Visa Extension Part II

As you might remember from the first part of this story, the thing to do if you want to extend your student visa is to START EARLY.  Failing that, gather together as many of the requisite documents as you can, and then...lie.  I can tell you to do that because an honest-to-God, real French fonctionnaire told me to. 

I needed to keep my visa to be eligible to work in France.  (Can we get the US an honorary membership in the EU, please?) Apparently prolonging it isn't even an option, which left me with renouvellement,  renewal.  So I showed up on July 4, the day my visa expired, with as many of the documents from the list as I could scrape together. 

After waking up at 6:00 a.m. in order to be on time for my 8:00 a.m. appointment, I stood in line with some other exchange students and Parisians trying to get their drivers' licenses.  When I finally reached the gate keeper fonctionnaire, he promptly sent me away for not having a photo copy of my host mom's Carte d'identité.  Boo hiss.  Failure.  I left in shame and panic.  Six hours, one afternoon wasted waiting for documents that weren't even in the mail yet, and 48 métro stops later, I'm back.  Nevermind that I don't have the merest whisper of a translated birth certificate or proof of enrollment for the upcoming school year; picture of host mom's picture ID in hand, I got a number and - oh boy! - a seat. 

When my number was called I got my first break of the day: my caseworker was a man! not only a man, but a youngish, non-grouchy man! I felt somewhat relieved, but the stress of the day and my still somewhat slim file must have showed on my face.  He smiled, told me to take a seat, and not to look so scared.  He gave me a form to start filling out.

Where was my birth certificate?
"Well, you know, I'm from la Nouvelle Orléans, and there was this hurricane, which really messed up--"
Doesn't matter.  The embassy could write something up in that case.  Next issue: enrollment for this year?
"Well, I'm still deciding whether I want to stay on as an exchange student or enroll directly..."
Questionable.  Was I done filling out the form yet?
"...I think I spelled my name wrong."

And that is the story of how yours truly got a temporary extension, to be replaced by a renewal after a second meeting, currently set for October 3, by which point I'll "have all the documents together." I'm pretty sure my fonctionnaire saw through the little scheme, but he seemed to find me an appealing character, and I was more than ready to be sympatico with him. 

And that seems to be how Paris works: in a town that knocks you down a thousand times a day, you have to give people a reason to smile at you, either by cutting them a break or being the prettiest girl they've seen all afternoon.  Little bits of solidarity in the big, bad city; little glimmers of vulnerability showing through stony don't-fuck-with-me faces.  One of the most appealing qualities of Paris is how human it is, despite all the masterpieces and elaborate grooming, it's still a place that's okay with nudity, emotional and physical, but show some restraint, doucement, doucement. 

How to Prolong a French Long Stay Student Visa / Comment prolonger un titre de séjour étudiant longue durée

Ok, first of all, when I was nearly hysterical and pulling my hair out I couldn't find a satisfactory answer for this online, so I should say that there is probably a simpler way to do this, and if you do want to prolong your student visa, you should DEFINITELY start TWO MONTHS before it expires.  (NB: If you have not yet applied for your visa, be sure to get the full year you are entitled. At the consulate, my interview was with some girl who thought it would be cute to set my visa expiration for Independence Day. Let me tell you, there were no fireworks for me on the 4th, just lots of métro rides and photocopying.)

So, if you are still outside the two final months of your visa, by all means, head for the Préfecture, and you'll probably have little or no trouble with the process I outlined last month. If you are already in that danger zone, hightail it up to Porte de Clignacourt with your passport (secure all of your valuables first) and get ready to stand in line.  What you are going to do now is a little bit tricky.  Luckily, I got a lady who was about to go on holiday and had just had a lovely chat with a cute indie gay couple whom she seemed to know pretty well (fonctionnaires' moods makes all the difference in these instances).  I told her I needed to extend my visa to work for the summer. If my employer had been willing to give me an embauche d'emploi or contract, this all could have been over in 20 minutes, but no...

