Sniffle!

I'm sick! On Monday I woke up with a scratchy throat, which hurt a lot until Tuesday. Then my throat cleared up and my sinuses clogged. Today I've spent most of the day in bed, trying to prepare myself for work tomorrow. Jube is always great when I'm sick, and I feel guilty every time. When he gets sick, I am short-tempered with his moaning and sniffling. He is much more patient than I am, and much more considerate.

Beau-papa and Belle-maman bought a new car last week, a Renault Scenic. Beau-papa called Jube to complain about getting his carte grise (the car title):

"We got a taste of what Gem went through at the prefecture today!"

Jube indignantly denied it: "No, you have no idea what she's had to do to get her residency card."

Then they argued for a little while about which bureaucratic process was worse, and I think Jube won--as well he should have! I doubt that Beau-papa cried when he was finished.

As it happened, Jube and I went to the Norfolk City Hall ourselves yesterday. You see, when we bought our car, I had to work and couldn't sign the paper requesting a title. Jube's name was the only one on there. Since he has a provisional green card (to be replaced in 2 years), we might be interviewed together to prove that we don't have a fake marriage. We already have a joint bank account and a joint lease, but having a joint car title is important too. So we spent the $12 to get a new title and registration.

We were only at City Hall for about 40 minutes, which made us both very happy. It has been nearly the least hassle of any of our bureaucratic dealings so far--the only thing easier was applying for our marriage license. I figure it's because there are a lot fewer people getting married than buying cars, paying taxes, getting driver's licenses or getting new license plates.

As Though I Didn't Know What Would Happen...

Yesterday Jube and I went to the DMV. It was a pretty involved process for us, since we don't have a car right now and the DMV is really far away from downtown Norfolk (I guess they figure you have a car if you're going there... whatever!). We biked into Ghent where we could catch the bus that went out to Military Circle. It was a 30 minute bus ride, but we made it.

When we arrived, I warned Jube that it was something like the Prefecture. "The building doesn't look too big, though," he mentioned, happily. As soon as we walked inside and he caught a gimpse of the dozens of chairs and tellers, he smiled ruefully. "Bureaucracy is the same everywhere, I guess."

We waited in line at the information desk, where the woman approved Jube's documents and declined mine--I didn't have two acceptable proofs of identity. I'll go back next time with my passport, I guess. It took 15 more minutes for us to be called up to the desk, where the teller spent a lot of time trying to decide whether Jube's license could be exchanged or not. It turns out that it CAN be exchanged, but Jube (like me) needed another form of identity. Of course they wouldn't accept his carte nationale d'identite or his driver's licence.

We took it in good form, however. We're used to dealing with stuff like that--and it wasn't nearly as bad as the immigration section of the Prefecture!

Unchained

So, I've gotten a complaint that I don't update my blog. Well, goodness me! Can't you figure that Jube and I are enjoying our time together and don't want to be interrupted? Luckily I have him slaving away over the hot stove right now, so I can sneak off for five minutes to write in my carnet.

As you may remember, I left you with Jube's arrival imminent. I finished work at 1pm on Friday, and I thought about getting my rental car a little bit early so I could spend the night with my parents, but I decided the time was better spent doing homework and cleaning the house in anticipation of Jube's homecoming. As I cleaned, I heard the wind outside pick up. I had heard some rumors that we were expecting a noreaster, but since I'd already experienced Tropical Storm Ernesto, I wasn't really worried. It turned out, though, that when I called the rental car company to come pick me up, that portions of different streets around Norfolk were flooded. What's more, my street was flooded for about 100 feet right in front of my apartment building, as I discovered when I went outside to wait for my car. When they arrived, they told me we had to go pick up ANOTHER car... it took us about an hour to get there, since we kept having to backtrack and take alternate routes because of the patchy flooding. I was finally on my way at 11:30am (I had wanted to get going by 9:30). I followed the storm until Richmond, when I turned off of the highway and managed to escape the rain for a bit.

By the time I reached my parents' house, it was already time to drive to the airport! We zipped out there, only to wait for about an hour while Jube braved the long Immigration lines. After he emerged (with his guitar and all his bags, thank goodness!), we went to the mall to get him acclimated to America. We also bought Indian food as a welcome gift.

