Acclimation - تأقلم

Ta'aqlum - Acclimation

Too much time has elapsed to write anything  to make up for a 2-month blog lag. Hmm. Bloglag. Surely someone has proposed that word before. When you can't keep up with new vocab in Arabic, just make up new ones in your native tongue! Same diff!

Since the last post, (in April, whaaaat?) we've taken two trips to the Red Sea (Hurghada and Sharm el Sheikh, respectively) which both have different flavors and fall on different sides of the Red Sea (the latter is located in the Sinai) but share a similar penchant for attracting Russian tourists (who, in turn, LACK a certain penchant for sunscreen and swim suit cover-ups). Both trips offered spectacular snorkeling, boating, relaxing, unwinding, debriefing, gossiping... All the good things vacations give you. They also get strangely emotional sometimes; perhaps we have time to focus on the stranger bits of group dynamics, the crushes and the unspoken stuff, without immediately falling back on the "welp,, time to go study!" excuse. For the second trip (just this past week), feeling the one-month-til-the-finish-line crunch, I dragged a lot of work with me and managed to get through a tiny bit of research in my (AIR-CONDITIONED) hotel room... as I got up periodically to, ahem, throw up. Guess I'm not as immune to Egyptian tap water as I thought I was. (It's a running joke in our group that "Immunity to Egyptian drinking water and street food" is a bullet point we should proudly list on all our resumes).

As the end of the program draws closer and closer and the date of our final show-us-everything-you've-ever-learned-in-Arabic exam looms, the dynamics in our group (down to 16 folks!) has cinched and tightened. My Plan II crew was out of this world and are still my closest college friends. But these Arabic nerds, man (m3 kul i7tiraami, ba2a!). I want to see where everyone in this group ends up! Throw a bunch of easy-going but driven American twenty-somethings into post-revolutionary Egypt for a year, and I think it's natural that the resulting bond will feel a bit irreplaceable. Walking to dinner at a ful and falafel joint last night, I asked a friend if he knew the word for withdrawals in Arabic. We couldn't arrive at a suitable translation, and just got distracted by Egyptian drug vocabulary instead, but we both agreed we'd be feeling withdrawals, and howww, with respect to our friends and from the language.

In May, I visited Texas for two weeks and got to spend time with my grandpa, my aunts, my immediate family, and a smattering of college and church friends. It's hard to describe how precious that first cup of morning coffee felt, with my grandpa Jack right there to talk to. After a whole day of just bouncing around the house, and an afternoon visit to Amira in Georgetown (still my favorite Egyptian, no contest), I met some Austin friends for Zocaritas, like we used to nearly every Wednesday in college. When I arrived, I momentarily sat in my car listening to Brandi Carlisle and panicked about the sure to be awkward dynamics I'd encounter with my friends after having not seen them for 9 months. But in the end, nope, after a squealy sidewalk reunion, we're just... friends! Good friends! And I dunno what I was thinking. Of course we're still friends. People come and go, people move away and come back and pursue lives and friendships persist when you give them a little bit of care from time to time.

It's clear to me after the two weeks in Austin that I love. love. love America. I slipped right back into my little Austin niche. But it's a devotion steeped over in the assurance that it will always be there, and that my citizenship doesn't expire. I wrote in my journal while in Austin "I've seriously never felt more satiated and restless all at once." And, moreover, I'm pretty sure that the gifts and desires God has given me are better used abroad. I feel more vibrant and aware while traveling, and while setting up shop, home, and routine while abroad. Part of the purpose of living in Egypt, as I mentioned to some peeps before coming, was to see if I could enjoy life and thrive and find community while not in my own culture. i.e., could I do this for longer than the 10 months I've been here? The answer seems to be a strong yes, though likely not in Alexandria. Too much sexual harassment, yo, and not enough happy hours! (kidding. kind of.) Austin is a spectacular place to be landing at the end of August, but it'd also be neat to get off that plane in Senegal, China, Tunisia... new places! (Indicative of the two weeks of self-indulgent introspection that Austin break became, I also wrote in my journal: "America's always pretty ugly on the way home from the airport," "people really just want to make sure you're safe, no matter where it is you go," "old friendships persist," and "can't make dem summer watermelon jokes in Texas :(")

It'd be silly not to mention the recent presidential elections, during which we were all just trying to go about our lives, amidst the excitement and tension. Our second day of summer session class was set to happen on runoff results announcement day, for the contest between Ahmed Shafiq and Mohammad Morsi. It was an exciting afternoon, (even though yes, the military council is still definitely in control of Egypt), but honestly, most of us were bummed not to be going to class. (See previous reference to "nerds").

