T08:50:00.002+01:00

i dont know why this is so hard. the saying goodbye process. its beginning. once one person leaves, the others slowly follow suit. we all knew it was going to arrive eventually. just not this fast. and no one expected for it to be this hard. no one was supposed to get attached. its a rule, i think. it should be a rule. there should be rules about these sorts of things. rules so that we can live and love and let go. and then do it all over again. but as one person leaves, we lose a little bit of ourselves. the dynamic is not the same. there is an empty space where there was once an amazing being. a silence where there was a laugh. a void where there was once a friend. we are here for a short time. every second of every day counts. and when every second of every day counts, we dont live half-assedly (made up word of the day). we live with our all. we put every strength that we have into all of our encounters, all of our experiences. so no wonder when we are happy, we are the happiest people in the world. and when we're sad, nothing can pacify our gloom. no wonder.

but, its a new day. for goodness sake, its a new year (norooz mobarak)! we take the bad just as much as we take the good and we learn and we grow.

whaat?

veejh

2009-03-14T13:59:00.003+01:00

My friend Melody came to Paris this week for a visit. it was her first time visiting the city so it was a good time showing her around, taking her to visit all the different areas.

I wanted to take her bike riding, but apparently Mel doesn't like two things: bikes and horses.

Reflect

So anway, what didnt we do? Every day was fun-filled and fabulous. oh la la.

We even got sick together. Thursday night when we got home from dinner I became feverish and ill and Mel couldn't stop coughing. We spent the night practically dying together. There were times when I would be like, "Mel, khoobi? Hasti?" and vice versa. At one point she was like, "Ranna, berim." "Koja berim, Melody?" "Khooneh. Mamanamo mikham." "Midoonam. Soon enough."

Yeah, it was miserable. Turns out I have strep throat and I'm pretty sure she'll get it sometime in the next few days.

I told her it was mental, and that if she told herself she wasnt going to get sick she wouldnt get sick. To which she replied,"

"Boro gom sho to-am ba een mental-et. Hamechi mental-eh barat!" that was funny.

Friday was spent with Melody and I in bed, until she (bless her heart) chose to play mommy and took care of me. Her and Yasna. Yasna brought soup and Mel shared her pharmaceutical knowledge with me and told me which pills to pop at what hour.

I mean, considering I was practically dying and Melody had to stay home most of the day (until she went shopping for a few hours with Yasna) it was a pretty funny experience. Mel looked at it from the positive angle...."How many times can you say we've been sick together in Paris." haha....

We even had a doctor pay a house call at 11:3o pm. That was kind of cool. We just called this company and they sent over a doctor who checked out my throat and wrote me a prescription. Granted, it was sort of expensive, since I'm the idiot who chose not to get insurance, but still, it's not something you see in the US.

So. She ate what she had to eat. She saw what she had to see. But in the middle of all the generic things, we had some of the most bizarre, random, hilarious, experiences I've had in Paris. I really hope she had fun.

Love, Ranna

PS. My sabzeh is officially NOT growing--chikar konam?

Spring Cleaning

2009-03-03T20:06:00.004+01:00

Dear friends and family,

Each morning when I wake up and raise my blinds, I am greeted by the strong sun beating down into my room. It's not too warm, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket... and its not even April 17...

Everyone is out on the streets enjoying this while they can because who knows what the weather will be like tomorrow... Paris may pull a Virginia and go blizzard on us. Omg I would be so depressed.

Yesterday after class I was walking around the school area like a zombie and I stumbled across this amazing juice bar. You choose any kind of fresh fruit or vegetable you want, and they juice it for you on the spot. It's so tasty. It boosted my energy level too... although, I'm pretty sure the lack of energy and the sudden onset of terrible stomachaches was coming from a lack of the B12 vitamin/folic acid, because of the changes in my diet. No meat, dairy, etc... don't worry, I went to the natural food store and stocked up on my vitamins. Why are the tablets so big?

So anyway, today I went to the juice bar again with Yasna and my friend Lulie, this ultra-cool Mexican-American who's lived in France for a while. She's applying to law school here, and is so fluent in French, its not even funny. As we were drinking our juice Lulie mentioned how it would be cool to ride the "Velibs" (Velo-libres AKA free bikes) from where we were to the Eiffel Tower, riding by the Seine.

