It's easy to give thanks for pleasant experiences. It takes a mature person to give thanks for fiery trials. Like today, for example - I give thanks for the unpleasant experience of going to the prefecture.
I'm (halfway) kidding about the horrors of the prefecture (which is the government administrative office of France). It's definitely not fun, but it's hardly a fiery trial. Please forgive me for comparing a two-hour ordeal to the much more serious matters taking place in our world today.
But back to the topic at hand. Let me describe for you the prefecture's office. If you're from the U.S., imagine your worst experience at the DMV, multiply that by 10, and you have an idea of what it's like to go to the prefecture. (The first time we visited Lyon, a friend of ours had to go to the prefecture, and Greg went along for the ride. Afterwards he came back to our hotel and said, simply, "We're never moving to this country.") This office handles all the administrative duties of the national government, and is responsible for distributing such things as identity cards, driver's licenses, passports, residency permits, work permits, student permits, and vehicle registrations. They also manage the police forces and firefighters, and they oversee the creation/dissolution/modifications of all associations in France.
There are only about 100 prefects in France, so you can imagine the enormous lines that form as people try to get the different governmental services they need. Today I had the pleasure of standing in one of those lines. We were required to get documentation for our daughters called "documents de circulation pour étrangers mineurs." There was a long list of things we needed to bring with us, such as birth certificates (translated into French by a certified specialist), justification of our domicle, our passports and "titres de séjour", verification of school enrollment, two identity photos, etc., plus extra photocopies of everything. We also had to purchase special fiscal stamps in advance from a tabac (convenience store), and special self-addressed envelopes from the poste.
I had heard what a nightmare the prefecture could be, so I came prepared with my French homework and a book to read to help me pass the time while I waited in line. Taking advice from others, I arrived an hour before the line opened. When I got there, I was horrified to see a long line already snaking from the front door around the corner. Thankfully, there was a separate and much shorter line for the étrangers mineurs. (In the past, there were no separate lines for different services; you just had to brave it out and wait in one huge wedge. So things are definitely improving.) The hour went by fairly quickly, and before I knew it, I was able to get a numbered ticket that held our place in yet another line. I'll spare you the boring details, but suffice it to say that eventually we jumped through all the hoops of getting their documentation completed.
All in all, the experience really wasn't that bad. But I am thankful that it's over...until next year, when we have to stand in the really long line to get our titres de séjour renewed.
No comments:
Post a Comment