Regardless, pretty quickly we heeded our director's warning, left class, and were all scattered across the city in our various apartments. As I always do the second I get home in the Egypt summer heat, I tore off my outer layer of clothing and sat sweating in front of our new fan (it's white and made in China and says "Rose" in red letters on the front and I think we're in love) while scanning twitter for updates, so long as our awful internet would allow. When our internet cut out at the very moment the elections council announced "And the new president is..." my roommate Kelsey and I panicked for a few moments, gauging from the ruckus outside that the scene might get ugly fast. Screams rose from the street and the rowdy café on the corner rumbled with yells and applause. A man tore off his shirt and kissed the ground, shrieking. When I understood he was shrieking "Morsi, morsi, morsi!" and wasn't crying out in dissatisfaction, our momentary fears of evacuation evaporated. Had Shafiq been elected, many people predicted we'd have been evacuated, due to the potential anger that would have rippled through Tahrir and the rest of the country. Egypt wouldn't have dissolved or gone into chaos (Egypt's nearly 90 million people don't all fit in Tahrir!), but the demonstrations could have gotten ugly and the disappointment (based on the assumption that a Shafiq win was a sure indicator of election tampering) would've soured this country's hopeful outlook.

I sort of understood the importance of finally having a president, from the Egyptian mindset, a week later, on a day trip to explore Islamic Cairo with a couple friends. We were stuck in traffic in a taxi in a particular congested and polluted section of old, old, old Cairo. A fist fight erupted on our right, and our taxi driver yelled out his window to add his two cents. Women carried precarious loads of clothing and groceries on their heads, paying no heed to bakery deliverymen squeezing their way through crowded foot traffic, wooden trays of fresh bread balanced above the crush. A young boy smiled at me from behind my car window, as he thrust some tissues toward my face in a well-practiced sales offer. We passed a church, then a mosque, then another mosque, then all manner of stores. Nice cars, junky cars, trucks full of young men moving to another construction job, wealthy Egyptian women talking on cell phones tucked into their hijab. In short, regular Egyptian life, playing out on all sides. And through it all, as our taxi inched along, Morsi's second official presidential address sounded through the scratchy taxi speakers. When the driver turned up the volume, and we listened intently to his words about cooperation and hope and jobs and youth and the fight ahead for Egypt, I felt thrilled to be in mixed-up, hodge-podge EGYPT and not in Tahrir, not in my airy apartment in Alex, not in a hotel in Sharm, not in America watching from afar, but in Egypt, in the middle of the daily fray.

One month to finish research and class. One month to say a lot of goodbyes. One month to finally master slipping in elegant Arabic phrases into normal speech. One month to eat my fill of Alexandrian seafood dinners. Oh dear. The excitement for the next phase is currently a lot weaker than the mounting panic setting in from knowing that I have to leave my Egyptian life and friends!

Below are pictures from the 2-week Austin break and the following brief trip to Amsterdam and Italy with Sophie sister.

family!

Barton Springs and Pedernales swimmin'

Lone Star loveliness

Austin food, oh boy.

Barbarella Thursdays seem to still exist

Michael visits

tunes and mojitos and redheads back from the Delta

 JAEbird reunions

If you'll note carefully, this is a Taco Deli and Houndstooth combination. Poolside, on a Saturday morning with the gorgeous Amira Jensen. If only every Saturday were so blessed.

Amsterdam. Beautiful, simply put.

On second though, I'll save the Italy pictures for the next post. I'm doing my summer research on Italian architecture in Alexandria and MAN is it crazy how many of the gorgeous buildings in Alex are similar to some Roman beauties! Until then, salaam, good readers.

