Holly Days

Here I sit in my kitchen, at 9:44 on Christmas morning, a box of tissues beside me. I have a cough, some very angry sinuses, and a slight wheeze when I breathe. Isn’t it a lovely time of year to get sick?

Regardless of my state of health, I still made an attempt at creating a festive atmosphere for my favourite holiday of the year. Since I’m in Europe this Christmas, I figured I should celebrate in the European way – that is, putting the spotlight on Christmas Eve rather than Christmas Day. Of course, in the French tradition, this involves many platters of finger foods, foie gras, and copious amounts of wine. In my apartment, it meant plates of cheese, crackers, dried fruit and nuts, fresh baguette, fresh fruit and veggies, and various types of chocolate – with some cheese ravioli thrown in for good measure. (One does what one can with what one has. )

My place being rather small, there wasn’t much room for a buffet-style set-up, but Slawek had the idea to take an old board that was stored atop my armoire and clean it up and place it between two chairs to act as a table. We ate, exchanged gifts, and watched Merry Christmas, Mr. Bean, among other things. Then came the champagne!

Several bottles around here were going for up to 200€… We opted for a much less extravagant, but still delicious bubbly (in a small bottle), which you can see above.

And this is the mess it left on my floor after Slawek popped the cork (which went flying, bouncing off the wall and ceiling, before landing on the floor, under the bed).

All in all, it was a quiet evening, but that was fine by me. In the day, we went around town to several shops, collecting food for the evening. We ran into the town’s Christmas procession in the afternoon: a horse-drawn cart containing several musicians playing Christmas carols, with a choir of children dressed as angels singing as they followed behind. The procession made its way to the church down the crowded pedestrian-only street lined with shops, which was already bustling with shoppers picking up last-minute gifts and foodstuffs. This is my first non-white Christmas in years, and that, along with the different ‘culture of Christmas’ here (compared to home), and being away from family, makes this a very different holiday. But I’m also glad to be able to experience a French Christmas – even if it is modified to suit the tastes and habits of a couple of Canadians.

There’s still one more gift to open this morning (I can’t give up all my Christmas traditions at once, after all!), and then it will be a day of rest and snacking – and I’ll get down to the business of ridding my body of these pesky microbes. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good day!

The never-ending story

I’m watching last night’s CBC Winnipeg supper-hour newscast. “A steady falling temperature right through to the weekend.” Meanwhile, on this side of the planet, ground is clear, save for a thin layer of frost. So far this fall, the coldest it’s been was -1 degree. My colleagues laugh at me, because while they are all bundled up in parkas and fuzzy hoods and thick gloves and boots, I’m wandering around in regular clothes with just a pair of gloves and a scarf to keep me warm.

I’m eating a brunch of chèvre chaud (my new favourite food) with a chunk of baguette and a small glass of wine. Yes, it’s only 10:30 in the morning, but after the week I’ve had, I figure I deserve it.

I’m happy to be teaching all day today; it means I have a break from government incompetence.

As you know, on Tuesday I was told by the person manning the information desk at the sous-préfecture to return the following morning at 8:45 to pick up a ticket. So yesterday morning I got an early start, but because my first train was 2 minutes late, I missed my second train. Still, I arrived at the sous-préfecture at 8:40. There was a man at the front door handing out tickets; when I arrived, there were only a few left! He handed me a slip of paper with the number 843 on it, and he told me to come back at 15:00. So once again, I turned around and went back to my town. (I’ve become well acquainted with the various train lines around here…)

I came back to the office at 15:05 – and saw that they were serving number 805… An hour and 40 minutes later, it was my turn. I went up to the desk, told the woman why I was there, and started handing over all my documents. She collected them all and looked them over, and told me that all of my documents were correctly filled out and that nothing was missing. Relief washed over me… until she handed everything back to me.

It was then that I was informed that “on mais non,” my type of visa is only dealt with on Mondays at 14:00.

Sigh.

However, the day was not a complete waste. I did find out that I have all the necessary documents, and was assured that everything would be completed on Monday afternoon when I returned (though I’m not sure that really matters, considering how things work here).

I’m not sure if this level of utter ridiculousness exists for French citizens, or if it’s simply a product of the way they handle foreigners here. Obviously, it would have been quite simple to let me know that my case could only be handled on a specific day at a specific time – if only someone had known what my case was. The trouble with the services des étrangers in France is that all dealings with the government are put under one roof, so to speak. All foreigners, regardless of status, are lumped together. I would think it would be infinitely easier to break things down: either by status (students vs. workers vs. refugees) or by services required (visas vs. work permits vs. immigration issues). But then, maybe that’s just an “anglo-saxon idea,” as my French colleagues say whenever I propose some way to streamline or speed up a process…

Either way, I have a few days’ reprieve before having to head back to the sous-préfecture yet again. But hopefully this time will be the last time (wishful thinking, I’m sure).