On Monday we drove out to the French Embassy, where we easily publier-ed les bans and got information about registering our marriage afterwards. Then on Tuesday we went to the courthouse and got our marriage license. We filled out the information (Jube hardly remembered his parents' middle names), and the secretary gave us some Hershey's kisses "as a keepsake." Jube immediately popped his into his mouth when the County Clerk appeared.

"Raise your right hands," she said.

We raised our right hands, and she launched into her speech: "Do you swear that you the information you have given us is correct, that you intend to marry each other and that you are legally free to marry?"

With his mouth full of chocolate, Jube said "I do."

Later, he told me, "I had no idea she was going to make us talk!! I wouldn't have eaten it otherwise!"

Ahh well. Now we have under 2 weeks till la belle-famille arrives, and under 3 till we are married (and I've got only 2 weeks to do allllll sorts of homework, too! Augh!).

Insomniac

I haven't been able to sleep very well for the past few days. You ask why? Well, it's all for one reason: Jube is arriving on Saturday! Hooray! We have a long weekend in front of us. Luckily it's my fall break, so I have Monday and Tuesday to do all sorts of fun bureaucratic things with him. We are going to go to the French Embassy in Washington, DC, to publier les bans--publish the banns--on Monday. We want this wedding to be legal in France, too!

Then on Tuesday we'll go to the public registrar in Virginia to get the marriage license. Fortunately (for us) Virginia is one of the most lenient states when it comes to marriage certificates. We don't have to have blood tests or anything, just some IDs.

Afterwards, we'll drive back to Norfolk so Jube can get to know his new home a little better!

So, those are our plans. Now that I'm actually getting married, I've been noticing lots of things about weddings that are really annoying. First of all, how did the wedding get to be the most important chapter in someone's life? I saw a wedding planner on TV advising couples that "the wedding dress should represent about 10% of the wedding budget. So, if you're going to spend $10,000 on your wedding, your dress should be about $1,000." When did people decide to spend $10,000 on their wedding? That's more than I'm paying for my graduate degree!

Once she found out that I'm getting married, one of the girls I work with told me that she has a little wedding scrapbook where she pastes pictures of dresses and flowers and bridesmaids' gowns that she thinks are pretty. Then she qualified her statement: "Not that I'm getting married anytime soon! I'm nowhere near engaged!" And yet, she already has her "wedding colors" picked out...

One of my college roommates would periodically tell me things about her wedding. "I chose the song that I'll dance with my dad." "I think that it would be cool if I could wear red and carry a white rose." Hmm... I don't think she had a boyfriend...

People seem very surprised to find that I'm not very stressed about the wedding--probably because they don't realize that we're only having family at an inn in The Plains, VA (check the sidebar for which one...)

A New Day

Well, in my now-absent post crowing about our visa, I mentioned that I would give more details. We've gone through a lot of stress to get this baby, so Jube and I feel very relieved right now. We first began the process back in March, when we decided that I really wanted to go back to grad school.

When I came back to the US to attend the graduate recruiting days here at ODU, I mailed everything off to the Vermont processing center. About 2 weeks later, we received a favorable decision from the Department of Homeland Security, and 2 weeks after that we got a letter saying that our case had been forwarded to the Embassy in Paris. Everything was on schedule for an arrival in the US in August or September.

We waited for another month or so, with no word from the Embassy. I had started my summer job in Nice, and Jube had started his vacation, when we received a letter from Homeland Security saying that they had either reversed their decision or reopened our casefile. It didn't explain why or specify whether we still had any chance for the visa. I was pretty upset! I cried and cried, and Jube had to console me (I still feel bad about this; I mean, the visa was for HIM, not for me, and I'm sure he felt just as sad and confused as I did). My mother did lots of research for us, calling immigration lawyers and trying to get in touch with the Department of Homeland Security. We finally discovered (through our own initiative, with no help from the government) that a new law* was signed last year, coming into effect January 1, 2006. DHL had 2 or 3 months to change the forms to comply with this law. Well, they didn't manage to have the forms (which I downloaded electronically) corrected by the time Jube and I applied. Through no fault of our own, we hadn't answered the two (and a half) new burning questions required by the new law. The advice from the immigration lawyers was contradictory and confusing, but one woman gave us a really useful tip: to FAX the Embassy with our questions. Every time we faxed them, we received a phone call or a quicker resolution of our problem. Of course, I can't be sure that this was because of the FAXes, but it felt like it. The Embassy told us we were one of twelve couples in France who were having the visa process delayed because of the new law.