So basically heres the deal, the Velib stands are all over Paris, and you pick a bike up from one stand, ride around for as long as you want, they charge your credit card, but only for as long as you have the bike, other than that, its like 1euro an hour up to 4 hours, then it just stays at 4euro. I never understood how they kept people from stealing bikes--but they basically keep a hold of 150euro until you give the bike back...but if someone really wanted a bike, I guess they could keep it.... eh, who does that?

Anyway we started riding the bikes, and it was so much fun... I only almost died like 2 times... No, I joke, I joke. But, you definitely have to be careful and completely aware of whats going on around you (sorry Salma, that means no bike for you) otherwise you will get run over by a car or a motorcycle. But, I did notice how equipped Paris is for their bike transportation system. The roads all have bike paths, and there are signs everywhere showing the bikers where to go.

Plus, all the bikes have bells and baskets. It's so cute.

Right now, I'm going to figure out what the easiest path is for me to ride from my house to school, or back, because it's such good exercise, plus, it's a lot of fun. So much fun.

My friend Melody is coming into town on Saturday, and if she's up for it, I'm thinking about showing her around the city via Velib. She'll get to see so much. Good idea, Ranna. Thanks, Parsa.

Alright, in other news, I spent all of Sunday heavily cleaning my apartment--I made poor Yasna help me out, haha. But, you know, it was March 1, I needed to make my apartment clean for Norooz.

I've started to set up a 7sin. Well, I have sombol, seeb, serkeh, the beginnings of sabzeh (only, I have little faith that it will work). I need to go to the Iranian grocery store, rather, I need to figure out if there is an Iranian grocery store, to go and by somakh and...what am I missing? sombol, seeb, serkeh, sabzeh, somakh...oh, sekeh...and..is it called senjeh? hmm, is that what its called?

Well anyway, yeah, so 7sin in Paris, so ballin.

Love, Ranna

The one where Ranna talks about Arnold

2009-02-25T11:08:00.002+01:00

I wake up, get dressed, make the bed, eat breakfast, fix my yoga bag, organize my school bag, put my Ipod into my ears, go outside, walk to the metro, pass the homeless man who asks, "vous avez une petite pièce," go down to the tracks, wait for my train, ride the train, get off at Place Monge, walk up Rue Mouffetard, go to class, sit in class, make Madame laugh, come out of class, decide not to go to phonetics, walk from Quartier Latin to Chatelet with Yasna, eat crudités sandwich, walk to Café Parvis...

... And that's when my day begins.

It's weird, I've made a routine for myself over the past two weeks. In the mornings I do the same thing. Every day is the same thing. But the moment I sit at this café and wait for my yoga class, all routine is pushed aside, because every day is something new.

There is nothing special about the café... actually, its quite normal. The outside area is covered with a tarp, there are space heaters, people smoke cigarettes all around me. The waiters don't take orders, they just come outside and tell you whether you speak French or English it doesn't matter, they just change the accent, "self service." The coffee is good enough, and the bartender/barista is kind of cute.

They don't mind how long we sit there, which I think is the biggest plus to this café. Yasna and I get there around 1:30 every day and we sit at that café until I have to go to yoga at 4:30. Seriously, we just sit there and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. Every day there is something new that we laugh about.

One day, there were some Iranians sitting in front of us and...well, I didnt think they were Iranian, and Yasna said for sure they were. So, the challenge of figuring out if they were or not took over our lives for a while, and we did EVERYTHING to make them speak Farsi.

But, they were the kind of couple who sit at restaurants and dont say anything to each other the entire time. You know what I'm talking about. The type thats like, man, if only I was here with someone else.

Finally the woman said something like, "bereem." Something lame and lo and behold, they were Iranian.

I dont know if its just me, but when I see people who may be Iranian, I become obsessed with figuring out if they are or not. I literally cannot concentrate on anything else, because I'm so concentrated to know if we are compatriots. And when I do figure it out, then what? Then nothing really, I just have the satisfaction of knowing that 1. they really are iranian 2. i can understand them 3. i probably shouldnt say anything bad about them "booyeh gooz midan" what? chiiii?

Yasna one-ups me by being able to speak Swedish, so whenever the Svedes come and sit near us, her radar starts beeping, and she's like, "Oh they're swede, they're swede, I can tell by the way the guy cut his hair [into a mullet.]"

Mullets are big here among men AND women. Not like, straight up, red neck or anything, but short up front, longer in the back. It's really ugly, actually. I dont dig this fad. Apparently its big in Sweden? And Spain. It's big in Spain. And Germany. Da Germans do it.

