Well, Dave and I have had a relatively exciting week what with being issued our cartes de sejours so we're not illegal aliens anymore, having the gas and electricity turned off without warning, and my changing careers. But let's start at the beginning shall we?
Rewind to last Monday evening, when we came home from work and found that all the gas in the apartment, as well as the electricity in the master bedroom upstairs, was turned off.
We generally get home from work at 7 pm or later, because of conference calls to the US and the fact that we take 3 hours of French lessons 3 times a week. This made it tricky to actually do anything about the situation, as the power company and the relocation agency that is supposed to help us with issues like this were closed. Fortunately we have an ex-patriot American living next door to us who called the 24 hour EDF (French PG&E) hotline. After a good deal of explanation and a heroic attempt on our neighbor's part to guilt them into coming to fix the problem because I have a broken limb, we succeeded in getting them to agree to come out on Thursday morning. This was Monday evening, mind you. In December. And we live in a building with stone walls.
Needless to say we weren't thrilled.
We passed a chilly night under 3 blankets, one comforter and 2 cats and the next morning made several more phone calls to try to get the situation resolved. It seems you need an actual French person to deal with this sort of French situation, because our relocation agency was able to convince EDF to send someone out that very afternoon. It turns out that we never had a contract arranged with the EDF, so for six months we've been using gas and electricity for which we had no account. How this happened is still a complete mystery. The French subscribe to the Don't Ask, Don't Tell theory of getting things done. And even when you do ask, they still subscribe to the Don't Tell part, so we may never know.
Meanwhile, as heavy negotiations were happening between the relo agency and the EDF, Dave and I were passing a luxurious morning at the Prefecture, picking up our cartes des sejours (residence permits). Frankly, it wasn't that luxurious. It was more like spending a morning on Ellis Island in 1903, but we've been to the Prefecture several times before so we're starting to get the knack for it.
Getting permission to work and live in a foreign country has taken eight months, three visits to the Prefecture, two doctors, two lawyers offices on two continents, one trip back to San Francisco and more emails and faxes than I can count. It's a thankless process, but if you ever want to take a stab at it, here's how to do it:
You start by filling out a number of forms and making photocopies of everything from your passport to your college diploma. Then you wait for 2 months. Eventually you get fed up and move to France anyway, knowing that you have 90 days to live there visa-free and surely your visa will be issued within the next 3 months! 4 days before the three months is up you fly back to San Francisco to get your visa from the French consulate (this cannot be issued in France - you have to be outside France when you get the visa. Don't ask me why, because, as is typical, no one can tell me). When you arrive back in France, notice that nobody at customs even glances at your visa (and remember that, although you've been in and out of France all summer, no French customs officer has ever looked at anything but the picture in your passport. Apparently all you need to enter France is a face. German and English customs ask questions, but the French just nod you through every time.)
Now that you're back in France, go to the Prefecture for the first time and sit around all morning waiting for your number to be called. When it's called, receive nothing but a list of what to bring back the next time. Talk to your Parisian lawyer that afternoon, who tells you they've arranged a doctor's appointment to check for TB. Realize that if you were Typhoid Mary then half of Montpellier would be coughing by now because you've already been breathing on people for three months! Start hearing the word "convocation" a lot more often. Get a sketchy explanation that the convocation is your summons to get your carte de sejour and that you will first get a 3 month temporary carte and then will have to go back to get a long stay carte. Wonder if it's really worth all the trouble, since nobody at customs ever seems to care. Rethink that when Dave tells you that the customs man actually asked him for his carte de sejour. Think secretly that Dave must have a more suspicious face than you do.
Attend the doctor's appointment, then return to the Prefecture with even more paperwork and photocopies. Stand in line at 6:30 am to get a number so that you have some hope of getting to work before noon. Hand over a stack of papers an inch thick (including your apartment lease) and receive nothing back. Hear the magic word convocation again but realize they're telling you that this isn't it.
Wait a week. In the mail receive a letter than contains the word convocation! Ask your French teacher to translate because you don't trust your French enough to be sure you're not just hoping the letter says to come anytime to pick up your carte de sejour. She confirms that it says just that, and also that it says to bring another few photocopies, just for good measure.
Which brings us to last Tuesday morning. After all that, actually picking up the cartes is anti-climactic. Somehow I seemed to have skipped the 3 month temporary carte step and now am the proud owner of a long term stay residence permit. It's good for up to 3 years total, but must be renewed every August. Dave, however, is still in temporary-land. I knew he looked suspicious. Why I skipped a step is unclear to me, although by now I know better than to ask - that way lies madness.
Heat and gas now back on, cartes de sejour in hand, we headed into work for the rest of the week. On Thursday morning I got an email from the director of program management at my company, who I've been talking to about changing jobs. After 8 years in software testing I'm feeling pretty burned out and ready to make a change. Program management, the co-ordination of all aspects of getting a project to market, has interested me for quite a while, and it seemed like a good time to take the plunge. The email was confirmation of the transfer, which I'm both happy and somewhat nervous about.
But don't ask me about that, because I can't tell you.
- KNP Dec 12, '00