Anyway, Jube finally received the appointment for the visa interview last week. He went to the doctor, who checked him out and found him lacking in one vaccine, quickly administered. The next day he headed to the Embassy, where he was asked a few questions about my family, his family, and Norfolk, and they said he'd receive the visa in the mail in a few days. He has it now, so he can come to the US at any time! Now the question is, one way ticket or round trip? The round trip tickets are apparently much cheaper, but would that be strange for entering the country as an immigrant?

In any case, I am thrilled that he will be able to make it by our planned wedding date (November 5) and I'm trying to be busy finishing up homework before he gets here. I just can't wait to have some company in my little apartment!



*I basically agree with this law, since it is focused on the problem of mail-order brides (anyone remember that CSI episode where the Russian girl was killed by her husband because she wanted to exercise her rights and divorce him? Yeah, this law is against that!).

Plus ca change...

Hi again everyone! I'll have been in Norfolk for a week at about 4:30 tomorrow afternoon. I've been doing lots of stuff, like finding a graduate assistantship, moving into my house, getting my student ID, and (joy of all joys) getting a replacement social security card.

You see, before I moved to France two years ago, I put my social security card in a safe place so I wouldn't lose it abroad. Unfortunately, I have now forgotten where that safe place was, so I didn't have my card. This wouldn't really be a big deal, except that the guy who takes care of the tax forms in my department is a freak and demands more than the government wants (sound familiar, anyone?). He wouldn't accept my passport, drivers license, and birth certificate, and had no sympathy for my carless state. I had to get a taxi to drive me 20 minutes to the Social Security Office in Norfolk. Both of my taxi drivers took the scenic route, so I got to see lots of pretty houses along the way, and some things that made me smile: the Social Security Office is on Robin Hood Road, and we passed Sherwood Forest Elementary school on the way out there.

When I walked into the office, I had a pleasant feeling towards American bureaucracy, despite my present troubles with the Office of Homeland Security regarding Jube's visa. The kind old police officer at the information desk directed me to the correct room to get a replacement social security card, after having signed a paper and checking my ID. My mood was a bit dampened when I entered the room only to find an almost exact replica of the Prefecture in Nice: rows of seats filled with people, and enough crying babies to rival the foreign affairs office. Now, I know that the Social Security Office has more babies than other bureaucratic places in the US, because they all need to have a number assigned to them, but it's definitely annoying to sit next to a one-year-old who keeps touching your book.

I even got to hear a fight between a young woman and a mother. The young woman had called one of her friends on her cell phone, nearly deafening those around her, screaming about a fight she had had the night before, "and I don't know what the fuck she wanted, but she fucking hit me right in the head. Shit! That bitch don't know what kinda shit she got herself into!" The mother asked her to please use less curse words, but either the young woman didn't hear or didn't care. Finally the security guard had to intervene, and the young woman left before her number was called.

Once that was finished, I went back to finish filling out the papers for my job, where the secretary kept me for about half an hour longer than she had to. Oh well, at least I'm used to waiting now.

Also, when I was in France, I kept thinking about how flirtatious the men were. For example, when I went parasailing, I didn't have my swimsuit. The employee said, "No problem, you can borrow mine," with a big grin at his baggies. Well, I have discovered that in the American South, it's pretty similar. Today I had a man compliment my skirt while I was at an ATM; the employee taking my picture for my student ID said, "It'll be great, you're pretty!"; and at the Social Security Office, as I moved past people to find an empty seat, one of the men said, "I know you ain't that fat!" Luckily, after two years in France, it doesn't faze me at all.