الإحراج - Embarrassment

al-iHarag ~ embarrassment

I've long forgotten, or perhaps never knew, who first said to me that language learning is just a bunch of embarrassing moments strung together. But few statements have I quite so emphatically agreed with throughout my college career. (On a side note, am I officially post-college now? Will I ever be post-college? Nobody knows!) Maybe the phrase came from Madame Tatsapaugh-Krohn, my first French teacher in the 7th grade, with the always askew glasses... Maybe she said it first? I truly don't recall. But I agree. You become "fluent" when the language mishaps become fewer and far between, but they never go away. Foreign accents are, after all (according to my linguistics classes a while back at UT) a series of repeated and minute pronunciation mistakes, typically unique to a certain language group or nationality. Also, it bears mentioning the idea that classmates in language classes grow close fast for two reasons: instruction centers around dreaming up every possible chance for us to talk to each other, so we talk together all. the. time. And also, we're constantly embarrassed around each other. Constantly. We say dumb things and get corrected until the dumbness is minimized. Eventually we'll only sound slightly dumb some of the time.

Below is a mere smattering of the many, many recent embarrassing moments from my life, which can be divided into food moments, language moments, and bumbling blonde moments:

*Spilling my cappuccino (made from a powder, don't get excited, now) all over the engraved wooden table at a beautiful café, because I got a little too excited about opening up a new package of coconut candy. I think Lauren and I were also celebrating some sort of internship success? Foreigners are already often treated like special, simpler-minded customers in some cafés and restaurants ("OH, you can read the Arabic menu? Ya salaaaaam) and I didn't help matters by acting like a ditzy child. At least I got free menadeel (tissues) out of the gig.

I've also spilled entire bags of peanuts, cereal, lentils, and beans on the floor of my apartment, which if it sounds like a testament to my desperation to eat and my propensity to grow suddenly hungry FAST, it is. I've been told you can tell when I've been in the kitchen if there is a cereal box put away ajar in the cupboard, and if a few pieces of cereal, swept hastily off the floor from where they spilled, are now in the trashcan. (For those past roommates aware of the extent of my breakfast cereal addiction, it has not met an end in Egypt, though it's been limited to corn flakes with honey or bananas. I'm afraid that when I'm able to return to almond milk and honey nut cheerios, I might overdose).

*Addressing Egyptian women in Foussha (formal Arabic) while half-naked in the gym locker room. I joined a small but wonderful little gym called Premiere, right on the Corniche about halfway between my apartment and the university. The workout room for women (through several sets of double doors and up a flight of stairs, removed far away from the  mens' quarters) is depressingly small and unequipped when compared to what's available to the men, but truly, it suffices and is a nice refuge. You can wear what you want! Plus they give you free towels even if you have to ask the personal trainer, who calls the front desk, who calls someone else, who sends someone else (where?) to retrieve a fresh towel for you after about many, many minutes. I'm just very grateful for the place, and I've met some nice folk thereabouts.

Anyway, I've been known to step out of the shower, half-clutching a towel, zoning out, completely checked out of my current surroundings when WHAM, pryingEgyptianquestiontime. "Where are you from? What do you do here in Alex? How did you learn how to speak Arabic?" come at me. Such inquiries are no new surprise, and are no problem, but when I'm stepping out of the shower, I'm a little taken off guard. As such, in two recent examples of this situation, my brain, trying to cover my ass literally and figuratively, does a strange lingual flip and prompts me to answer in formal Arabic, which of course sounds about as ridiculous in that context as if you introduced yourself to someone in an American locker room with an "I call myself Emily Claire and verily I do study the Arabic language" (rubs towel on hair).

*Mixing up, in Islamic Studies class, the words for "satisfaction," "breastfeeding," and "apostasy," which are, for some cruel and unclear reason, quite similar in Arabic.