OH, Haha, speaking of German accents, I was watching David Letterman, and Zach Braff was his guest, and he was talking about how he works out a lot, and one day he was working out and Arnold Schwarzenegger (wiki'ed that name, fosho) came up to him, and said, in his accent, "You must eat mo carrots."

Anyway, I guess you had to be there.

Ok honestly, nothing exciting per se happens at the café, but hanging out with Yasna really reminds me of hanging out with Salma, in that, we will laugh at the most RANDOM things you can even imagine, or just have weird conversations that make no sense and think they are hilarious. And then when we recount our stories to other people, they're like, "Umm, I dont get it.." [insert cat statue story HERE salma].

Oh, did I mention the café is right across from the Centre Pompidou? Well, it is. And so it's pretty much tourist central around there. We have fun laughing at the Japanese tours that walk by. OK. They have the funkiest fashion trends in Japan, OK? You would laugh too. Don't even deny it.

Anyway, then I go to yoga, which is of course, wonderful. I'm doing this 30 day yoga challenge--I'm on day 3. Going strong people, going strong.

I go home afterwards, because showering is important sometimes. Then who knows what I do...WOO! Life of the party. That's me!

I don't miss home as much as I did last semester. I seriously think its the weather. Right now, I'm sitting on my bed, my blinds are up, my windows are open, the sun is shining into my room, I don't have class today. Life is grand.

I miss my family/friends, but home, eh, not so much. Home to me has recently become Paris.

Love,

Ranna

tendez les genoux

2009-02-19T23:09:00.004+01:00

dear friends,

Everyone I know in Paris, whether they're staying for only a few months or indefinitely has worked tremendously hard to build a home for himself. We get jobs, dogs, find significant others, decorate our apartments... In any case, our home here in paris becomes our REAL home and we define our lives with what we have here. Our friends become our family, our teachers become our parent figures. Why? Because we strive to find familiarity in an unfamiliar landscape. Life is a mixed bag...

Recently, I have really felt at home here in this city. At first I was not quite sure where the real change came from, I just knew I had found comfort. Now, I realize it is because I have found community. Before, I was always lost, it was hard for me to communicate, I didn't have a "real" life..my life was an alternate reality. Now, I can find my way around most quartiers (at least, the important ones) around Paris. I am familiar with the streets, I recognize the beggars who come into the metro and sing for money. I DO YOGA!!!!

Yeah...yeah...I want to talk about yoga. One day, I randomly decided...actually, no I was REALLY cold, and I thought, well, I can either finish the semester in Yemen, or...or what? What is the best way to find heat here in Paris What can I do? And I thought, hmmmmmm, could it be? Can Bikram really have a studio here? AND THEY DID!!! So, I went.

It's in a great area right across from the Centre Pompidou, a tiny tiny studio, that can probably fit about 40 people. The best part (at least for the first few times) was that they taught certain classes in English. So, I went and signed up and it was great. Well, actually, the English classes were definitely not as dynamic as I would have liked, so last week I decided to go to my first class in French.

IT WAS SO COOL! I'm pretty familiar with all of the poses, so I can understand mostly everything the instructors say, if not, I just put it into the context. PLUS, I learn a crap load of new vocabulary words. Like, I learned what toes were, and elbows, and chin, and forehead!! HAHA, its amazing! I feel great you guys. You know, I think it's because since Im concentrating so much on trying to understand, I stay more focused during each pose, because I actually do everything that the instructors tell me to do, rather than zoning off. I can feel myself getting better.

Tonight, I had dinner with Marion, and she told me that I looked different and acted differently since she saw me last week. She was laughing and told me it was because I started to do yoga regularly. I think I agree.

Heres the thing, I think. In Paris, OK sure, I'm learning French, but I had lost sight of a lot of the goals I had in my mind. Yoga opens the door to a new goal. Becoming GOOD at it. I pretty much still look really funny compared to the yogis in the class. For all those "Friends" fans out there, I'm like Phoebe during the dance class, when she's like, "IM TOTALLY GETTING THIS!!" and she looks like a weirdo, but she's having a great time. That's how I am. Having an absolutely amazing time.

Plus, I've met a group of really great people. Yeah, the yogis are really cool.

And, the weather is starting to get better. Today, I'm pretty sure it hit 50 degrees, and the sun is out, and they turned on the fountains around Paris. All signs looking up.

