It's Visa Time Again

Wow, so we've been really bad keeping up with life around here with you all. A lot has happened in these past three weeks including a trip to Bristol for Thanksgiving, but we'll get back to that in the next post. For now, let's relive the 'fun' of renewing my visa which happened only yesterday....

Remember back when when I actually made the appointment to get this? Yeah, it was last July upon returning to France for the summer and the earliest date they had available was December 4th. My visa was to expire the end of September, and I'm thinking, how in the world could their system be this backed-up? Oh wait, because it's France, and remember, Adam STILL does not have his official visa yet EITHER. So anyways, I don't know how many hours I spent going over and over and over the required documents I had to bring to make sure everything was accounted for. (oh yeah, and they want all your documents translated into French as well, fun).

And here I am only a visitor (probably the easiest visa to get) and yet I'm still panicking. I had all my ducks in a row, but I did not have my original birth certificate (really? who carries that with them?), and I didn't have it officially translated (again, seriously?). Visa offices are notorious for simply sending you away to come back at some other inconvenient time because you were missing one thing, or they decided to ask for a totally random item. Uh, it makes me nervous just thinking about all this again.

This is a bit of a stretch, but not too far from the truth. And yes, 

I even brought my mini stapler JUST in case.

Luckily, Adam took the afternoon off to come with me to the Prefecture, and I was glad to have the moral support. Entering though an unassuming door from a quiet hallway, we were blasted with the heat of too many people in one waiting room. Yep, we were going to be here awhile.

As we waited in line to check in, we watched those before us to pick up on clues as of what to do. One guy stood at the desk asking god knows what, and all we could hear the receptionist say was (in french) "where do you live? what arrondissement do you live in? what - arrondissement - do - you - live - in???!!! " The man looked so confused, and said he only knew spanish (doh!). The lady replied simply, "and I don't speak spanish!." The man left the desk looking frustrated, and I felt so bad for him. But really? You can't even pick up on the word arrondissement (meaning neighborhood...the thing that defines your address in Paris)? The next guy stepped up and apparently didn't have any photocopies of his documents. Again, seriously? Besides showing up in person, that's one of the main requirements. God you've got to have some patience to work in an environment like this. I'm still trying to decide if the heat in the room was from all the tension of those waiting or from the boiling annoyance from the staff.

Ok these people were making me feel better about myself, but somehow, I was still shaking as I approached the desk to check in. Things actually went pretty smoothly, because, yeah, I guess I actually had my shit together and I knew a little french. bonus. I was given a number and had to go wait with the rest of the sheep just hoping the actual meeting would go smoothly.

And hour later, I was finally called, and Adam and I went to the desk of the lady reviewing my paperwork. And that's when the birth certificate issue arose. "What? you don't have this translated? You know this needs to be translated" I felt like saying, I can translate every bit of this for you right now. It's not that difficult to see that there's my name, there's the hospital, and there's the date. Look, the date even matches my passport. Magic! No instead I had to play dumb and simply say I forgot this time. At least I knew how to say that in french. She left her desk with my copy and my heart began to sink. We had asked a friend who in the world translates birth certificates, and she told us of a guy through the embassy, but when she tried, it took over a month. Again, really?! The woman returned and said she'd let it slide this time, but for next time (haha, there won't BE a next time) I had to have ALL things translated. She went to pull up my file on the computer and then said, "Oh, I can't find your file, go back and wait in the reception, and I'll call you up later" Again, I was thinking, what?! How do you not have me on file. I couldn't even have made an appointment if I wasn't on file. Again, expecting the worst, I went back to the waiting room, hoping to dear god I didn't have to reapply (wait, that's what I was there for THIS TIME) or god knows what.

Luckily, she called me back shortly after and had a recépicé (the paper that says they're working on your papers) that counts as a temporary resident's permit along with another rendezvous scheduled for the beginning of February, a whole 4 months before I move back. Wow, isn't this all so efficient? All things considered, things went fairly smoothly minus a few misunderstandings in which Adam stepped in and helped out. I thought I'd be walking out with and updated visa, but who am I kidding? None of this crap happens in only one step. At least now Adam and I are both 'legal' again with some scary mug shot docs to prove it.