*Flashing the back seat of the group taxi several weeks ago, as I squeezed my way out of the crowded white minivan, rushing on my way to 9 AM Foussha class. I was wearing a pair of old jeans that finally gave up the ghost with a finale. A small hole had grown into a rip that I was choosing to ignore, and it no longer wanted to be ignored. Despite the rip, I had thought I could steal a couple more months out of them. Nope. As I clambered out of the mashruwa like a clumsy duckling (there's NO elegant way to edge around several Egyptian men and women, with your butt in everyone's faces as you unfold yourself out the door), I heard a murmured "yaaaa'aaa" ("oh dear!") and a clicking tisk-tisk from the women behind me, about the same time I felt some fresh sea breeze on the back of my thighs (which have not seen the sun in many months). Thank God the men said nothing. I made it through class that day and I don't think anyone noticed that I was wearing my jacket 3rd grade windbreaker style, tied around the waist. Classy. RIP American Eagle bootcut circa 2008.

*The day an old woman kissed me on my forehead in my elevator, after I told her I was American, after she repeatedly asked me "Where are you from, you beautiful girl, white as the moon? Where are you from?" I mention this because it leads to a totally different sort of embarrassment... The embarrassment of being considered better or prettier or fancier or richer SIMPLY because I'm a foreigner. Many things are automatically assumed about us, and even if they're nice assumptions (Just because she's not from here, she must be fancy schmancy) it's plain embarrassing and untrue and makes one feel awkward. Of course there are plenty of people who treat you normally, respectfully, or some who act begrudgingly or don't want much to do with foreigners, but the admiration from some people simply because we're foreigners is among the most offputting and embarrassing ways to treat someone, in my opinion, despite the complimentary connotation.

*The moments when you're completely tongue-tied and dumbstruck and unable to string together logical Arabic, the worst example of which happened just a few nights ago, prompting me to finally publish this blog post. For the past three weeks, a small group of us has gotten together on Thursday nights to practice formal Arabic conversation. Usually I have a good amount to add to the conversation, even if my comments are peppered with mistakes here and there. Last Thursday, inexplicably, my brain couldn't compute the Arabic it wanted to express. AT ALL. I was surrounded by 4 of my closest friends in the program, as well as our benevolent T.A. who helps us out, all smiling encouragingly during my quickly aborted attempts at participation. They didn't betray the slightest hint of annoyance at my inability to form a decent sentence. (You guys are the best!) All my professors' constructive criticism from the past few weeks - that I usually have no issues processing from a glass half-full perspective - compounded in my brain and formed a solid wall that I just couldn't cross. The conversation circle continued and I fell into a silent funk of "I cannot speak Arabic I cannot understand Arabic I cannot do this". I forgot how to say the most basic of phrases in that two hours, and though I listened, with interest, to my friends' conversation on language change, I focused on the mint leaves in my tea cup and tried not to cry.

Embarrassment keeps me humbled, which is useful. Always!

Oooootherwise, much is happening in the world these days... French elections, Egyptian elections, U.S. elections, too much to keep up with properly.. and in our little program in Alex, the pressure is on as tests, papers, projects loom and the last few weeks of the spring program commence. Tomorrow we leave for our last group trip, and after that it's a quick series of due dates and final things before about 3 weeks of break prior to the summer session. I'm going to Austin for 2 weeks! I plan to do many embarrassing and typical things there (singing loudly in my car on mopac), in the familiarity of my comfort zone. Any of you Texans, see you there!

When embarrassed, commiserate with friends. Or pose next to rusting metal structures with them. It all makes one feel better. These are just some of the girls who make my life joyful in Egypt!

مشغول - Busy

Majhgul - Busy

Life is busy. You're probably all busy too. Now you know how to describe it in Arabic! Just say "ana majhgul" ("majhgulA" if you're a woman) and though people might think you crazy, yo, you'd make perfect sense to the 280 million native speakers of Arabic in the world. (That number's the result of some recent wikipedia time-wasting/justifying-my-decision-to-study-Arabic sessions. Noooot sure why I do that to myself and then complain that I have too much homework to be doing.)