I feel zen. I feel good : )

xxRanna

vrac is crack

2009-02-12T00:38:00.002+01:00

Marion left a box of white chocolate with coconut chips on my desk with a note that reads, "thanks for all, my roomy! ps. your mumy has called, not on your MOBILE! Call her later. Love, xxmarion."

I had a piece of the chocolate and it was good. Not my favorite, but good. Did you know white chocolate is not really chocolate? Ask Salma, she can give you the details.

I just checked my email. GMU Persian Club sent me three of the same email, and then a correction. Weird.

My room is silent. I don't know how much I like it. For the last week or so I've constantly had people in my house, crashing, or just chilling out. Sometimes it bothered me. Especially late at night when I wanted to go to bed. But other times I liked the feeling of being a part of something. Having friends who were always around. Being close to people. Laughing constantly. I like laughing. Laughing feels good.

Should I go to sleep? Probably. I have school tomorrow. But the thought of having no one to say good night to.... wow. Did I actually enjoy having roommates? I wrote in my journal a couple days ago that I didn't know if I could handle having roommates for the long run--that when those petite idiosyncrasies are revealed, all hell breaks loose. But it seems like I prefer having people stay with me than actually staying in my room by myself, pondering what the weird smell coming from my chauffage actually is and whether its unhealthy.

If Marion and Yasna (my second roommate) were here right now, I'd probably ask them if there's any truth to the way the main character behaved in "He's Just Not That Into You," and then secretly think that the obvious answer is of course, "yes," but they would say, "Oh, I don't know, its definitely exaggerated." But they would be thinking, "We do those things all the time..." Which makes me sad, because I was genuinely embarrassed for that girl. For all of them.

But since they're not here, I have to result to writing these questions out on this blog, thus examining the answers for myself.

This scares me. What if I've turned into one of those people who hates being by herself? No, I totally havent. You know how I know? This is how I know: today I decided to walk from school to the American Library of Paris, and I was genuinely having a good time taking in the city. So. I can be by myself. I just. I like friends. OK I LIKE FRIENDS.

Also, when I read James Joyce, I feel a level of comfort that I have never felt before. I'm reading, "Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man," and I've grown pretty obsessed with it.

I love you a lot, and dont you forget it.

habibi

2009-02-04T23:30:00.004+01:00

i dont have that much to say. it snowed last weekend, and yesterday. i've been working on an essay about Islam and France (my obsession du jour). i will blog about ameh maryam and mersad's visit a little later. i just want to post this video, because the song is quite beautiful.

hyperlink

love ranna

Nous Sommes Tous les Palestinians

2009-01-17T19:09:00.004+01:00

So. What. A. Day.

It started off normally. I took my final final huge test, went back home, slept for a couple hours, decided to go to the Louvre with Yasna, left my house, AND THEN the most extraordinary things happened.

To get to the Louvre you have to get off at the "Palais Royal/Musée du Louvre" stop. I was on my way, everything was fine until the conductor announced that both my stop and the one after it, "Pyramides" were closed due to a demonstration outside of the Louvre.

My ears perked up. A demonstration? Really? I wonder if I'll be able to pass through it.

I got off at "Opera" not knowing how the hell I was getting to the Louvre, and I called Yasna who had found her way to the main square off of Rue de Rivoli.

"Ranna! There's a demonstration for Gaza!"

"OK. OK. I'm coming."

I don't know how I found my way. I literally chose a direction to walk and prayed that it was the right one. I passed Place Vendôme, and thought, hmmm....well, it MAY be the right direction, I'll keep going. When I hit Rue de Saint Honoré I was like, niiiicceeeee. I was speed walking.

Yasna said there were a lot of people and I was scared that I wouldnt be able to find her. Turned out, I couldnt even get to where she was. The police had blocked off all the streets around where the protesters were marching.

I went up to a police officer and asked, "well, what if we want to join the protest?"

He smugly replied, "Can't you see we've blocked it off. You can't enter from here."

Uh huh. Yeah right. I wasn't going to let that stop me. Somehow I maneuvered my way past the police and into the end of the demonstration. There were hundreds of people in front of me carrying flags and signs, chanting, singing, clapping.

Yasna was still no where to be found, so I lagged around until all of a sudden I saw her running down the street, her long curly poofy hair flying up and down. "THIS IS SO COOL!!!! SCREW THE LOUVRE!!"

