Wednesday, 7 February 2018 to Monday, 12 February 2017
Now you may be wondering why we find ourselves back in France, and more specifically, why in the midst of winter. And I can understand your concern; I would also have questioned such insanity. But, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. You may recall that we were issued with our French visas – while we were in Bangkok – which were valid from mid March 2017 for one year.

On our arrival in France at the time we went through the OFII (Office français de l’immigration et de l’intégration) process to ensure that the visa stays valid for one year and thus received residency for that year. If one wishes to attempt a renewal of the residency to stay on for a second year, you have to apply to the prefecture where you are living for such extension, roughly two months before the existing one expires.

So yes, we were back in France to attempt the renewal of our residence permit for another year. The application for the second year works slightly different from the first. Last year we had to complete a host of documents for the OFII, go for a medical, and after all was said and done, we received a vignette pasted on the flip side of our visa in our passports, denoting that we were legal aliens in France.

When extending the residency after the first year you receive a French residence card which negates I guess the need to carry around your passport with you. Not that I ever carry my passport with me in any case, but I guess I should.

We completed our residency formalities in Montpellier last year but this year decided to visit my old friend Philippe and his family in Brittany, and this is where we would apply for our extensions. We had never been to Brittany before and everything I have ever read and heard about it was good, so the decision wasn’t hard to make to head out there. But, Brittany is cold and it does rain a lot here, more than any other region in France, Normandy to the north coming in a close second I guess.

And this was how we landed in Guingamp and this is why we were heading to Saint-Brieuck – on this cold and rainy Wednesday morning – it being the main prefecture for the Department Of Cotes d’Armor and thus the only one that processes residency extensions.

On our way to Saint-Brieuc we picked up Xavier – whose English is very good – who would act as our translator should the need arise. After our exploratory visit to the Montpellier prefecture last year and our run-in with the lady there, we were sure we would find resistance to our unworkable French. We were very grateful for Philippe and Lucie offering us the services of their offspring, but truth be told, Xavier offered us his services even before the parents got involved. How cool are these people!

We got to the prefecture in our (read Philippe’s) car at around 10:00 and we were advised of a wait time of around 2.5 hours, which is less than what we expected. We sat in the waiting area watching the number on our piece of paper creeping ever nearer to the one displayed on the electronic board on the wall. It was just after two hours that we were summoned into the office of the power that be.

After the niceties of a bonjour and a comment ca va I ran out of French. After a feeble “Parle vous Anglais?” she motioned with her thumb and index finger “a tiny bit”. The lady behind the desk could not have been nicer. She scrutinized all our documents, handed me back our completed visa application forms – which were not required – and started tokkeling (typing) away on her system. One lesson I had learned was to make 100% sure your paperwork is 100% correct, which generally places the officials in a better mood. The documentation was parfait and with an “un instant s’il vous plait” she disappeared and 10 minutes later returned with more documents clutched in her hands.

She handed us our temporary residence extension papers, valid until 10 September, to be used while we wait for the residence cards to be processed. Enquiring how long it would take she just shrugged her shoulders, maybe a month, maybe three months, maybe six months, it was now out of her capable and in the hands of the higher powers that be. But, in the meantime, we were legal aliens in France for the next six months. Merci beaucoup!

It was around midday that we completed our application process. I asked Xavier whether he wanted something to eat, he was looking rather faint. And his reply? “It is 12 o’clock, I am French, I am hungry, I must eat!” And that perfectly summed up the French’s approach to lunch. Between 12:00 and 14:00 most shops and businesses are closed for lunch, the only ones doing brisk business of course are the restaurants, cafes, bars, brasseries, bistros, patisseries… everyone is out having a plat du jour (plate of the day, single dish) or for the more hungry, the menu du jour. The latter would normally consist of a starter, main course and a dessert, or it may be limited to a combination of a starter and main course, or main course and dessert, the choice is yours.

Be as it may, we ended up at a cafe come patisserie and had ourselves a plat du jour which happened to be a tarte tonne (tuna quiche) for Xavier and me and a feta and spinach tarte, for Adri which had a very large salad attached to it. Beers and wine were called for and were consumed in good order. During lunch the day’s proceedings were discussed and it felt rather liberating to have completed the process without any hitches… somehow it seemed too easy?

Thursday we had to face further authorities. We had to apply for our l’assurance maladie (health insurance) which automatically also provides you with a la sécurité sociale nombre (social security number). We tried this process in Sete last year and failed, dismally, we were later told that we could not apply for such within the first three months of residency. We then tried in Marseille and failed, dismally, we were not there long enough to sort out all the documentary requirements. We then didn’t try in Lyon as we would have failed, dismally; we were also not going to be there long enough.

So you can understand our trepidation when we entered the l’assurance maladie offices in Guingamp. But trepidation turned to anguish and cold raw fear after pronouncing in French that I do not speak French and asking whether the assistant spoke English. The lady repeated my mantra in reverse… She did not speak English, but do I speak French perhaps? I should have seen that one coming from afar, but she assisted us ably between her 95% French and 5% English, and our reverse of that. She shuffled some papers to and fro and finally declared, “parfait!” (perfect!). Somehow it seemed too easy?