**NB: Americans can stay in France 90 days past the expiration of their visas.  Your status automatically becomes that of a tourist.  However, tourists can not work or attend school.**

Here's what we did: She gave me an appointment for July 4 (my own personal D-Day) and a list of documents I needed to renew my visa. Extension didn't seem to be an option. The list included:

• Passport, titre de séjour/yellow OFII thing, visa
• *Official* translation of birth certificate into French, 
• Proof of funds - a notarized letter from my parents saying they'd spot me 500 euros a month sufficed (ha! lucky the immigration officials don't know my parents)
• Proof of housing for at least the next 3 months - My host mom wrote an attestation d'hebergement and gave me an electricity bill from within the past 6 months, and it turned out I needed a photocopy of her passport or carte d'identité, too.
• Proof of enrollment and grades from the last school year, 
• Proof of enrollment for the upcoming school year. 

With a wink she told me to say that I had not yet found the program qui me va for the next year. Stay tuned for how the appointment went down.

What's in a Name?

I'm no stranger to nicknames. My dad began calling me Noodle Tzar before I was even sentient. He's explained the genesis of the nickname (it has something to do with a mentally handicapped man selling peanuts at a zoo in New Jersey) but I still don't quite get it. Since then I've been called a number of things - Jenn, Jenny, Fer, Princess, Fugee-La in my dorm after Hurricane Katrina, Jenn Jenn, one acquaintance just straight up started calling me Rachel because he found it fitting. Some of the names I've had in Paris have been a bit harder to swallow.

One flirtatious acquaintance took to calling me "jolie Jennifer," which I enjoyed for a moment, before my refusals lead him to call me an enfant gâtée (spoiled child) and bouffonne. About a month into my stay I was called connasse (if you're really curious, look it up) by a would-be rapist who was scared away by a scream and a sharp elbow. My host mom occasionally calls me "cocotte" or "ma belle," which warm my little heart every time, but recently two new words have invaded my homestay: creuche, or "jughead," and gourdasse, which seems to designate someone who is dumb and/or socially inept. Since these words seem to have been used in reference to me, and because I've always been oversensitive, I've been giving their usage some (read: waaaaaay too much) thought.

Now, every exchange student has to face a few identity issues after arriving in their host country, and personally I think if you don't, you're not doing it right. You get to see yourself in a whole new light, being observed from an entirely fresh perspective. This is especially pertinent in Paris where, franchement, people like to pick fights. For example, both anarcho-boys and a well-heeled historian have said things to the effect of: "Oh, the Communist Manifesto, bet you didn't learn about that in American school." The assumption made me realize that well, yeah, in the US we do tend to disregard this enormously influential system of beliefs, but also I did have to read that in school, please stop thinking of us as a country of ignorant warmongers. If you care what the locals think, the constant discovery of gaps between your perspectives can be frustrating, embarrassing, and just tiresome.

One way to cope is to throw yourself into francophilia with the gusto of an American mouse who has just discovered brie. The other night I passed two girls who were Parisian-beyond-Parisian: topknots on the tippity-tops of their heads, red lipstick, black shorts and tights, ruffled blouses, ballet flats à la Audrey Hepburn. Of course they were American. This is one way to deal with the disconnect, I suppose, if you have enough money to redo your wardrobe over here. For me, I'm not someone who "reinvents" herself; I always wind up back in jeans and v-necks. By contrast, there are plenty of exchange students who eat le Macdo all the time and get uppity when they can't find fish tacos like they used to get back home in California. I am not militantly American, either. I can adjust to eating yogurt as a dessert, to wearing far too many layers for the heat in June, and to sitting down in the curtain-less shower. What I can't adjust to is sounding like an idiot all the time.

And that is not a problem that all exchange students have. Yes, cultural differences and language barriers are present, but they are not insurmountable. My friend Sarah, who was only here for a semester I might add, joined a philosophy discussion group where the members (mostly young, attractive French men, I might also add) were so taken with her they threw a birthday/farewell party in her honor right before she left. Three asked her out on dates. My friend Linda's host mom loved her, I know because Madame told me herself. Le Chef is known by every purveyor of fine foods between Montparnasse and Porte de Clignacourt. And me? Well, I'm awkward in any language.