We joined the rest of the protesters and quickly caught on to their chants.

Some of my favorites:

"Nous sommes tous les Palestinians!" (We are all Palestinians)

"Vivra Palestine! Vaincra Palestine!" (Palestine will live! Palestine will defeat!)

"Resistance, resistance, de Paris à Gaza" (Resistance, resistance, from Paris to Gaza)

and of course, what seemed to be everyone's favorite (i personally preferred the others but...) "Israel Assassins! Israel Terrorists! Israel Fascists!" (no translation needed.)

that one they chanted over and over again.

We walked from the Louvre right back and around the square in front of the Opera. On the way, we would walk and stop, walk and stop. They would make us all sit on the ground while one man kept yelling things like, "And who are the murderers?" And everyone would yell, "Israel" "And who are the cows?" "Israel" "Who are the fascists?" "Israel"

Sometimes they would yell things in Arabic and Yasna and I would pretend we knew what they were saying, only since we didn't, we would look at each other and start laughing.

When we got to the Opera, we stood there for a good hour chanting. They opened a huge flag of Palestine and everyone stood around it sprawling it out and chanting. When they lifted the flag up, children started running underneath it, singing and playing.

At the end, everyone knelt on the ground and a man started to read from the Koran. It was quite a sight looking around and seeing hundreds of people in the square kneeling, many were praying, a few around me were crying. I bowed my head paying respect to those slain, injured, those living in constant fear.

When the prayer was over everyone got up, I thought it was time to go, but then another guy got on the loud speaker and started to yell chants in Arabic. Again, Yasna and I had nooo idea what was being said, but we were having a good time chanting what we thought it sounded like...up until they started chanting, "Ya Hamas! Ya Hamas! Ya Hamas!"

I looked at Yasna and said, "Are they chanting what I think they're chanting?"

The man behind us interjected with, "You dont understand?"

"No, we understand that. But we're Iranian, we don't speak Arabic."

The guy began to translate for us, but for some reason that didn't get very far, so he proceeded with asking Yasna if she was single and what she was doing after the protest.

I totally pulled a, "We're doing that thing... remember? That thing....at Courtney's"

At 5 the protest was over. The last man to speak over the loud speaker told us that protests would be held every day this week, smaller ones though. An equally huge one was being organized for next saturday. Yasna and I started talking about how we should go to some of them and definitely the one on saturday while we were trying to get out of the square.

There were so many of us trying to get out, that at first I thought that's why it was taking so long for us to exit. But then I noticed that the police were standing their ground around all the streets leading away from the Opera. They had barricaded the square. They weren't letting people leave.

That's weird, I thought. Maybe we should just wait a little? At this point, Yas and I were in the middle of a lot of people trying to get out. It wasn't working.

And the more the police stood their ground, the angrier people were getting. I told Yasna we should get out of that area just in case the police started to do something to the people who were yelling. We got out and were going to turn the corner when we heard glass breaking and a few people running in the opposite direction.

There was a group of police standing there holding their shields out to protect themselves, the glass had shattered around them. A glass bottle had been thrown at them.

That's pretty much when I started freaking out. No wait, at this point, I was getting a little nervous, but I was still OK. I just kept telling Yasna that we had to get out of there.

The police were telling people that the metro was still open and everyone had to exit the square like that. I STILL DONT KNOW WHY THEY DIDNT LET US LEAVE!!!! It was the strangest thing. I mean, it was like they were trying to spite everyone into doing something bad. Everyone was getting angrier and angrier. People were yelling. Everyone was walking toward the metro, but people started rioting outside of the metro entrance so that no one could get through.

The next thing I know, the police are all walking toward each other from all of their posts, blocking us off some more, packing us into a group. I would look around and see police walking toward me in a straight line, so I would start walking in another direction only to see police walking towards us from there. Then I heard several snaps and smoked started rising up from where the police were standing.

I was scared, because being in that sort of setting where people are doing stupid things like throwing bottles, and police are throwing tear gas and I shooting crap into the air, man, that's terrifying. But, most of all, I was angry too. I was angry that we had just participated in a planned protest, nothing too terrible was said and done, I mean, c'mon, it's freaking French culture to protest everything and their mother, so I didn't understand why the police were reacting in this manner. It was definitely unwarranted.

