La carte de 10 ans

Woo to the hoo. Boo to the yah. Remember that post on the préfecture back at Halloween? Well just as Halloween represents all things scary, Valentine's Day is all about spreadin' the love, right? And a little lovin' from the préfecture comes in the form of my 10 year residency card. You see, let me back up a bit. Last fall, we trekked out to our favorite local butt-ugly skyscraper to renew my residency card. The way it works here is that first you're given something that has all the officialness of looking like a computer printout with your pic stapled on the front (classy, I know). 

Normally, for a one year card, you're given a date as to when to come pick up the real deal plastic version (usually about 4-6 months later). Only I wasn't given a date--this time I got to be part of the special applying for my 10 year card club, which of course, comes with special rules. The biggest one being that we were going to get a surprise visit by the police at any moment during the next 4 or so months. Fun huh? Apparently they get a bit skittish about us foreigners marrying Frenchies--marrying for the 'green card' and all that jazz. Personally I don't see the point really--what they've got going on at the préfecture is enough to scare away all but the most desperate or truly in love individuals. Not that they really want my opinion though--I can't even vote yet. 

Here be that card in all its glory: (yes, that is my tough face...be afraid)

So months start rolling by and no police visit. Until one evening I'm looking out my front window and see a cop car pull to a stop just in front of our building. Considering we live with a bunch of retirees whose only violence consists of reprimanding neighbors for putting the recycling in the wrong bin or hosting a barbecue, I know they must be here for me. (Well technically us, but heck I'm married to a pastor so unless they wanted to wait around until 11ish they were going to just have to put up with only half of the Sanders duo)

I see four cops pile out of the car and walk into my building. Instantly my thoughts frantically jump to the question asked by all women out there, at some point in their life: is. my. apartment. clean? No. The answer is a big resounding no. Forget the fact that I now sound like every mom I ever knew while growing up (and of course swore I wouldn't be like when it came to that); I am not about to be spreading the lie that we Americans are messy pigs so I start frantically shoving stuff away left and right. Finally satisfied and a bit on the sweaty side, I look out the window again only this time to catch them heading back out into the car and driving away.


More time goes by and this time our drama comes in the form of a letter. Now we need an official marriage document produced within the last three months validating the marriage. The catch? We have 15 days to provide it or else the préfecture will essentially dump our file in the bin (paraphrasing a bit...). Fast forward one overnight FedExed 70 dollar document from the states, a couple weeks later and we get a new letter. No, the document is not the correct one, we need to provide one from some government agency in Brittany, France and once again we have 15 days. Only slight dilemma: we can't overnight FedEx this time and the delay it took for us to get the letter only gives us a few days. I try not to hyperventilate while Matt writes the préfecture an official letter stating essentially that we're working on it and can you please get off our backs?

   How do you like my mugshot? Yes, you're actually required to make your official photo as jail-timesk     as possible... 

So we get it. We send it. And then we hear nothing. Eventually my paper printout is ready to expire. So off we go again to ask what the deal is, fully expecting to get a new printouty thing and be told that we have another 5 months to wait for the police. Imagine our surprise when we find out that my 10 year card is ready and has just been chilling there waiting for us to come and give it a home? Thankfully I was too grateful and excited to chide them about the whole not telling us at all that it was ready. Yes, the préfecture fairy works in mysterious ways...

Why I hate living in Paris...Part One

 

For all the times I've ever gotten, "What, you're kidding! You live in Paris! How can you have problems??", I refer you to what has been dubbed the Paris Syndrome. Yes, apparently there is a phenomenon among Japanese tourists that might make you think twice the next time you're hesitating between travel plans to the city of lights or a beach in Tahiti (regardless of what you look like in your bikini this year). Looking for paradise on earth and all that jazz, these tourists infiltrate Paris every year only to be shocked by the reality that awaits them. Forced to return home in a disillusioned stupor, they are then diagnosed with clinical depression. And that's how the sad little story ends--don't believe me, check it out on Wikipedia here. 

So I apologize in advance if I give some of you who have never been to the Frenchy capitol a small case of the Paris syndrome, but there are some misplaced happy bubbles that need to be popped today. Of course, some of these stress factors might not be applicable to those visiting and might be exclusively reserved for those living here. You might have a grand ol' time, completely unaware of what the reality of staying a bit longer than your week long stint entails. 

1. The prefecture. This topic deserves a whole post so I gave it one here. 
2. It's a big big city with lots of people. And with any big city, you'll find busy, stressed, I don't give a crap about you people as soon as you step out your front door. Be prepared for some rudeness. 
3. But do you wanna know what my biggest cultural shock was when it came to moving to France? Grocery stores! Who would have thought right? Living in Paris proper it's rare to own a car and even if you do, you're certainly not going to face the definite probability of a silly traffic jam just to go to the grocery store. No--you're going to buy a granny cart! (true confessions--this took me a year to realize and another to find one and buy it...before I was trudging all those plastic bags by hand!) 

Ain't she a beaut? 

Now imagine that you roll that thing to your local grocery store. You can try to shop for the week, and maybe if you're an Italian supermodel, you'll actually manage to get everything that you plan on eating into that ever so fashionable granny cart. That is of course, if they have everything in the store.  A few things that stores haven't had in stock while I've been grocery shopping: eggs (that lasted a month!), flour, paper towels, toilet paper, skim milk, and  specialty items (at least in France you can always count on them having wine, cheese and yogurt in stock!). 