I have a half-written post about embarrassing moments (ooh oh oh so many), a few thoughts scrawled down about insane ideas concerning exercise and nutrition in Egypt, a whole list of strange and sometimes terrifying experiences that have happened in my elevator, an angrily scribbled paragraph about the bewildering issue of classicism here, and some other bits here and there..... but those posts will need to wait for March to pass, with its silly amount of projects, essays, and internship assignments that draw my writing attention away. And really today I just want to put up some pictures of the two past weekends. And they've been two very contrasting weekends indeed. 

Last weekend, several of us travelled to Fayoum, a rural, agricultural area about 2 hours outside of Cairo. We walked through crops and fields at sunset, stopping for donkeys and buffalo to pass, visited a deserted temple, got sand in our hair, picknicked at some man-made waterfalls in the middle of the desert, and eavesdropped on French tourists at our "eco-lodge." (In Egypt, I'm not sure what the difference is between an eco-lodge and a regular hotel, because the eco-lodge had more comfortable and reliable access to hot water, toilet paper, electricity, and food than some of the hotels I've stayed in, but whatever, ma'alesh, it was a beautiful place that oozed warmth and exuded calm.) We also got yelled at (and learned some new, um, slang) for being Americans at a rest stop but that's a subject for a different sort of blog post entirely.

Aaaand just these past couple of days, some of us travelled to Cairo for 4th annual Cairo Jazz Festival. We stayed in a breezy, wooden-floored, welcoming downtown hostel, explored leafy, quiet Zamalek during the day, ate REAL tofu flavored with lemongrass and ginger at a Thai restaurant, listened to a number of truly talented jazz musicians while sipping cups of 1-guinea tea, and watched an excellent film on the underground music scene in Alexandria, with the director in attendance. We all weren't sure we'd ever experienced this liberal side of Alexandria the film portrayed, but it was a good film nonetheless, and fun to see our temporary home portrayed with such loving cinematic panache.

The first weekend was mostly relaxing though still managed to prompt introspective questioning and stressed-out "what am I doing here anyway?" thought sessions, amidst scrambling to finish homework and assignments in every spare moment en route and in Fayoum. The second weekend was invigorating and refreshing and encouraging, while still set in often-chaotic Cairo. Through the second weekend, God answered some of the "what am I doing here anyway?" murmurs in my brain. He is good, Arabic is good, and lazy hostel mornings with a group of 8 of your friends can be a good, sweet medicine for stress.

Pictures are good too. Enough rambling.

Dinner in Fayoum

Fayoum

A temple, and Ryan. (Confession: I don't remember the name of the temple. We'll call it Ryan's temple.) 

desert dog

desert birds

The desert's a GREAT place for some... 

...waterfalls?

This goat had flair, I tell you. 

A tenacious sunflower that survived from last season.

Sunset yes yes yes

Mama camel and baby camel

Camel family on their way to... Dream park! (so we told ourselves :(:(:( )

Eco-lodge

 

 And now for Cairo!

Katie and I, immediately after finding TRUE cupcakes. This peanut butter masterpiece rivaled anything I've eaten an an American bakery. And Egyptians don't even LIKE peanut butter!

An oft-seen symbol of Christian/Muslim solidarity

One of the better afternoons I've had in a while, y'all.

View from the Zamalek festival grounds.

Late-night dinner at our favorite yemeni restaurant after the festival.

..aaaand, half a gazebo. Why? Who knows.

And finally, a good song from the film we watched, Microphone, with many, many shots of Alexandria in the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up-a-00k4u4

الاستقلال - Independence

Istiqlal - Independence

It was Texas Independence Day yesterday. I'm thinking about the idea of independence for a couple reasons. If you'll bear with my turkish-coffee fueled musings, I'm mulling over the idea of independence with respect to...

... Texas! It's never really stressed me out to be distant from Texas, simply because I know I'll be going back many, many times in my life. Plus it's my immediate point of return after Egypt, at least for the fall semester. Being away from people can be, well, lame, but largely because my crew of ambitious, talented friends keeps moving AROUND the country. (Stay still! Gotta know where to find you all come fall. Fortunately, an exodus to NYC continues, which will make autumn visits a simpler endeavor.)