I basically reached, "freak out" point when everyone started running off in one direction, and I was like, holy crap, what the hell is going on, so Yasna and I looked at each other and started running too. I caught eyes with this guy wearing a Palestinian flag around himself, and he looked just as terrified as I was feeling. I remember thinking, "this is bad. this is bad. this is bad. this is bad." it kept going through my head. over and over again.

I was so scared that I started holding hands with this random girl for some reason. And I was like, "Just tell me whats going on." And she tried to tell me in English what they were doing. But, bichareh, she didn't know herself, and when I turned around, she said to her friend, " I am so scared right now."

So we ended up standing there, walking from one side of the square to the other, as the police continued to get closer and closer, until somehow, one of the police barricades opened up and I was like, Yasna, lets just go. Let's get out of here.

We walked away. In one piece, but our hands and knees were definitely shaking for a while after.

I've never been caught in a situation like that. And the scariest part is not knowing what people are going to do, whats coming next. Also, not being able to converse with people to figure out what the hell the police were doing, that was the worst part.

Anyway, in retrospect, it was definitely the greatest adventure ever and it was worth it.

Yas and I are going to some of the protests scheduled for the rest of the week. This time we will be ready, glass bottles in hand.

ya arabi

Ehud and the Bible

2009-01-10T21:07:00.003+01:00

Hello everyone,

I am back in Paris after spending two weeks back home visiting my family and friends. It was a very lovely time and I was not ready to come back to Paris. There is a certain level of comfort that can only be reached at home, and while in Paris, I find myself searching around to find something similar to it, but with a lack of familiarity comes a void. And so it goes.

My story today comes from a rather strange experience I had on the plane ride over.

It was cloudy, it was cold, it was rainy. I kept hoping (but I dont remember ever verbally stating) that my flight would be delayed and then cancelled so that I could spend one more day at home. Alas, (haha, or maybe not, depending on how you look at it) the flight took off around the general time it was booked. When I checked in, I asked the man behind the counter if he could give me a seat closer to the front--preferably exit row (more leg space, duh). He told me he would try to find something and I should ask again at the gate.

Yeah. Not only did I have one of the last seats on the plane. I was 44 K. Middle seat, people. I went to the counter four times to ask if there was any way I could switch my seat, at least to an aisle or window. I even considered telling them that I was claustrophobic or had a terrible fear of flying that would only get better with an aisle or exit row seat. But, I'm pretty sure those things have to be stated when you buy your ticket, or at least when you check in.

So, I was fated to a middle seat. The dreaded seat. I hate hate hate the middle seat.

Sure, it's uncomfortable. But its not just that. It the throw up thing. If I'm on the aisle, or in the window seat, I only have to sit next to ONE stranger. So the probability of sitting directly next to someone who is a plane vomiter is considerably lower than sitting next to two complete strangers. I wish it were normal to ask the people you're sitting next to if they usually vomit on the plane. That way, I can mentally prepare myself (haha, yeah right, I will never be able to mentally prepare myself for vomit) OR I mean, that could be a reason to ask for a change of seat, right.

"Excuse me, but if I sit next to this person, and he/she vomits, then I will in turn, begin hyperventilating and/or crying and/or behaving in a manner similar to those people you see in the psych ward of the hospital.

It's not me, I swear. Something ticks in my head and I can't control the way I react. Sometimes I think I've calmed down about it, but even if it doesn't get me right when it happens, I have nightmares about it. That is, if I can even fall asleep. Most times, I spend the night awake thinking about it.

ANYWAY, I don't like the middle seat when I'm flying on my own. Actually, even when I'm flying with my family, I don't like the middle seat. WHO likes the middle seat? Does anyone actually enjoy flying seven hours stuck between two people? Crazy.

So, I board the plane and I'm walking to my seat. Walking past business class is disheartening, especially on international flights. I mean, they set the bar high. You'd think that with a bar that high, economy would be a LITTLE better. Right? I mean, come on, a little better.

Finally, I got to my 44k, and I noticed that on one side of me sat a very large man, African, carrying rosary reads and reading the Bible, adorned with gold-laced pages. And on my left, an older man, rocking a kippa. I laughed, yes, this WOULD happen to me. Me, who has the SSS stamp on every single one of my plane tickets. I think this was actually one of the first flights in a while where I was NOT searched. But, what's more: after contemplating whether or not I should, I had decided to carry on the book I'm reading at the moment, "Inside the Jihad: My Life with Al Qaeda." Yessssss. Yes.