(Bradley Cooper is fine in any language)

Does that make me a failure as an exchange student? Well, a little bit, yes. I haven't made any close French friends and my French is about as good as Bradley Cooper's. I'm scared to talk to people, same as in English, especially people who seem cool. I stutter and my nose sweats and I try to disengage as quickly as possible. So yes, I see how my cripplingly low self-esteem can make me gourdasse. And that makes me hate myself just a little bit more. Vicious cycle.

So where do I go from here? As much as I want to run away back to America where I can go be awkward in my own language and the people I live with aren't too polite to tell me if they take issue with my comportment, I will continue to try to stay in Paris for the summer. Because Paris is stunningly, heart-wrenchingly beautiful and there is always something fascinating going on. Whether I'm exploring it alone or with a few wonderful, compassionate friends, the city continues to inspire me, to shame me into wanting to be more literary, more open-minded, to have a greater appreciation for history and high quality. If I leave now, feeling gourdasse, I will carry that self-loathing around like I carry so many other regrets. If I stay, find work, maybe I can still leave here with a real sense of accomplishment. So here's to sticking it out, and here's to holding it together. I might be my own worst enemy, but I refuse to give up on myself.

Pays de la Loire: Land of Chateaux

I am behind, but I'll try to catch up a bit today. Last weekend EDUCO took us to Pays de la Loire to visit two chateaux - Chambord (above) and le Chateau de Blois. Since it takes decades to build one of these things, each chateau exhibits multiple architectural styles as well as the symbols (logos?) of multiple sovereigns.

Fireplace at Blois: King Salamander, Queen Ermine (François I, Anne de Bretagne)

Chambord was built as a hunting lodge in the middle of a park the size of Paris. While it is architecturally striking, it's mostly empty these days. Blois, on the other hand, remains richly decorated with paintings and furniture relating to some of the intrigues that took place at the chateau.

Above, the king's bedchamber, where Henri III had the duc de Guise assassinated after inviting him in for a private audience. According to popular legend, he died at the foot of the bed. The painting on the right depicts the scene.

Throne

Staircase at Blois, design attributed to Da Vinci; EDUCOers

Royal Seal, Ceiling of Catherine de Medici's office.

Another scandal: Henri II arranged the royal emblem so that the "H" (Henri) and "C" arranged to form the shape of a "D", for Diane de Poitiers, his mistress, who coincidentally was also 20 years older than him.

Though it was pretty spare inside, Chambord offered some great views:

La vie étudiante

In light of the recent chute of my GPA, I would like to take a moment to comment on the difficulties of adjusting to student life in Paris.

1. Kafkaesque organization

A few weeks ago the elevator at Paris 7 broke. No problem, thought I and my co-exchange students, we are young and able-bodied! We shall take the stairs! No matter that this particular class, Histoire des Livres, meets on the seventh floor. We hiked up there only to arrive at this exquisite metaphor for the exchange student experience:


Yep, you have to pull, upholding the legacy of this masterpiece

Somehow we made it to class. Prying was involved. But that moment was really nothing compared to the process of registering to take the class:

• Step 1) Find a course list. As soon as most French students pick a major, the next three years are laid out for them, with a little leeway for the odd elective. This means that course catalogs are virtually not existent, or at least not readily available. Posted online? Dream on. I think most exchange programs assemble some sort of course list each year or each semester. Take advantage of this.
• Step 2) Verify that the courses that interest you actually exist. 2.A) This involves finding the secretariat of the department offering the course at your university. It could be anywhere in the city. Do not expect one department's staff to know where their "colleagues" in another discipline are located. I recommend Google. 2.B) Once you find the right office, try to go when it is open and - and this is crucial - the courses are posted. This will probably necessitate multiple visits: first to find out the office's hours, then to find out when they'll be posting the courses and when the department's courses start, a visit the day the courses were supposed to be posted, and another the day before the courses start when they are all actually up. Even if they do go up (on the wall, not online) on the specified date, check back the day before the course begins, just in case the room has changed. If you're feeling really brave or masochistic, try asking the secretariat for a list to take home. If she gives it to you, you will be a hero among your fellow study-abroaders

