Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Hey All,

No, it’s not your typical sense of déjà vu that you would expect if you’re a Matrix nutter like me…or perhaps it is, but the last week has set me back somewhat, and it took a bottle of Alsace bubbles with dear friends to claw my way out of my miz-mood.

I’m not sure if you’ve been following the debacle that is my drivers license.  If you remember back to March last year, I told you of my attempt to swop my South African drivers license for a French one, and that they wouldn’t help me because my SA one had expired?  Obviously the second thing we did in December when we visited was to renew my SA license- I stood in a queue for 6 hours waiting to get it done, and then still had to go through the palaver of ensuring someone else could collect it for me with affidavit copies of my ID, and letters and so on and so forth.  It took them 12 weeks to print (as opposed to the promised 6 weeks), and after several disgruntled e-mails and phone-calls, I received notice that it could be collected.  Eventually, my brand-new up-to-date South African drivers license landed in my hands in mid-April this year.

With the banks of knowledge that I had redeemed with my previous attempt, the very first thing I did was to quickly pop in at The Prefecture to ask them if they would still be able to swop my SA licence for a French one.  I was fully aware of their stupid rulings that this sort of swop has to happen within your first year of residing in France, and since my carte sejour has no obvious sign of when we entered into France, I thought I would take a chance.

Well, the very first person I saw was a really lovely French lady.  I managed to converse with her in my broken French, and she was so accommodating and immediately said that YES- they would swop it for me.  Even better, was the news that I did not need mine translated (because it was in English), nor would the pre-requisite doctors check up be needed.  So I rushed off home to fill in the paperwork, gather all the back-up documents required, in order to be able to submit my application the next morning.

By the time I got there the next day, it was a little later in the day, and the ladies were more grumpy and more harassed, and the next lady I spoke to was rude, informing me that my paper-work was not correct: PROOF OF RESIDENCE (aaarrgghh- seems to be a pain in the ass here as much as FICA/RICA is back home.)  Only an electricity, gas or telephone invoice in my name will suffice, and no other invoice (from a pathologist for example) is enough.  Thus, she sent me away to gather MORE papers with Anton’s identity card, the electricity invoice in HIS name, our marriage contract, and our rental agreement (which has both our names on).

Day 3 saw me back there early in the morning, determined that things were going to happen, and dealt with yet another different lady… but this one happened to be the same one I dealt with last March, and all of a sudden she asked me if my carte sejour (residence permit) was my second one…  This is exactly what I had been scared of.  Why had the two other ladies not picked up this fact?  I have scrutinised it over and over again- its valid from August 2014-July 2015, and somehow she picked up on the fact that I arrived in 2013.

Not one to lie easily, I admitted yes.  I tried to explain to her about everything, and she called her (new, much nicer) supervisor for advise.  The supervisor reminded me that it should have been done in my first year-blah-blah-blah, and so we went on.  She was kind enough to suggest I write a letter, stating my case, submit all my paperwork with it, and post it to them, and they would take it under review.

Which is what I did.  In April.

Life went on- as it does here in France, and we heard nothing.  For days, I started conjuring up scenes in my mind, of marching into The Prefecture and demanding they give me my French license- they had taken my paperwork in 3 months prior, and had not even cared to respond at all… in an ideal world, it feels good to lose your cool in your home language.

Anyway, while a girl can dream, other cogs seem to be in motion.  On Wednesday last week, the postman knocked on my door, to hand over a letter that required a signature.  I ripped it open, and low and behold, there it was- a highfalutin, obnoxious looking (because I couldn’t actually understand more than the first line) letter from the Prefecture.  In a nutshell- my application has been rejected, because it would go against state law if they let me swop my license.

I’m not even going to whinge about the effing double standards that can be found on every street, pavement, building.  That just makes me really angry, and then really sad, because I am in no position to have a screaming ranting session.

Yes, I was miserable last Wednesday.  For all the reasons that you can imagine are going through my mind, but I won’t actually admit to in public forum, because then you can say “I told you so“,  and “You know it’s not the end of the world.  Life is what you make of it, so best you become fluent in French, go and find work, go and take control of who you used to be”. 

I know all of that.  This is all just a glitch.  A step to overcome, to challenge to embrace.  But a Glitch In The Matrix (Urban Dictionary defines this as experiencing déjà vu) you ask?  The ONLY way I will ever get behind a steering wheel again here in France, is if I go and do Le Code (aka the Learners License), and then will have to do The Test. Again.  Le Code will have to be done in French I am told, and it comprises 90 multiple choice questions that are fired at the applicant under a timer, and have to deal with a “What Would You Do In This Scenario?” format.  At least I don’t have to do the 20 hours compulsory lessons (which would cost 1500euros), but still- I am legally not even allowed to practise as we are not covered by insurance, so this begs the question- how do I get the street savvy to compete against unruly French drivers?

The entire process terrifies me, so if you ever have plans to come and visit me, pack your bike, and know that you will be using public transport.  Because that will be me for several more months.  In the mean time, perhaps I will be allowed to drive in Italy in a fortnight.

Until then, we have a visitor for two weeks, so we will be busy, and I won’t be able to post.  And when we’re in Italy, I didn’t book us a casa with wi-fi, so you probably won’t hear from us at all, not even via Facebook!  Oh noooo….

Au revoir until the end of August then.

Hugs,

Love Me