SNL skit or my real life? Sketch 4: Pardon madame, my "b".

When we arrived in France in November and opened the suitcases we'd sent way back last August, it felt like Christmas morning for all but one thing.  Between the children's books and winter clothes, I found a single sheet of paper: the detailed directions for how to properly file our paperwork with the OFII - the French office of immigration and integration.  This was a heart-sinker because a fuzzy cloud of confusion surrounded the OFII form for us.

Image found in online search.

The French embassy website, and the OFII form itself, were both very clear that we'd run into serious problems for not turning it in, yet when I tried to include the form with our second visa application at the end of September, it was handed back to me by the angry man within the stack of papers he deemed superfluous.  Just outside the embassy immediately after the appointment, I realized I still had the OFII form, so I quickly returned to ask why it wasn't taken.  Without explaining, the angry man acted like it wasn't important, but took it anyway.  When we eventually received our visas in the mail, not only was the OFII form not returned to us in the envelope, as the website and form directions clearly state, but we were given no further information or direction replacing this very-necessary-sounding step, with very-undesirable-sounding consequences (you know, colossal fines and/or jail time) if we failed to follow through.

In our apartment here in France, I skimmed over the OFII form directions to find any insight into the situation.  Perhaps if the form isn't returned to you, you're off the hook?  Nothing mentioned such an easy out.  Instead, I learned that as soon as the form was received by the OFII office, we would begin a process that could take up to a couple months to finish, and the entire process must be completed within three months of arrival.

So what could I do?  Everything in me wanted to ignore the direction page, blaming the French embassy for not returning our form if we got into trouble.  But, being a mature adult now, that just didn't seem wise, so I gathered the best confidence and patience I could muster and emailed the good ol' French embassy in Washington DC.  Beginning the subject line with the word, "URGENT", I got the quickest response ever, an email appearing in my inbox only two hours and forty-eight minutes later (though since I wasn't expecting such a swift reply, I didn't check email again for a couple days).  Here is the actual response I received:

Dear Madam, 

A long stay visa "temporaire" 4 months has been given to you. For such visa, you don't have to go to the OFII. 

Best regards, 

Visa section
CGF Washington

4... what?  But the dates clearly printed on our visas were "du/from 27-10-17 au/to 27-10-18".  Did they mean four months within one year?  Why didn't they communicate this to us?  I just sat and stared at the screen, wracking my brain for any memory of interaction with the visa section that would help me understand this shocking information.  I re-read the short and sour message over and over to be sure what I was seeing.  I may have yelled, "NO!" a bunch of times.  My brain attempted to formulate possible options of how we could stay in France for the duration of the apprenticeship, but there was no obvious low-hanging fruit.  And above all, my heart sank to my feet because we were here, we made it across the ocean with all our stuff, and now with a new home all set up, we were settling in.  This was confusing and terrible news.

The above email response re-sparked our restless wonder: what was really going on behind the scenes of the French embassy?  A kind of anxious conspiracy had begun to grow in our minds after our two experiences applying for the visa.  What was the real reason we were denied the first time?  Did the angry man not take our OFII form with our second application on purpose?  Then did he shred it instead of add it to our file as soon as we left?  After all, we knew our case was a bit of a square peg in a round hole.  Maybe they just didn't want to deal with it.

A freighter is an affordable way
to travel, and uses less fossil fuels
than an airplane.
Image found in online search.

On the bright side of all this, we can't help but look forward to a one month boat ride home, west across the Atlantic on a freighter departing from Bremerhaven in mid-March, even if it's eight months sooner than we planned.  The stars will be amazing, and maybe we'll see whales and dolphins!

Just kidding, keep reading!  This story has a happy ending!

After getting advice from several folks in the community, weighing out our options, and making plans to go to the Mairie (town hall) to try to apply for some other sort of residency permit, Nico and I decided to email the embassy back for more information.  Namely, we asked how we were supposed to know we were only given a four month visa when we requested a year, and the dates on the visa itself were for one year.  This second query was again answered with a remarkably quick reply - five hours and six minutes later:

Madam,
the visa is indeed for one year (sorry there was a typo in our last answer). It remains however that a "visa de long séjour temporaire" do not need the OFII; you are allowed to stay in France for the duration of the visa and then need to leave the country.
Sincerely 

Embassy of France
Visa Section

Upon reading this news, I was again left staring at the screen in utter disbelief, but this time with the opposite internal emotions.  Wouldn't "typo" mean spelling "4 months" as "4 moonths"?  Can you claim "typo" when you get someone's majorly important life details completely wrong?!  Well, who cares after all, we're free as birds and butterflies!