• Step 3) Go to the classes that look interesting and exist. At this point you need to be sure you can understand the professor, won't be expected to read 20 books in 10 weeks, and understand what you'll be graded on.
• Step 4) When you're sure you want to take the class (this pretty much has to be decided by the end of the first meeting), screw up your courage and present yourself to the professor. Ask if you can take the class. Since the system is so rigid and most French kids know what they're taking a year ahead of time, a lot of classes fill up that far in advance. If the professor welcomes you (and you really want him to welcome, not just tolerate you - that will end badly) you are free to register. The semester has officially begun.

2. Grèves

Some of you might remember this post from back in October. We Americans like to joke about the French's willingness to go on strike at the slightest imposition on their liberté, but they do take it very seriously -- or at least the subset of students who blockaded the main buildings of Paris I Panthéon-Sorbonne every Thursday through October did. Teachers responded to this in a variety of ways. Some organized classes at cafés during their courses' regular meeting times, others scheduled Saturday rattrapage sessions after things had calmed down. Mine gave us printed copies of her lecture notes, end of story. We were still responsible for the information at the end of the semester, and I was so scared of missing something I read everything I could find about the skipped classes' topic (seriously, ask me anything about Ethiopia during 19th century), but after three weeks without any kind of class (or even homework) it was a little hard to get back into the History of Sub-Saharan Africa during the 19th Century.

3. Loooong lectures

Facebook has ruined my generation. It's a highly debatable statement, but I think we can at least safely say that in the era of expressing yourself in 140-character tweets, attention spans have definitely shortened. (A word to the professors reading this blog: If your students are taking notes on a computer, they are going to check out their friends' status updates and new profile pictures sooner or later. This isn't a reason to ban laptops in your classroom, if we're going to space out, we're going space out.) In France, where children are trained to do hours of dictation in beautiful handwriting -- seriously, these kids not only highlight but whip out rulers to underline key points while writing down the professor's lecture verbatim -- they are unsympathetic to American's lack of cerebral endurance. Most courses meet for three hours, once a week, which coupled with my next point, means all-out sprints of intellectual effort separated by 6 days of "What classes are you taking?", "Um...let me think."

4. Two notes per semester

Okay, this one is only half a complaint. Do I want to be caged up in Beaubourg doing my devoirs when I could be at any number of parks and free museums? Hell no. But my entire grade for the each class depends on a paper (or worse, an oral presentation) and a final exam, which, much like the almost equally stressful phenomena of mid-terms and finals in America, tend to bunch up within the same two-week period for all classes. After five or six weeks of relatively smooth sailing, the weeks that count can best be described in three syllables that rhyme with fustercluck.

And they post your grades publicly.

5. Ugly, ugly buildings

Most Parisian universities have one or two flagship buildings (the Sorbonne's ancient, domed edifice most famously) from which they have expanded into smaller, often cramped buildings that may or may not be anywhere near the original. Paris 1's main building, with it's yucky concrete courtyard shrouded in cigarette butts and barricades, is the poster child for ugly publicly run higher education, but even at Paris 7's new, modern campus, graffiti is rampant. How it got there is a mystery - the door is almost always locked when I want to get in.

Cultureshock

Okay, one more week and then it's Christmas Break and this blog will get more exciting. For now though, I'm not doing much besides studying, Facebook, and the occasional pastry with friends (which I will post about later).

In honor of exam week, here is a list of a few of the things I have learned this semester:

1. How to navigate les piscines municipales

For 1,70 students can swim as long as they like and take a warm (though not private) shower in a warm building. A proper swimsuit and swim cap is all that's required. Hop under the requisite shower, walk through the foot-cleaning pond, then just pick a lane in the pool. If you bump into someone, just say excusez-moi and swim away.

Warning: Ladies, everyone who works there is male, and they won't knock before entering the locker room (not that there's a door anyway) There are a few private changing rooms, though.

