Accident Grave De Voyageur

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

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

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.

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

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

look at the pictures while listening to this::

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

Ameno

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

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

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

take it easy, love nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

hahaha, I laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranna:  So, what's going on here?

Yassine: The police hate the Arabs. 

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

Arab guy # 1: We're just praying. 

Ranna: It's not like this every friday. 

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

Ranna: So why is there so much security? 

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

Ranna: What do you mean?  Who?  

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

Ranna: It's not important, which groups? 

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

Ranna: OK.  Thanks guys, see you later.  

Yassine: No no.  The Algerians and the Moroccans.  

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

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

Ranna: Salma.  Since when? 

Faudel: Salma?  How old are you?  

Ranna:  Why is this important?  Since when?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baba, take it eassyyy.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who else? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranna    OUT.  

Time

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

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

Salma:  Ran, you wanna wake up?

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

Salma: Ok...snoorrreee...

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

Aberoomoon raft, vaghaan.  [we were really embarrassed]

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

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

Alright, this was just the most unnecessary blog post.  

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

Ripe

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

for you i'd wait til kingdom come

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.

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

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

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*

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

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

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

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

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