(More) red tape adventures

I feel like crawling in to bed and never getting out again.

Shortly after I finished work this morning, I made my way to the sous-préfecture, having been redirected there after my maraton 5-hour wait at the préfecture yesterday. I checked the hours and services beforehand (not that that makes any difference…). When I spoke to someone at the office, I was told I could indeed drop off my papers there, and that the office is open until 4pm on weekdays.

I arrived around 1:00. Unlike the préfecture, this sous-préfecture had a waiting room with chairs, and a take-a-number system, plus an information desk! I dutifully walk up to the machine and take a number. However, when my ticket pops out, there’s no number printed on it. Instead, it says “Due to high volume, the service is closed for the day.” I go to the information desk, to confirm that this does indeed mean I will be unable to speak to someone today, and the woman looks at me as though I’ve just crawled out from under a rock.

“Of course, we never give out tickets in the afternoon!”

- Um, why not?

“That’s just the way it is. You have to come in the morning.”

- But I called and was told I could come any time before 4…

“Oh yes, you can. But the tickets are only available at 8:45.”

- It’s impossible to get a ticket after that time?

“Yes. You must line up outside before the office opens, and get a ticket. Then you return later to speak to someone.”

- Could no one have told me this on the phone when I asked specifically about the process?

(No reply. She just shrugged.)

So I turned around and went back out into the rain. But wait! The fun wasn’t over…

As I was waiting at the train station, an elderly woman approached me and asked if I would mind helping her on to the train. She was very small, shorter than I, and shuffled along very slowly. Of course I agreed, and she took my arm and leaned on me while we waited for the train. She also asked if I would carry her bag for her; it was a large bag but was very light. Trouble was, I was carrying my own things too. So while she used one of my arms, I had my purse, her bag, my umbrella, and my folder filled with all my documents all under my other arm (because I needed to keep my hand free to hold the train doors open). The train approached, and although we set off for it immediately, the woman walked so slowly that we barely made it to the train before the doors closed. The woman needed an extra “boost” to get up on the train, and in doing so I dropped everything. The doors were already starting to close; I tried to pass the woman her bag but it was too late… And at the same time, my folder – filled with all of my official documents, plus my passport – slid under the train.

The train sped away, and I stood in the rain on the platform, with the woman’s bag in my hand. My purse and umbrella were on the ground beside me, while my folder – still intact – was lying between the train tracks, far out of reach. I ran down to the ticket booth to explain the situation, and a kind RATP worker pulled my folder to safety, using super-long pincers. All of my documents are safe and sound (if a little soggy and muddy). I then offered to take the woman’s bag to her (she had told me her stop earlier), but the officials said it would be best to leave the bag with them, and that they would call the other station to leave a message for the woman. I felt bad, but there was nothing else I could do.

So that was my afternoon. I arrived home soaking wet, exhausted, frustrated, and no closer to obtaining my work papers. Something tells me that tomorrow is going to be a long day…

Yes, the photo is of a giant chocolate bear. It’s in the window of one of the local chocolate shops nearby. But as he’s got his head in his paw, I thought he neatly summed up my sentiments on the day.

Vive la France!

Hello. Thought I would post a recent picture, lest anyone forget what I look like.

However, I did not look so calm today. In fact, if I was a cartoon character, I’m sure smoke would have been billowing out of my ears. Living in France is quite an experience, at least for an outsider. Inefficiency, incompetence, and general laziness are part of daily life here, and most questions are met with the supreme expression of Parisian indifference: the shrug. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if the person simply doesn’t know the answer, or just can’t be bothered telling it to you. The bureaucracy here is astounding, and everything moves at a snail’s pace (or should that be an escargot’s pace?), whether complicated government business or the simple act of opening a telephone line. Everything one does requires paperwork, usually in multiples of 10, usually needing to be signed by multiple people and sent to multiple places, all of which require appointments to be made in advance. It is nearly impossible to get through to anyone by phone, and it seems that nobody even checks their email. Which leaves face-to-face encounters as one’s best bet… but even that isn’t a surefire way of getting things done.

As my visa will soon be invalid, I set aside the entire day to deal with the business of starting the carte de séjour process. (I would have done this sooner, but first needed to complete the medical visit, which had to be arranged for me by the state – so of course that didn’t happen until a week and a half ago.) So this morning I head down to the préfecture, discovering upon my arrival that about 100 others were already in line. We were quite the motley crew: students, workers, refugees, people seeking asylum. Rather than streamlining the process, we were all made to wait in one long line. Unsurprisingly, there was only one worker to deal with all of us. (Of course, there was no one there from 1-2:30pm – she had to have her lunch break, after all.) I stood in line for 5 hours – literally. There were no chairs, no indications of how long the wait time was, no information desk or any other people circulating to deal with the many questions we all had. All of us waiting were basically just crossing our fingers that we were in the right place, and hoping for the best.