But yesterday, on the 176th anniversary of Texas declaring itself a separate republic from Mexico, a half-hour's drive through those isolated, prairie-surrounded roads north of McNeil High, a Town Lake run (does anyone actually say Lady Bird?), a margarita (rocks, frozen, salt, idonotcare), a bowl of tortilla chips and salsa doña, and a table full of Texans (any Texans, not being picky) would have been SWELL, y'all. Happy birthday you lovely state, you, Texas!

Other sorts of independence include...

.... freedom from English-Arabic dictionaries. This sounds THRILLING, yes, and you probably really want details about my daily interaction with dictionaries. I know. I know. But in the life of any language dork (which you aaaaall are, in some way, with some language, admit it), this is a big deal. I have this one enormous French-French dictionary that I treasure, and I remember the point at which I felt like a big enough girl to use it. I'd held off buying one or using one and just kept using a small, banged-up French-English Larousse (remember when google translate DIDN'T exist?) until a UT French professor of mine said "That's it, I'm sick of all of you not using real dictionaries. Buy something worthwhile, for God's sake.") In office hours with my Foussha (formal Arabic) teacher this week, a similar episode occurred. She asked which Arabic-Arabic dictionary I use... I replied that I still use the Hans-Wehr (a green Arabic-English tome of root-system-organized magic). She got upset and said "You're all well past that point now! Arabic-Arabic only!" I laughed and (actually, kind of rudely, whoops, I'm realizing now) said, "Absolutely not... I NEED that Hans Wehr, I need my Google translate, and I need my English translations." She said to try a go without them. I've been trying. It's not been half bad! I curled up on our red and orange couch (yep. Egyptian color schemes), without a dictionary, reading a book on Islam and democracy for our Islamic Studies class, and while I didn't understand everything, I understood most of it (though really, democracy + Islam + Middle Eastern politics... it all doesn't get any simpler in Arabic. Buh. )

... freedom from feeling any need to act like I'm more into politics than I actually am. Being here, it's impossible not to remain somewhat involved in political talk. Presidential elections are supposedly taking place on May 24th, a swiftly upcoming date that was just announced this past week. It is, without sarcasm or falsehood, truly fascinating to be in a country in the very midst of such historic transition. BUT. That said... Having gone through a semester of often politics-focused coursework last term, and facing another few weeks of politics-focused coursework this term, I'm tired of a lot of it, at least as fodder for our classwork. In our Egyptian novel class, on the other hand, we're reading the Arabic equivalent of Fight Club (seriously, I don't know how this doesn't infringe on copyright issues, it's nearly exactly the same story in a different language), and even though the novel is ridiculous and tricky, prose-wise, I LOVE reading something that isn't about Israel, that isn't about democracy, and that isn't about the current and oft-depressing state of Middle Eastern politics.

... freedom from pointless internship work. My internship has changed from something time-wasting to something still time-consuming and stressful but in the best sorts of ways. My crew and I's tasks include filming short interviews with folks in Egyptian Arabic, so if I don't know how to say something, it's on display. And on film. It helps encourage some ridiculous on-the-fly Arabic constructions that fall out of my mouth, and as a result, some awful video clips are in my boss' possession. They'll likely be put on the internet on my workplace's website, the link for which will remain undisclosed. :) 

... from fear of men. This last one is something I'm actually working on, something I didn't have in the slightest before I came here, and something I WANT independence from. Today I went running on the corniche, with a male friend from my program, and it was wonderful, fabulous, relaxing, and a far cry from the experience when I'm by myself running in public (which I've all but stopped doing.) It's an awful truth that I (and a lot of my female program-mates) flinch from unknown men in the street, or avert our gaze. We've just had too many episodes of unwanted verbal and occasionally physical harassment. Walking with someone, the world is totally different than when walking alone, when Egypt can be an unfriendly sort of place.

At a potluck last night, thrown to bid farewell to the wife of one of our program-mates, who is going home a few months early, this subject was front and center. She's returning to the States for a number of reasons, but mainly because she's reached her last nerve with respect to the daily harassment and fear of things escalating. It just plain sucks that uncivilized behavior would cause someone to leave, especially someone as great and brave as her. 