Yes, having official foreign appointments like this makes me more nervous than anything in the world. Why? Who knows. I guess I just get worked up on that possibility of not understanding in a moment that's so critical to understanding. And in getting worked up, I tend to blank out. Yes, ALL of this is in French, and I'm no genius at it yet. And we're not talking about knowing how to say stupid things like "I would like a coffee please" or "where is the nearest metro". No, this is a real deal interviewing situation that determines if you remain legal or not. I'm and American and only a visitor, so thank god I have it easy. I can only imagine what foreigners have to go through in the US to do the same.

The Fun of Being Immigrants

The entrance to hell

Ok, we've been really bad about writing the past couple of weeks, but we're going to blame it on the French and their tendency to throw in vacations all year. Yes, it was the fall break, so we got a chance to pack our bags and do a little traveling ourselves. More to come on that later, but for today's episode, we're going to reflect on the annoyances of being the immigrant.

For the most part, our US passport is gold, GOLD to the rest of the world. It really is amazing how easy access is for us to go place to place without question. That is, though, until you start living in that other place. And looking back on all the country hopping we've done, it's only been the UK and American Airlines who's seems throw a fit. My god, there wasn't even people working the border control in Greece. Greece of all places?! Anyways, going home last spring, Adam and I were questioned to death about our visa from AA. We're thinking, seriously? We're American, why do you care so much? We're going home. Then, I had the worst heckling of my life trying to hop the train from Paris to London to go meet my parents for a few days (no, Adam could not make this trip). It felt like eternity as I was asked a million questions at border control about my stay, intentions, when I'm returning... trying to avoid having to pull out my expired visa (my problem? not at all. When making my appointment two months before the expiration, the earliest the french could get me in was about 3 months AFTER it had expired. Super) And btw, no one except AA has EVER asked about my visa...The conversation went a bit like this:

Purpose of trip?
 - Vacation
How Long?
 - 4 days
Then where are you going?
 - To Marseille
Do you have that documentation?
 - No, my parents have the reservation for that trip
How long will you be in Marseille?
 - We'll be traveling in Provence for a week
And then?
 - I come back to Paris
When did you actually arrive in Europe?
 - Uhh, mid September
So this is actually NOT the beginning of your holiday then, is it?
 - Well, yes?
But it's been a month after you've arrived.
 - Yes
Do you know how long you are allowed to stay in the Schengen zone?
 - Yes, 3 months
And do you have you plans to go back to the states?
 - No, not yet
Really....pause pause
- I do live here, did you want to see my visa?
Ah ha, there we go now, of course
- (shit...shuffling to find the damn receipt for my renewal appointment, which btw, isn't even the 'legal' piece of info you're supposed to have to use in a situation like this. What the french want you to so is take that receipt, then make another appointment, so they can give you a similar piece of paper saying you actually have an appointment. wtf, right?)

............

Ok, so Mr. UK was fine with all that and I explained to him that yes, this technically was the start of my holiday (didn't think it was appropriate to say that I've actually been on holiday from life the past year... details) And then, I was through. Wow, I could never be one of those people sneaking across borders with a false identity, I'd just blow it.

Coming back into France made me just as nervous because THEY are the people who are supposed to care. And as luck would have it, the French do what they do best, they don't give a shit. STAMP, right on through, mercie. No questions, no cares, no nothing. Sometimes I hate the French for being so French, and other times I love it.

Now, Adam's STILL waiting to get a visa, as here I am about to renew mine. We have another trip to the UK for Thanksgiving, and at first we thought this would be no big deal, we'll just play the American tourists. After the incident I just endured, though, I sent Adam a shaky text about what had happened and that we better check up on his visa soon.

