Monday, April 26, 2010

Red Tape à la française

After reading Chapter 15 on bureaucracy, I was really shocked with how simple (yes, simple) some of the American bureaucratic processes are. Having moved to France which is (arguably) the most bureaucratic country on the planet, I can attest first-hand to the ridiculous and old-fashioned immigration policy.

Before leaving for France, I was required to fill out several visa applications. Not several forms, but several copies of the exact same application. Of course I needed to documents such as my birth certificate - translated in French. With my capacity in French, I could have translated a simple birth certificate myself, but it needed to be official. I paid over $100 for a (poor) but acceptable translation, approved by the notary public. I sent in my passport and application with all supporting documents, but my package was returned a couple of weeks later! Turns out - following a change of policy - I needed my work visa approved in France before obtaining a visa from the Consulate General of France in Los Angeles. Also, due to my proximity to Los Angeles (Phoenix?) I was requested to apply in person. With only a few weeks left before leaving for France, I had to have my employer in France fill out three employment contracts. Due to a shortage of time, she had to forge my signature on all three copies and get an official "stamp" from the French Department of Labor on all forms. She then had to rush a copy to me so that I could include it with my visa application.

With all documents in hand, I drove to Los Angeles only a week before leaving for France. I had to pay about $90 for the processing of my visa, and I was given a temporary three-month visa. I To avoid an illegal or irregular situation in France, I had to go to the police préfecture within my first three months in France.

I will never forget the first time I went to the préfecture in Nice, France. So many immigrants, fighting to get a good place in line. When the police officer opened the gates to the préfecture at 8am, crowds of young Africans began to push women and children to the ground... there was no order, and only the youngest and strongest made it to the front of the line. When I finally got to the window, after waiting 5 hours, my picture was taken, and my visa and passport were examined. I had to pay another hefty fee, and I was given a very flimsy piece of paper - a receipt - to serve as my residency card. I was promised a residency card in a few weeks.

About two months later, I received a letter in the mail. In order to get my official residency card, I had to go to a neighboring city (about 30 miles away) and attend an all-day presentation on what it "means to be French." After the presentation, I had to pay a medical fee, and I had to undergo a health exam. I was told that upon completion of the medical exam, I could simply walk to the préfecture and get my residency card.

The card was never there. I left France a few days later. What a mess!

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