The papers are sent away somewhere for processing at a central regional location, probably Saint-Brieuck, so now we would just have to wait, not sure for exactly what, but wait… It was about two weeks later that I received a letter containing my temporary social security number, but Adri’s seemed to have been missing on action. We decided to wait a few more days and would you believe, Adri also received a letter. Only thing is, it was not her social security number, but rather a letter requesting her to provide a document stating that the two of us were together as a couple, and for exactly how long that had been the case.

The very next day we provided the requested info and it was three weeks later that we received Adri’s temporary social security number. Somewhere during this waiting period I noticed somewhere on the web that the Carte Vitale sports a photo of the owner. We never did supply ours, nor were we requested to. So off we were once again to the l’assurance maladie offering recent photos of ourselves but they seemingly only require those at a later stage. But when? Don’t ask, don’t know, time will tell… maybe.

It was a few weeks later, and having by now received both our temporary social security number notifications, we were still not aware of what the next step in the process would be. So we decided to brave another visit to the offices of l’assurance maladie to find out. We came face to face with a man that asked whether we spoke French… “Here we go again”, I thought, but he seamlessly switched to perfect English. I wiped the sweat from my brow, it was cold sweat.

He took my notification, punched my number into his computer, looked slightly surprised and then proceeded to scratch all over my notification, then tore it up and threw it in the dustbin. No seriously. And then he had the audacity to tell me I was lucky! What the … ? But he was right, my temporary number was now invalid, I had been assigned a permanent number which he printed out for me, so all was good. He checked Madame’s and unfortunately she was still temporary. The wheels may turn slowly, but they do turn. And the next step? “Oh, now you wait”, he said in a friendly tone. So, we wait…

With all this up and down trying to get everything organised it was rather essential to have a car and we were so grateful to Philippe for letting us use his car, while he was toiling away in Paris. I am not sure whether he realizes the extent of his generosity and how much this assisted us, and how much it meant to us… Thank you Philippe!

Anyway, back to reality, it was Friday and Friday is market day in Guingamp. It was freezing cold with rain at the ready all the while, but we braved the weather to meet Lucie and Xavier at the market for a walk-around. We were introduced to all the best stalls and advised of which ones not to bother with, always good to get the local knowledge on these things.

It was miserable outside and we were thankful to get home with a bag full of fresh produce. The winter Olympics was just getting underway. We had missed the opening ceremony so we watched a replay of that… stunning stuff. And soon enough Adri put that bagful of fresh produce to good use; supper was filled with the freshest of veggies imaginable.

By Saturday morning we knew that we needed to expand our French vocabulary and we have run into a brick wall with the free app called Duolingo. While Duolingo served us well and did teach us a number of words and phrases, we needed something more, something better… we decided to invest in Babbel.

I downloaded the app from the Apple Store and signed up for three months which would enable us to give it a good test and evaluate whether it would be worth continuing with subsequently. It was only later on that I realized, if you sign up directly on the Babbel web site, you get it for about 25% cheaper. I immediately cancelled my automatic renewal on Apple. Should we decide to sign up for a further period it will be directly with Babbel, and not with the greedy Apple.

We were just finishing up our very late breakfast when there was a knock on the door. I looked at Adri, she mirrored my blank stare right back at me. We were not expecting anyone, so this was a mystery guest, and it was. As the door creaked open I was faced by a smiling older lady with something steaming in her hands. She handed the steam to me which turned out to be four scorching hot Turkish breads, fresh from the oven.

After we thanked her profusely she disappeared around the corner, it was the mother of out landlord, Emre, who stays upstairs. Wow, what a surprise. We finished off one of those breads with the last morsels of our breakfast; the other would have to wait to be abused at supper with our pea soup that was in the making.

We spent the cold day inside, switching between watching the Winter Olympics and the Six Nations rugby matches. First it was the Ireland/Italy game which Italy was never going to win, and then it was England versus Wales. I dearly wanted Wales to win but alas, too much pointless kicking – just like South Africa – cost them the game, just like South Africa.

And this reminded me of the woeful display of mediocrity by the Springboks last year. At least SA Rugby had now fired coach Alistair Coetzee who presided over the decline of the once proud Springboks. Now they just need to ensure that they bring the best possible coach into the fold to ensure my sanity and support of the Boks. Somebody like Rassie Erasmus perhaps?

We spend a lazy Sunday morning at home and at around midday we took a drive east towards the coast. We reached Saint-Quay-Portrieux, then we drove a short way north to Fonteny and then headed down south along the coast to Beaumont and finally to beautiful Binic. And what a lovely town Binic proved to be, I could easily hang up my boots here.

 

 

 

Call me reckless, or call me old, but Monday – almost 10 days into our return to France – was the first day that I woke up feeling totally refreshed, after our hectic start to this trip. It felt great!

We had a relaxing day out and about and late afternoon I picked Xavier up for drinks at the La Glycine Bar where we watched rugby with Philippe a week or so ago. With beers in hand we crept upstairs to where the pool table is situated. We inserted the required coin but the balls were not forthcoming. The owner came to assist, nonchalantly giving the table a bash and a bump after which the balls came rolling out. Sometimes a bit of aggression does help.

We were just finishing up our first game when two friendly yobs walked in. While waiting for our second game to finish they elected to play darts. But, soon enough they got bored with hitting the dart board and started aiming at posters and whatnot hanging from the wooden walls. This is the only reason I call them yobs, they were actually rather friendly chaps.

We finished up our game and finished up our last beers downstairs. A wonderful time spent with a delightful young man.