And again, ANOTHER 'fun' trip to the Prefecture (or police station). Luckily the wait wasn't as horrendous as we'd expected, but we had to laugh at the waiting room 'art' (or color copies) of random pics they had of Paris on the wall....some pretty buildings, the Seine, and the Prefecture. Why the hell do they think we want to be reminded we're here? God... (mind you, this was probably the 4th trip to the station on top of my horrible visit to the OFII office, sheesh). When Adam told the gal he's been waiting for 11 months for a response (and by the way, that's 11 months after we realized last winter that the Chicago office had actually given him the wrong kind of temporary visa, and he had to reapply all over again) she looked at him like, what, are you serious? She asked what he was applying for, and honestly he didn't exactly know considering it was a special-case visa (not a simple work visa), and no one had actually confirmed with Adam exactly what it was (since after the mix-up, the school started doing all the communicating with the visa office). So that made us look a little foolish, but luckily they did have his file, and the boss came out almost apologizing and mumbled something like they had been waiting for another office of labor to confirm something about his file before it could be processed.....or in other words, it wasn't their problem, so they weren't going to do their jobs. Supposedly now they are going to push it through so Adam can get his titre de sejour (residents card) AND get him his récépissé (that document I dreaded not having at the UK border control) so that we can all travel and live happily ever after.

And knowing how it goes, we'll probably have no questions about visas after having jumped through yet more hoops just to be legal. We shall see in two weeks.....

Visas

It's been a while since we've posted anything regarding our "hoops." So, here goes:

At the advice of my administrator, Bridgette and I visited the prefecture (again) to let them know of our plans to return home for the holidays, and to kindly ask if there would be any trouble returning to France because my visa is technically expired. We learned that my dossier is still being reviewed, and there's not much they can do besides suggest we request from the Chicago consulate a return visa in order to, well, return to France.

I should mention that the attitude and unspoken innuendo was that as Americans, we won't have any problems and could probably claim being tourists to likely enter the country. And that's all only if they check our visas.

I've recently learned (a day or two after the prefecture visit) that my long-stay visa application has been denied, and that I need to completely restart the application process. Whoopee. Luckily the admins here are being more than helpful, and actually have commanded me not to do anything, ha! So it's in their hands at the moment.

So here I go, returning home for the holidays in a few days. Meanwhile my application will be restarted and sent to the Office / Department / Ministry / Whatevs of Labor, where they hopefully will accept my situation for working in France. Then those documents will be sent to who-knows-where. Technically, I believe they're supposed to be sent to Chicago, where I'm supposed to receive the "correct" entry visa, after which I can jump through the expected hoops in France of attaining a residence permit, medical exam, and sommelier lessons.

Oh, and Bridgette's still waiting to hear back from the OFII to keep her papers rolling.

When the legal paths are so long and tedious, is it a wonder that illegal immigration is prevalent in western countries (I'm looking at you, too, America)?

More Hoops

So, in case anyone was wondering, the blog is currently called "Hoop Dreams" because we have a dream of living in Paris, yet it feels like we've done nothing but jump through hoops to make it happen. Someday, we hope that the hoops will disappear from the horizon, and we can change the title to something more appropriate, like "French Bread Overdose" or "How Foie Gras Improved My Soul."

Recently I spent nearly an entire day on a goose chase through Paris. I'll try to be as succinct as possible. After researching online where I needed to go to get my resident's permit (carte de sejour), I traveled to one corner of Paris to find a prefecture with a sign posted telling me I need to go to practically the opposite corner of the city for such items. Once arriving at the next location of the chase, I found a prefecture under construction. Passing by a crane and some bobcat-looking contraption, I found a Parisian police officer who was kind enough to ask if I needed help. I explained to her what I was looking for, and she immediately had an answer: a piece of paper showing a hand-drawn map to the next leg of my journey. Off again I went, to yet another corner of the city, where I found another prefecture / government sort of place.

This final location looked like an old YMCA painted with incredible pastels, and filled with chairs, desks, and a metal detector that failed to detect the chunk of camera in my pocket. Oh, and the metal detector was paired with a police officer that kept an aerosol air freshener on hand. Long story short, after explaining my situation (living, employment, citizenship, etc), the person behind the desk consulted a large tome with the letters C-O-D-E banded across the cover, and determined that I -- well, my situation -- was confusing and needed special attention. So he directed me to another prefecture...