I became acquainted with the woman in line just behind me. She was from Iran but had been living in Portugal for many years. This was her second time at the préfecture; the first time they had sent her away to photocopy yet more documents. She spoke no French, but very good English, and we chatted. After about 2 1/2 hours, she went off in search of information, while I held her spot in line. A half hour later she returned with some sustenance: 2 coffees and 2 chocolate bars for the both of us! A few hours later and it was finally my turn…

I step up to the window. I hand over my passport. The woman asks me where I live. I tell her. She then shook her head and said that I should have gone to the sous-préfecture instead. I told her that I had already asked about that, and was told to go to the préfecture, and had a document stating just that. I showed it to her, and she just shrugged her shoulders. Then she said “good day” and waved me aside. Five hours, for nothing.

I stayed while the Portuguese woman went to the window; she asked me to translate for her. She also got the run-around: the woman at the window told her she’d have to renounce her Portuguese residency and get a document stating that, and bring it back; but another person told her there is no such document, that all she has to do is come back another day and hand over the residency card itself. (Getting a straight answer is next to impossible in this country. Seriously. You will almost always get a different answer, depending on who you talk to.)

Once we were both satisfied that our entire day had been wasted, we left for the train station. We both had to take the same train, and we sat together until her stop, which came before mine. This woman had quite a fanciful story, which I’m not sure I believe, but it was entertaining anyway. She said her husband is a swimming pool-maker and designer, and has designed pools for Madonna and Paris Hilton in their Portuguese villas. Meanwhile, she is a belly dancer, and has been for 26 years. She also said that both her sisters and one brother-in-law work for some Italian fashion designer who is opening his first store in France next month; she said I should go to the opening!

Speaking of interesting characters, the other day on the train a woman sat beside me, and pulled out a map of the Metro. A few minutes later she turned to me and asked (in English) if I spoke English. When I said yes, she heaved a huge sigh of relief. We chatted for about 10 minutes, until we got to my stop. She was from Copenhagen, and was only in France for one month. She and her husband work for a circus! She said they had been with the circus for 8 years, and had always worked in the ring, but that this year they were managing the show. She said the circus usually only tours the Scandinavian countries, but this year they expanded due to the tough economic times, hoping to tap into a new audience base. She invited me to Denmark, and said I should stop by and see her circus show!

It’s somewhat amusing that the most interesting people I’ve met here have all been fellow foreigners… And we all complain bitterly about French society and administration; yet here we all are anyway, in spite of ourselves.

The most wonderful time of the year

My humble little tree is up, its lights twinkling and its tinsel shimmering. It’s still a work-in-progress: I still have to find a little tree skirt to place underneath it, and have yet to see a single tree-topper ornament anywhere. But at least it brightens up the place!
This Christmas will be a very different holiday for me, far away from family and friends and the comfort of home. But in the meantime I’ve made my own little home here, and am quite comfortable in it.

The ongoing saga of my dealings with the French administration seems to have no end in sight. I have yet to obtain my carte de séjour, even though my long-stay visa expires on Christmas Day! I’ll be heading out to the préfecture on Friday afternoon to try to sort it all out. I also have yet to get signed up for social security (because one needs one’s carte de séjour first), and have been unable to get my own internet connection (again the requirement of a CdS). Even the land line is proving problematic: as the line in my apartment has been out of service for three years, I have to pay €110 simply to have the line switched on again… I will place the order when I’ve digested the fact that I have to pay 1/7 of my monthly salary just to have a telephone!

Snow fell one morning, about two weeks ago, but the flakes melted as soon as they touched the ground. It has been cloudy and/or rainy almost every day for the past few weeks; I can recall only two days of sunshine. But that somehow doesn’t seem to matter much when one is watching thick mist settle on the Eiffel Tower, or watching raindrops dance on the Seine.

It’s 4:37 in the afternoon, and all is quiet outside my window: on Wednesday, school finishes at 12:35. I have tomorrow’s lessons to prepare, and also prepare myself for a little class project organised by one of my colleagues: his 15 year-olds have just begun a unit on journalism and the press, and he has arranged for all 51 of his students to write an article – about me! I have provided him with a short “biography” that he handed out to the kids, and tomorrow I will be holding two “press conferences” in his classes. Should be interesting…

Just a note: I have added a few pictures to the site. Look for the Gallery link under ‘Pages’ to the right.

Update: Shortly after writing the above entry, I found that a Christmas decoration sales display had been set up in one of the shops in my town, complete with a couple (literally) of types of tree toppers. I of course picked one up. My finished tree in all its glory can be seen in the Gallery.