Heaven forbid you hit the cheaper grocery stores where they make up for the discount in lack of customer service. You quickly learn to never ask a salesperson where a food item is. I've also been followed around the store (because I look so suspicious you know!) then chastised at the counter by the guy because the cashier forgot to ask to take a look in my granny cart before checking out (as if that was my responsibility). Let's not forget the time where the store alarm had been tripped and remained blaring my entire half hour shopping experience (it would suddenly stop, everyone in the store would start clapping, then it would start up again...). Once an entire aisle was flooded with water and I don't know how many times I've seen the staff at various stores decide to do their food stocking or floor polishing right during rush hour (they even sometimes get mad at you, the customer, who's in their way!).  

Then there's the vegetables--sometimes it's up to you to weigh and label them (you'll get angry stares from everyone in line while at checkout for that one bag of tomatoes that you forgot) while other times the cashier does it for you and still other times there's actually a vegetable guy who does it for you (and no signs indicating which one it is!). And then if you actually survive making it to checkout the battle's not over yet: first you'll wait in line from anywhere from 3 minutes on an amazing day to 20 on a more typical that you'd think day. Once you finally see the end of the tunnel, have you decided how you're going to pay? Every store (even those belonging to the same chain) will have different requirements. Some allow you to use your credit/debit card from 1 euro onward, some it's 8, some it's 10 or even 15. Checks are accepted in some stores, not in others. Forget the cash back bit. You'd think cash would be accepted everywhere but be careful--I've had a one euro coin refused because it was too dirty (I promptly went home and cleaned it and didn't have a problem the next time), and I've gotten glared at because I paid for a minor things with a 20 or I didn't have the right amount of cents to go along with it (I now apologize right from the start if I know I'm paying for something with a larger bill!).  

And to top it all off, you get the privilege of frantically bagging your own stuff so as not to hold up the line and lugging that stuff up the x amount of flights of stairs to your awaiting mini fridge. Lucky are those in Paris who scored an elevator as part of the deal. 

 We'll just have to save the rest of the list for another time! 

Almost Halloween...

In the spirit of all things spooky and evil (yes it is October) I thought I should start out today's post with my visit to the préfecture this past week. If you're an expat living in France (or French, for that matter) you know that the word préfecture should probably be officially moved to the four letter word dictionary and in reality, never seen nor pronounced again. Here is the Préfecture de Nanterre, probably the world's ugliest building--please don't be taken in by the photo-shopped artificially blue sky... Imagine a thunderstorm just above and a building 5 times uglier than this in person and you've got the right idea. 

A préfecture in France is a regional building designed to handle the come and go of a lot of official documents. And France likes official documents. Very. Much. There's a reason why the word bureaucracy originally comes from the French language. If you're a foreigner living in France, you will get to know the préfecture very well. 

In my early years I was absolutely terrified of the préfecture. I spoke little to no French, was all alone, and even the simplest exchange caused confusion and shaky legs. You're given a date and a time to be there or else (although no one ever tells you what will happen if you are late--of course no one ever dares to find out) and the worst of it all is that the minute you step onto their hallowed ground, your life is in their hands. As in, you can wait. for. hours. They don't care. I've sat waiting for what seemed like an eternity watching the "working" personnel in the booth chat about what they did over the weekend or how lame the job is, etc. I've been given an appointment time on what turned out to be an official French holiday and then subsequently blamed for it. I've had to go in person to the préfecture to make an appointment because they don't allow you to do that by phone or email...the wait was four hours. Over the years, I learned some very important prefecture rules:

1. Bring good reading material...try to relax. 
2. It's over when it's over.
3. A no is not always a no...lots of sweet smiling and insistence can accomplish a lot. 
4. Your file will be wrong no matter what you do--even if you have everything perfectly in order, they will find something "lacking/incorrect" at the last second.
5. Every single personnel will tell you something different, therefore:
6. Bring your entire portable filing folder with you to have on hand for when they dislike the papers in your file.
7. Never, ever, throw any "official" french paper away no matter how old it is.
8. Eat a croissant when your done and remember why you're here. 

Thankfully, over the years my French has gotten better and with the addition of Matt it's been an easier  experience (I'd hope so, with the around 20 trips I/we've had to make there!). This last trip, however was in some ways a special one (special in both senses of the word!). When you marry a French person, it suddenly becomes very easy to live and work in France. You just have to put up with the prefecture crud a few times a year and you're good to go (trust me--that's actually way easier than what my unmarried non-EUer friends have to go through). For three years, you have a temporary residency card that you renew every year. And on your fourth year, you can request a 10 year card. On your fifth, you can request citizenship. Five years ago I naively decided to teach English to middle schoolers in France. I came here knowing hardly any French, one person through email, and no clue about the wild ride I was in for. This last week I requested my 10 year card and next year I'll request citizenship (yes, I can still keep my American nationality). For me, this is a huge milestone in my life here and it's gotten me thinking about living in France, what I like, dislike, what I want to accomplish here, etc...so don't be surprised if my next few entries take up where my thoughts here today have left off...

Happy almost Friday :)