So those are my impressions of the US so far. It's different than I remember it, but maybe that's just because I've absorbed other customs in France. I felt really uncomfortable, for example, when the bagger bagged my groceries for me and then helped me take them outside. On the other hand, everyone is super nice, like my teller at the credit union who found out about my wedding and told me about her 13-year-old daughter while I was opening my new accounts. I felt strange that she was sharing so much personal information, and I had to tell myself that it's just like that in America!

What a Week!

I know that I haven't posted during the week for two weeks, but I think I'll have more time now. I finished late Monday through Thursday and started early every day of the week, going to the Prefecture and waiting for them to tell me to leave. On Tuesday, the crowd rebelled, with people shouting and pushing and shoving. The security guards were called and since there was a troublemaking American right in front of me (Faites votre travail! he would shout in a heavy accent--Donnez un ticket!), I was physically pushed out of the room. Finally on Thursday, after arriving at 7:00am (when the parking lot opened) and waiting for four hours, I was allowed to talk to the workers. What did she do for me? After a week of telling me that they no longer stamped the prolongations onto the forms, she went in the back and stamped it for me.

As I walked away, I heard a woman screaming "Je vais la tuer! I'm going to kill her!" The police ran past me towards the cave. Yippee. I'm going back in 3 months.

Luckily Friday was much better. I worked a long, but normal day (9am-5:30pm) and then picked Jube up after his conseil de classe. We ate Mexican food and went to see Capote. As I was looking up the times for the movie, I didn't know what they had changed the name to for the French public. I headed to the French Google and typed in "capote," and received the strangest responses--I had forgotten that in French, capote is slang for condom! Oops! But, although I was a little bit nervous, I finally found the new name (Truman Capote, wow, what a difference!) by typing in "capote film."

My Life Isn't All Prefecture...

I forgot to mention what Jube and I saw on Friday after we finished our hours of line-waiting confrontations at the Prefecture. We drove back into town where we saw a huge line of teenagers outside of a museum on the Promenade des Anglais. We parked the car nearby and walked by, wondering what they were all waiting for (since we had just finished our own experience). We threw out some ideas:

"It's spring break time in the US. Maybe they're a group of high school students waiting to go into the Museum."

"Maybe there's a star who's giving a concert tonight and they want her autograph."

As we passed, we heard groups of young girls singing the latest pop hits--notably "Aimer jusqu'a l'impossible."

"I know what it is!" said Jube. "It's the auditions for Star Academy!"

Our idea was confirmed by a woman who told us that the kids had been waiting "since this morning."

I thought that the kids must be happier than I had been just a half an hour earlier at the Prefecture, but as we continued along the road, we saw a girl sobbing, tears rolling down her face. "He could have at least listened to me sing!" she cried, heartbroken.

Three Days at the Prefecture

My carte de séjour (something like a French green card) expires on Saturday. Hmm, in fact, that's not true--the proof that I have applied for a carte de séjour expires on Saturday, because they haven't made the actual carte de séjour in the six months after I applied for it. (I've already had to renew it once before, and it was very quick--a trip to the Prefecture, and they stamped the back of my receipt for 3 more valid months.) I woke up early on Wednesday and drove in to the Prefecture and waited in line for about a half an hour before a worker announced that they weren't giving any more tickets out and that we should all go home. A bit disappointed, I went to work and set my alarm clock earlier for the next day.

Thursday morning I woke up and drove to the Prefecture--again. I waited in line--again. But this time I waited for two hours before the same worker announced that she wasn't giving out any more tickets. I decided to try my chances at the front desk, even though I knew I wouldn't receive a ticket--but then, I thought that I didn't need a ticket, because the last time they had renewed it with the crunch of a stamp. However, the woman behind the desk (the same one who had told us all to go home) told me that I would have to come back on Monday with all of my papers and they would make me a new receipt. ("But last time you just stamped it," I said. "I don't do that anymore," she answered.) After two and a half hours on my feet, surrounded by screaming babies, line cutters, and innumerable foreign languages, I had accomplished nothing, and I no longer had the right to work. I made it to the car before I started bawling.