That depressing note aside, finally, I've realized there are a few things I will never be independent from. Some include this blue Old Navy fleece jacket I'm wearing (in my wardrobe since the 7th grade), my habit of listening to Edith Piaf while cleaning, and morning news-grazing on nytimes.com. These things that don't change, despite where we go, keep us sane, non?

(Speaking of nytimes, if you can access this link and have interest, read this haunting, beautifully crafted story about Anthony Shadid's final days in Syria. If the deluge of media about Syria is confusing, this article might help clear up the basics, while paying homage to a fabulous journalist, allahyarhumu.) http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/04/world/middleeast/bearing-witness-in-syria-a-war-reporters-last-days.html?pagewanted=all

باريس - Paris

A long ode to France on Fat Tuesday

See on the canals
Those vessels sleeping.
Their mood is adventurous;
It's to satisfy
Your slightest desire
That they come from the ends of the earth.
— The setting suns
Adorn the fields,
The canals, the whole city,
With hyacinth and gold;
The world falls asleep
In a warm glow of light.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

(Translation of a paragraph "L'invitation au voyage" from Les Fleurs du Mal, by Charles Baudelaire)

Francophilia is not a rare condition. There's a reason why that popular movie from a couple years back is called "Paris, I love you." Mardi Gras, good bread, house music, long vacations… Everyone, intentionally or otherwise, probably enjoys something that initially came from the French. When people here (Egyptians are curious folk) ask "why Arabic?," the question is often followed by more inquiries into what I studied in college. When I say "French" (I never mention Plan II - that's ridiculous to explain in English), people either kind of sigh sadly (Poor thing, she'll never get a job), or exclaim excitedly (neat! French is cool! I studied French too!) But Paris is indeed objectively beautiful. A friend of mine in college (coughDANE) gently mocked me on occasion for posting pictures of Paris on my dorm wall . . . "Unique!" he would laugh. Okay, yes, sure, it is not unique nor is it creative to declare one's self in love with France . . . or with crêpes, or good wine, or good architecture, or sad black and white French movies for that matter. But ever since my second trip to the city, when I was seventeen, I joined the Francophile bandwagon, and I've been très happy ever since. Full appreciation, however, didn't arrive until this year, while living in Alex, a different sort of place.

What's amazing in such a grand culture as France's, and in the corners of such a magnifique city like Paris - is that there's room for everyone to share in the fabulous things together (plenty of inventive food, people, music, art, theatre, and dance to go around) but also room for everyone to find something just for them, completely their own, that no one else has claimed or known or found in the city or among the people. Everyone has a hook, a reason why Paris or France drew them in, a reason that actually IS unique. 

This past week, in Paris, while walking home on the Boulevard de la Chapelle on a frigid night, with snow flurries melting on a "new" hat (that my travelling buddy found on the floor of the metro), I clearly understood two things for the first time: My own reason why Paris pulls me back, and just how important languages like Arabic and French are to me, equally, and why.

When I was seventeen, my generous dadman took Sophie, my younger sister, and I to Paris to enjoy ourselves for a week while he attended a conference downtown. He asked us to check in with him once a day using payphones (remember those?), but gave us complete free reign over our time and decisions. Sophie and I got lost, contracted food poisoning, exhausted ourselves, and really, truly had a snazzy time. Museums are free for under-18 year olds in France and we noisily stomped our way through as MANY as we could. Most importantly, we armed ourselves with a map and our rudimentary French language skills, and found bright little spots throughout the city (The markets at Place Monge, that crazy graffiti throughout Belleville, Place de la Contrescarpe at 10 PM, the bridge where the Vedettes de Pont Neuf take off, full of tourists), with random conversations here and there, on our high-school-french level. Isn't that bewildering and emboldening rush of independence what we all love about travel and new places? It makes your strengths and weaknesses and desires stand out in stark relief, in the absence of all the comfort points that make life easy at home.