It was a baking day, so I printed the email and ran to the boulangerie (bakery) to deliver the humerous news of great joy to Nicolas.  I wanted to call our parents right away, but some quick math told me that at 4am on the US east coast, this was not a good time, even for such a message of freedom.

So, we're here!  We're really here now!!  And to keep the embassy humor equal, how about a quick story of the US embassy in Paris?

Nico and I were approved to drive the community's car if we would do the research and action steps to legally sit behind the wheel.  This, as everything, turned out to be easier said than done.  I discovered online that we need an international driver's licence OR a certified French translation of our Virginia driver's licence.  Opting for the latter, Robert suggested we call the United States embassy, as surely they'd have connections to a certified translator or two.

The closest US embassy is in Paris.  I called them one Wednesday afternoon, just after 2:30pm in case they'd taken on the French custom of a two hour lunch break, sometime between the hours of 11:30am and 2:30pm.  I listened to all the menu items and found one called, "Driving in France".  Perfect!  But it was only a recording of the same information I had read on the internet, so I found my way to the operator.

I began, "Hello, I'm living in France for a year and need to get my driver's license translated..."

"Ok yes, sure, just a minute," the operator responded quickly.

"Thank you," I said to the transfer tones, logically imagining that I was being forwarded to a translator or perhaps someone whose job description includes helping US citizens drive in France.  I was surprised to find the phone answered by the same automated welcome message and menu options I first heard.  "Hmmm..." I groaned and listened to all the options again in case one was obviously useful.  Finding none, I pressed the buttons to go back to the operator.  She didn't answer and the call hung up.  Wondering if she had caller ID or had just stepped away, I decided to try again.  When she answered, I attempted a more straight-forward tack, "Hello, I need a certified English-French translator..."  But she broke in again, "Yes, just a minute," and transferred me again to the menu options!

"What? No." I told the friendly automation and called the operator a fourth time. Assuming caller ID, I dove in quickly when she answered, "Don't send me away! You've sent me to the menu twice and I don't know what to do with it.  What menu option do you recommend for a French translator?"

"Just send an email to the embassy," she answered, ready to move on.  Which begs the question, why didn't she tell me this in the first place?  I prefered to talk to a person to solve this problem rather than use the internet, in favor of human-to-human interactions and more concrete life experiences, the same reason that frequent computer use is discouraged here at the Ark.  In addition, reflecting on my recent attempts to email embassies about non-urgent topics, I was encouraged to pry a little harder.

"Internet is hard for me to get to," I replied, "are there any certified English/French translators at the embassy, or that the embassy recommends?"  This flustered the poor woman.  "Listen, I don't have that kind of information, I'm the operator. You have to send the embassy an email."  Since I had hoped she would have that kind of information because she was the operator, I was a bit disappointed, but decided to drop it and thanked her anyway, wishing her a good afternoon.

Before trying the operator's suggestion, assuming it wouldn't necessarily be as easy as simply sending the embassy an email, I tried a local route to find a certified French translator.  Marion agreed to help me call the Mairie (town hall) to find a local translator, and we compared our schedules to find a time between community rhythms, garden work, naps, and the large swath of time in which the folks at the Mairie would possibly be on lunch break.

We met at 10:40 on a weekday morning, and the Mairie sent us to the Préfecture, who in turn sent us to the Tribunal (court), who had just closed for (an early?) lunch by the time we got to them at 11am.  Marion rolled her eyes and said, "It's always like this. They don't make it easy."  We re-compared our schedules and made another date to call back after the long lunch break.  By then, an automated message answered to say that too many people were calling at this time and the call was dropped.  Marion generously offered to call back later without me and she'd let me know what they said.

US embassy in Paris.
Image found in online search.

Ultimately this route hit a dead end, so I emailed the US embassy after all, having at least tried to connect directly with a person.  And the US embassy answered the same day with a list of recommended translators!  Yay!

So at this point, the path seems clear: call several official translators to get quotes, and then pick one... but who can trust clear paths in the bureaucracy anymore?  We're still en route to figuring this out, hopefully without a 5th SNL sketch... :)