When I say I bawled, I want you to know that I didn't cry. I cry a lot. The first question my mother asked me when I wore contact lenses for the first time was whether they hurt when I cried. I once cried in front of the family because Jube read me a local newspaper article about a little dog who had been poisoned by some mean hoodlum. I even cried when I first came to Nice and realized that it's not the same city as Montpellier. I say this because the tears that came out of my body on Thursday were not the same as my normal drizzle. I sobbed and screamed and had to use lots of tissues before I could leave the parking lot at the Prefecture.

Now that I read my depiction of the Prefecture, my breakdown doesn't seem very merited. You have to understand--the section for the "foreigners" is all the way at the back, like a cave, filled with red metal chairs and a long, long, never-ending line that starts at a desk set in the back of the cave with a door behind it. Postulants from the line go up to the desk, and the Women (I don't know why the workers are primarily women, but they are) receive each immigrant like he is a 3-year old child who has some unreasonable request that is basically impossible to fulfill, but maybe, just maybe, if he has all of the required papers, She can give him a ticket and he can go sit in a red metal chair and wait for another hour before another Woman looks at his papers again and gives him another paper in exchange--and suddenly, he can work. While you're in line, you have to stand as close as possible to the person in front of you, or someone will try to cut (I've seen it happen). Everyone smells bad after about a half an hour because of the close conditions, and because the cave is kept at a very high temperature. Since no one knows how long the process will take, most immigrant women come with their children, who scream and cry and run around the cave. Sometimes the Women disappear behind their door for fifteen minutes at a time. The line moves around while we talk to each other, wondering if the Woman will come back, or if she's preparing to tell us all to leave.

I went back to the Prefecture today, with Jube, hoping that we could figure out exactly why my request was refused. Basically, there are now new laws concerning immigrants, one of which concerns the stamping of the receipts. This is now verboten, and so everyone whose papers take a long time--that means everyone--needs to come back and have a new receipt printed off for them. For that, we need a ticket. To get a ticket, we need to arrive (at the latest) at 8:00am, an hour before the Prefecture opens. And that's why I cried.

The most touching moment at the Prefecture: An old Moroccan man interrupts me while I'm reading a book. "Mademoiselle, would you mind filling in this paper for me?" I don't understand why he's asking me, exactly, but I explain that the paper is really easy--he just needs to write his name, date of birth, and nationality and then sign it. "But Mademoiselle," he says to me with a little smile, "I don't know how to write." I fill in the short form and show him where to sign. He thanks me profusely and heads off to another part of the Prefecture. The young man behind me catches my eye, and we smile together--a brief smile before we are sucked back into the stress of waiting.

The most bizarre moment at the Prefecture: While I'm sitting on a red metal chair and gazing blankly in front of me, a young man pushes past me and approaches Jube. I can't hear what they're saying to each other, but I notice that the seat of the young man's blue jeans are full of fashionable holes. I look up at Jube's face in time to hear him say, "Oui, j'ai compris"--"Yes, I understand." The young man scowls and then stalks to the back of the line. "What was that?" I ask Jube. "He told me that if I didn't let his girlfriend go in front of us, he would give me a knuckle sandwich!" he responded incredulously.

Back in the USA

I know, I know, no post for 3 days, but I've just been so busy!

Quick summary? Busy relaxing, eating, watching movies, and visiting Virginia tourist attractions. In fact, I multitask--I can relax, eat, and watch a movie all at the same time! On Saturday, Jube and I arrived after an epic plane trip to a warm house with baked potatoes and broiled steaks. On Sunday we toured Luray Caverns, where we got to hear "real rock music," played by an organ with mallets that strike stalactites. On Monday we saw King Kong, and today we went to Border's. In depth? See below.