What I realized for the first time THIS past week is that my brain has knit the idea of Paris with that thrilled feeling; it was that trip, in high school, when I first realized that there's no need to stay in one spot, when there are so many others to wander through. I was privileged to be able to go at a young age, and am still blessed enough to have the time and freedom to study a pretty language like French, and a crazy one like Arabic, without negative effects on my family or future. I realize this is a big privilege, and I try to remind myself to remain ever-grateful for it. And the importance of studying languages, to me, is that maintaining some knowledge in anything besides English can help in that exploration - be it for the sake of travel, career, or otherwise. Oh fellow liberal arts folks… fine arts folks… we chose silly, weird things to study in college; oft-self-serving fun things. But perhaps insha'allah, they'll lead to places that are neither self-serving, nor weird, nor silly. 

The week in Paris was my Christmas gift from my parents (MERCI, parents), and an opportunity to see Raphael and Camille, my two switfly-growing, now five and seven-year old nanny charges from three years back. It was so, so good to walk in from the ice and cold to the warm, familiar apartment on Rue Pierre Sémard, and to hugs and kisses from those two little guys. I am already excited for them to visit Texas, "la terre des cow-boys." Allez, viens, la famille Ayed!

Paris is the old-fashioned and the inventive; an old, well-maintained Peugeot with a new coat of paint every few years. France has the capacity to amaze, and the ooos and aaaaahs of "it's just so beautiful!" that you can find yourself thinking as you stroll past meticulous Hausmannian buildings, select a pastry from a case of freshly-prepared masterpieces, or stumble into an accordion concert and tango contest on the banks of the Seine, are indicative of the culture's far-reaching appeal. It can also sometimes be cold and condescending, and it's a detail-oriented society, bureaucratic without being tryannical (the guillotine took care of that), and one where "les petits soins" (the little cares) and traditions are carefully cultivated. Politics is a national pasttime, like in Egypt, but is kept tidy under long-respected rules of chivalry and budgeting. A vibrant democracy that has succeeded in ousting power-hungry kings, emperors, and dictators time and time again throughout its history, France also now shares in carrying the burden of an expanding, teetering European union, and has accepted a lot of the blame and shame of its imperialist, bullying past.

Musings aside, me, myself, without any shame whatsoever, am an unabashed Francophile, and will keep that flame lit until the day I find the right stone house in the south of France (near Aix, I think) to open up a bed and breakfast. I'll make American breakfast (I'll steal Kerbey's recipe for lemon poppyseed pancakes, I think… the world should know about those) for weary travellers, and shop daily for the next day's meal in airy, green, open markets in Provence. It'll, like, totally be the *best*! France is a place with the capacity to nurture and strengthen one's most outlandish dreams, so yalla bina, if you have yet to spin underneath the Eiffel Tower, Zilker tree style, discuss French politics with pétanque-playing old men in Les Halles, eat a ham/cheese/egg/salad crêpe with hard cider on a clear, freezing night, or listen to old accordion ditties in the Lapin Agile, you've lived but not like the French, qui vivent. Go! Allez!

But if you're already a Francophile, you probably already knew all that. ;)

Some good old-fashioned French music, if you're not already sick of all this French stuff:

Carla Bruni - Quelqu'un m'a dit

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvyMG0z0FZY

Edith Piaf - Hymne a l'amour

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5BtmFohQdk&feature=related

Barbara - Quand reviendras-tu?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUE80DTNxK4

Probably the best scene, and the best song, from Amélie, in my opinion

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R3heoAMuyH4

Scene from Delicatessen, a 1991 film from the director of Amélie. A much stranger little movie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLE-xARwnC0

Entire poem from Baudelaire:

L'invitation au voyage

Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble !
Aimer à loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble !
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.

Des meubles luisants,
Polis par les ans,
Décoreraient notre chambre ;
Les plus rares fleurs
Mêlant leurs odeurs
Aux vagues senteurs de l'ambre,
Les riches plafonds,
Les miroirs profonds,
La splendeur orientale,
Tout y parlerait
À l'âme en secret
Sa douce langue natale.

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.

Vois sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l'humeur est vagabonde ;
C'est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu'ils viennent du bout du monde.
- Les soleils couchants
Revêtent les champs,
Les canaux, la ville entière,
D'hyacinthe et d'or ;
Le monde s'endort
Dans une chaude lumière.

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.