So I smiled, sat down, laughed to myself a little, got comfortable (rather, got as comfortable as I could get) and waited for the plane to take off.

Now, the first half of the trip was nothing too remarkable. I kept to myself; read my book, watched "Smart People" (pretty good movie); ate some (really gross) food. Monsieur Yamaka on my left got a kosher meal, that per Ramin Ostad's remarks, I took to taste much better than my beef concoction.

By the time "Smart People" was over and "Sex and the City: the movie" had started, I was officially bored. My eyes strayed over to the golden pages of the Bible, and lingered just a little too long because Agha rosary beads looked at me and smiled.

"Where are you from?"

"The US, Virginia, northern VA."

"I live in Maryland, but I'm going back to my home in Nigeria."

*insert small talk about Nigeria/Maryland/Virginia*

"But you're not American?"

"Yes, yes, I'm American."

"You don't look American."

*Insert the part about me telling him that my family is Iranian but I was born and raised in the good ole' US of *

"Do they let you marry anyone you want?"

"Well, I actually havent come across that particular experience yet, but yes, I would imagine though will let me."

"So they're not strict about who you marry. Because I know a lot of Arabs make their children marry other Arabs."

*Insert part about me wanting to share some of my knowledge on Iranian history/culture yet refraining to do so. Why? Why not?*

"Are you religious?"

"No."

"But, when you marry, you will convert to the religion of your husband."

(notice that it is NOT a question)

"No. No. Not necessarily. No."

"You have to."

"Oh, but I don't believe I do."

"It is right for a woman to convert to the religion her husband practices because without a shared faith there is cause for infidelity and distrust. If the man says he is going to church, and the woman does not go with him, she is forced to believe that he is going to church, while he may be going somewhere else. And how will the woman know? It will be cause for conflict. And so, the woman must go to church with her husband to make sure he does not stray."

"Yes, but I would rather decide for myself which religion I want to practice, if any religion, and I think it be just as destructive for me to lie and go to church when I don't believe in---"

"The MAN is the head of the household, and the woman must learn to respect that."

"I grew up thinking differently."

"Religion creates a bond between the man and the woman."

"Religion also has the ability to do much worse."

"Not Christianity. Christians have NEVER killed for their cause."

"What about the Crusades?"

*Insert part where Nigerian man slams Bible shut and looks at me just as the flight attendant comes and asks if we want tea or coffee. Tea please. Saved by the bell."

We stopped talking after that. But, I was riled up. Man, was I riled up. Conversations like that fire me up. When issues of religion come to play, and they're mixed with gender equality. When the mere subject of patriarchal societies come into the discussion, I can feel the heat rising to my face.

I couldn't stop fidgeting after that. I even dropped my Ipod under my seat (I couldn't retrieve it until everyone had exited the airplane).

Then it was lefties turn. We'll call him Ehud. Ehud seemed nice. He was quiet. He spent most of the flight out of his seat, actually, walking around and drinking gallons of water. He drank SO much water.

He asked me where I was headed.

"Paris. You?"

"Israel. Tel Aviv."

"Oh. Wow. I've heard it's nice there. My dad lived in Haifa for a while. Actually, he may go back, but his company is not letting him go for the time being..."

*Insert the part where Ehud uncomfortably smiles*

"Where in Haifa does he live?"

".....Haifa? I don't really know. Close to the coast, I imagine, he always talks about the beach."

"I have two sons in Tel Aviv and four more in Jerusalem. You wont believe, but I have sixteen grandchildren."

I decided I would like him. He was nice. He lived in Silver Spring, but his entire family lived in Israel. He asked me if I had ever visited my father in Israel.

"Honestly, I just want to go to Iran first. After that, maybe. But, I don't want to go to Israel before I go to Iran."

He understood. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to ask about Gaza, about what he thought, where he stood. I couldn't. Every time I would get remotely close, he seemed to get uncomfortable and change the subject so we were no longer in the same vicinity.

When we landed. The Nigerian hastily got off the airplane and me and Ehud made our way out of the plane together. I wished him safe travels and he told me to embrace all the time I had in Paris.

"These are your best years" he said. He smiled and walked away.

Yeah. Paris is a good time. A great time. These past couple days have been hard, sure. I've been lonely and tired (its the jet lag talking) but this semester is going to be completely different than last. I get to take real classes AND Paris in the spring is lovely, I've heard. So, I have that to look forward to.

to all my fellow readers--happy 2009! I hope this year turns out to be the best you've had yet.