Epic Plane Trip: About six weeks ago, our travel company called to tell us that our flight was cancelled. Refund? 3-4 months. In fact, all itineraries leaving from Montpellier were cancelled. Could we leave from another city? Oh well, I suppose that we could swing things so that you can leave from Marseille. At 6:00 in the morning. That means you have to wake up at 3:30am? Well, you'd better choose this way or your whole trip is cancelled. We accepted this without (much) complaint and showed up at 5:30am at the train station of Marseille the day of the trip--only to find that the SNCF had no record of our ticket. We had to buy last-second tickets up to Paris to catch our flight, then wait in line for an hour to get boarding passes, then wait for 20 minutes in a security line. Then we waited for another half an hour to take off, since the ticket counters were so backed up. (And a female security officer patted me down, randomly, I suppose: Je vais vous controller, mademoiselle.) Arrival in the US was much better than expected, since Jube came through immigration almost as fast as I did. When we got home, we ate good food and went to bed soon after.

On Sunday, we woke up and my mom decided that we would visit Luray Caverns. When I was young, I adored visiting the caverns! The magic had worn off slightly this time, but we still had a good time listening to our guide's southern accent (he called the caverns "cavruns" for the entire hour). That evening we ate barbecue and watched French Kiss. I was really disappointed this time around because I noticed easily that Kevin Kline has an accent when he speaks French!

Yesterday we spent the morning deciding which movie we wanted to see. My mother and I wanted to see Pride and Prejudice, while my brothers favored King Kong--and Jube wasn't enthusiastic about anything, besides enthusiastically against Pride and Prejudice. We ate Mexican food for lunch and then went to see King Kong. Boy oh boy was that a long movie! For dinner we ate sushi and lobster bisque. Yum.

Today has been even more low-key than the others. We went to Border's in the morning where I read Glamour; then we went grocery shopping. Jube and I are going to cook dinner tonight--rougail saucisse. Yum. If anything interesting happens this week, I'll be sure to let you know!

I'm Comin' Home . . .

For Christmas.

Hooray!

I don't know if I've mentioned it on here before, although I know I've talked about the New Year's Eve wedding I will be attending. It's in Pennsylvania! I'm going to be visiting a town I've never been to before! Besides that, I will be opening lots of little presents at Christmas. The Christmases I've spent in France were really fun. La Belle-Famille is very welcoming, and I have experienced all the French holiday traditions: escargots, oysters, the crèche under the tree, the TV bloopers on New Year's Eve . . . But nothing compares to my childhood memories of stockings, fireplaces, the crèche on top of the TV, and our traditional Christmas Eve dinner of coldcuts and Californias.

I also absolutely love unwrapping surprises, which just can't happen in Jube's family. Everyone knows what they will get, and they only get one thing. That's fine if you want one big present--but I also love unwrapping my mother's practical gifts. We always receive toothbrushes, deoderant, and underwear, although she stopped giving feminine hygiene products after one ended up in my brother's stocking (he was extremely disappointed!). Jube doesn't understand that I want a surprise for Christmas. Every year, I try to give him hints, but he doesn't remember them. By the end of November, he is actually asking me outright what I want, and if I don't tell him, he gets upset. I know that Jube really loves me and cares about me because he can't stomach the idea of giving me a gift I might like only a little bit. But I like the surprise just as much! [Of course, he has also seen the home videos of my 10-year-old self almost breaking down in tears on Christmas morning because my step-father gave me clothes! It was a really good idea, but badly timed--one year later and I would have been overjoyed. And of course it was all caught on camera . . .]

In order to go back to the States, I had to get my papers in order. That means: a trip to the Prefecture. Ugh. In September, I had received a récipissé allowing me to work, and expiring in December. I was told to come back two months later to pick up the permanent resident card. I waited a bit longer to give them more time, and made the decision to venture back today. Yesterday we called them to make sure we knew the opening times. The first time we called, we were told that they were open between one and two pm, but "why are you asking? The times are written on the récipissé." Uhh, no, they weren't. We decided to call back again to clarify this, and were given a totally different response: "You are not to come back unless you have received a convocation in the mail." By this time, I was ready to cry and I hadn't even been to the Prefecture yet. It didn't seem to be shaping up as the best bureaucratic trip ever.

We arrived at around 1:15pm, and waited in the relatively short (!) line. When it was our turn, I opened my mouth to speak, and this came out: "Bonbonjour madadame, je mumble mumble carte de séjour mumble mumble a pas recu une convocation mais mumble mumble." Jube looked at me, horrified. He quickly took over and explained that all we wanted to do was pick up my resident card. No, it wasn't ready yet, but they extended my récipissé, which is just as good (except that it means we have to go back in another 3 months). I couldn't believe myself--even if the Prefecture experience isn't bad, I manage to create my own problems. After that harrowing linguistic experience, Jube got his international driving license with no problems, and we came back home. I just want my family to know what I went through for them. Maybe they can buy me some presents to make up for it!

Papers, papers...

I have been dealing with lots of papers recently. It all started last Tuesday, when Jube and I headed to the Prefecture. Why Tuesday? Jube starts work at 11:00am on Tuesdays. Since the last time I was at the Prefecture I waited in line for 2 hours just to ask a question, we decided that the fastest way to get it would be to show up early. The building opens to the public at 9:00am. We arrived at 8:00, and there were already about 15 people in line before us. We were waiting at the gates that encircle the bureaucratic complex. We watched hundreds of employees arrive, not even glancing at the poor suppliants waiting outside. At 8:45, the gates opened automatically. The first few in line sprinted to the next barrier while the rest of us followed (without letting anyone pass us, of course!) more leisurely. We waited the final quarter of an hour pressed up against each other. Finally a security guard unlocked the door to the Prefecture, and everyone rushed inside. The most desperate were, like me, the immigrants. The system is:

Open Hours: 9:00am-2:30pm, no one new accepted inside after 12 noon unless with a letter or ticket. How do you get a ticket? You wait in line until you reach the two workers who look at your documents and approve your passage to level two: Actual Contact with those who create residency permits, etc. BUT, if you arrive without a specific document, then you are banished for the day.

So that's why I actually ran down the hallway to the foreign affairs line with the others, as Jube went to make last-minute photocopies. Luckily I had to wait about 5 minutes, in which period of time Jube was able to finish the copies and meet me back in line. When we finally got to the desk, we miraculously had all of the necessary documents and were issued a number, which was called in about five more minutes. So at 9:15, we were free to go, and I had the receipt that proves I can work in France legally.

I was so pumped from the no-tears approach to French bureaucracy I decided to try my hand at actually finding a job! Jube and I went to the Rectorat on Thursday to see if there were any open assistantship positions. Unfortunately, the head of the program was not there, so we left my precious CV, lettre de motivation, and photocopies of my brand new workin' papers and went back home. I admit to a bit of disappointment at not getting a job immediately. We will call soon and harass the program until they give me a position.

When we got home, I received a huge letter in the mail from the Department of Health of the Department of Alpes-Maritimes. More papers! This was a very depressing one to fill out, since I had to admit to everyone that I was sans emploi (that's right: UNEMPLOYED!). I managed to find all of the numbers and references asked for, and I will relinquish my carte vitale in order to get a new one. We'll see how long it takes.

And that was my week in Papers.

The Decision

It looks like I'm headed to Nice tomorrow. I guilted myself into it with a little bit of help from the belle-famille. Stay tuned for my return (for one night) to Gallargues le Montueux, because afterwards we might have a bit of trouble getting our DSL hookup. Why? Let's just say that the last time we got DSL, we waited two months before we could finally log on. (Jube says I'm too nice--it was more like four months according to him.)

It all has to do with the politics of the telephone here in France. For years and years all telephone service was provided by France Telecom, which even today still has the monopoly on landlines (it runs you 13€99 a month for a dial tone). Then they charge you by the minute to make any telephone call at all, something like 0€03 a minute for local, and running as high as 0€36 to call a cell phone. Recently the phone service was privatized, so you can get much cheaper deals by paying another company to handle your calls--while still paying 13€99 for your telephone line, of course. What does this have to do with DSL? France Telecom has its own DSL service, which is not the cheapest. It is, however, the most convenient. To get DSL at your house, you must have a technician come to your house. This technician is a France Telecom employee, no matter what company you use. Get it? They can make you wait as long as possible. It's not the fault of the company you're using, it's France Telecom's fault. And lots of people give up on the cheaper DSL just to get some internet action at the house. We'll see what happens this time around...