Love,

Ranna

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

2008-12-20T02:08:00.004+01:00

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?

2008-12-17T15:04:00.004+01:00

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

seh

bisoussssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

window shopper

2008-12-11T23:55:00.002+01:00

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

2008-12-11T23:27:00.004+01:00

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

2008-12-06T18:43:00.002+01:00

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

2008-12-02T16:56:00.004+01:00

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?

2008-11-29T22:44:00.005+01:00

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

2008-11-24T18:30:00.005+01:00

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.

2008-11-17T15:39:00.004+01:00

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

2008-11-12T02:03:00.004+01:00

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

2008-11-02T23:14:00.008+01:00

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

2008-10-27T19:37:00.002+01:00

Ranna takes the point.

Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!

2008-10-26T13:13:00.004+01:00

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

2008-10-26T11:05:00.004+01:00

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!

2008-10-18T20:08:00.005+02:00

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

2008-10-17T14:15:00.007+02:00

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

2008-10-08T23:33:00.007+02:00

He's a strange man, Amoo Joon Abol.

Part of me is frightened of him and part of me wants to become his best friend.

His hair is white, long and (for a man his age) very thick. He's very tan (from playing tennis all the time with his many friends and admirers). He has paint underneath his fingernails. His pinky fingernail is longer than the rest of his fingernails because he plays the tar. When he laughs it's as if he's trying to contain his laughter and he gets red, until at last he bursts out. His teeth are yellow. He pretends he has a "nokar," or, servant, who he calls "Hassan Agha" who stays in the kitchen and reads "namaz," or prays, all day long. He paints in his apartment but sleeps at his girlfriend's apartment at night. I can't understand him when he speaks Farsi because he speaks very formally (he asked me why I speak Farsi so badly. I didn't know what to say because I was whipping out my "baleh's" and "daneshgahs" and "kheyli fargh darim bah ham's" and "saghteh fahmidanesh's" left and right). He doesn't regard his family members as his family until they are first his friends. He talks a lot of n'importe quoi.

I wish he spoke more about his artwork. His pieces hang all over his apartment, but it's as if he just put them there because there was no where else they could go. I don't know if it's gone to his head that he's a famous artist, but he keeps all the magazines that mention him. He talks about his friend, the creator of Ebay (apparently he's BFF's with Pierre's mother). He yelled at me for beginning my sentence with "uhh.." He said, "bayasti begin "baleh...."

I wonder if he ever met Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. I really wanted to ask him, only the topic of existential philosophers never came up.

Let them eat cake.

2008-10-07T21:45:00.006+02:00

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"

2008-10-04T23:19:00.007+02:00

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

2008-10-02T12:40:00.004+02:00

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

2008-10-01T22:57:00.003+02:00

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!

2008-09-29T12:11:00.007+02:00

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.

2008-09-27T22:52:00.005+02:00

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

2008-09-25T22:08:00.007+02:00

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

2008-09-23T17:03:00.010+02:00

"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

2008-09-19T16:16:00.004+02:00

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

2008-09-14T06:11:00.000+02:00

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.

Les Rêveries d'une Flâneuse

Accident Grave De Voyageur

Ranna is Incompetent

When you know the notes to sing, you can sing most everything

So long, farewell.

La raison du plus fort est toujours la meilleure

Ameno

take it easy, love nothing.

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

Time

Ripe

sverige

for you i'd wait til kingdom come

please sir, no more.

poems are cool

The Surprise

the one where ranna *tries*

SIH

the one where ranna acts melancholy

veejh

Spring Cleaning

The one where Ranna talks about Arnold

tendez les genoux

vrac is crack

habibi

Nous Sommes Tous les Palestinians

Ehud and the Bible

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

Guess what Ranna found today?

window shopper

Marrakech Mint Tea

DONT

frozen bones and no nose

Liberté, Egalité...Laïcité?

Je pense donc je suis

hahahahahahaaa human interaction is great.

Montmartre semble triste et les lilas sont morts

im interesting enough to be in the louvre

RE: Zahra, Salma's comments

Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!

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

Et, ALORS!

Julien says BON JOUR

Saidi, Abol Qassem

Let them eat cake.

"Restaurant is my temple"

the negative blog entry

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

C'est Ge-ge!

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

I GO TO SLEEP IN PARIS

Eaux de Vie- Vins d'Alsace

I put on for my city

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

the one where ranna tries