Click here for more info about public pools in Paris

2. Poireaux, fromage de chèvre, St. Honorés, courgette, café espresso - these are a few of my favorite things

Leeks, goat cheese, the most amazing pastry you've ever seen, zucchini/strange pumpkin-looking squash, espresso.

There are books, blogs, paintings, and movies dedicated to french food, so I won't try to sum up my experience with it in this list, but these are some of the things I had never tried before coming here, and now I don't know if I could make it a week without them.

There are some pretty hilarious and wise food bloggers in Paris right now, two that le Chef turned me on to are David Lebovitz and Clotilde.

3. It is never that simple.

It's all about the logic, baby. All of the assignments I've received in my parisian classes have intimidating names - the compte rendu, dissertation, synthese de texte, résumé, explication du texte. What do they all have in common? They all mean, more or less, "read & summarize." No one in France is interested in your interpretation. It's all about the author's logic, and how well you can keep up.

That being said, not all summaries are created equal. The résumé involves summarizing while keeping the tone and point of view of the narrator. The explication du texte hinges on choosing the right 3 examples to demonstrate the thématique of the text. In the compte rendu you do actually get to state what you did or did not like about the text, but you better have a damn good reason why you found it touchant.

Other things that aren't so simple:

• Crossing the street - Why why why would you have the two walk/don't walk signs on either side of the very tiny median on different rhythms??
• Showering - The claw foot tub is beautiful, but I don't have time to run a bath and there's no shower curtain.
• Staying in the country - Searching every tabac in Paris frantically for official stamp - 3 hours; required stamp for immigration documents - 55 euros; printing costs for a housing attestation signed by my host mom to be attached to an electricity bill from the last 6 months- 10 centimes, stress pimples; being ordered to undress before getting pushed against a wall and zapped with radiation by a public health official in the required TB exam - priceless.

4. Franchement, mon chéri, je m'en fous.

This roughly translates as "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," and sometimes, in a crowded, overly complicated city like Paris, it's a necessary sentiment. The French are generally extremely polite, so sometimes it seems to take a willful oblivion to make it through the forced intimacy of the sardine-can metro, past the hoards of beggars (often with strategically cute animals), through the never-ending queues and home safe without having a nervous breakdown. Also handy for when people make fun of your accent, or you've just done something gauche like swimming into that lady at the piscine - What was she doing in my lane, anyway?

5. Parisians are very, very nice.

Sure, they don't smile at random people like we do in some parts of the States, and they don't particularly appreciate it when tourists assume they speak English, but if you brush up your best "Excusez-moi, Monsieur/Madame. Vous parlez anglais?" you'll almost always get what you need. Ask someone for directions and they may very well lead you where you need to be. Look worried/scared or flirtatious/conspiratorial and the world is your oyster. Just be polite.

6. Romance ≠ Love

One of the things many visitors note on arrival in the City of Love is the rampant PDA. That couple making out between the vending machines and the homeless man in the métro station? The ones that look like they'll elope any second? They could be on their third date. The French are in love with Love, and they are more than willing to fake it 'til they make it (and if all those couples in the métro are going home together, they sure make it a lot).

7. The 35-hour work week is a myth.

True, it is hard to fire a French employee, and they do take longer lunch breaks, but most white collar workers don't get home until 8 p.m. these days. They do take vacations and keep their weekends private, but during the work week, it's a little scary.

8. They aren't all that skinny

My first week here I read an article that cited a statistic about France's growing obesity problem. Le snacking as well as le Macdo (McDonald's) have caught on, and by 2020 French obesity rates will probably equal America's. While it's clear that French women do get fat, there are still plenty of Audrey Hepburn lookalikes running around.

Mireille Guiliano is a wealth of advice on how to avoid becoming grosse

9. "Good advice" is highly subjective.

A sample of questions and responses from recent issues of Femina magazine:

Q: My adolescent son's girlfriend showed up at our breakfast table wearing one of his shirts as pajamas! I don't want share my tartines with her! What do I do?

A: Lay down the law, but you and your spouse should consider clearing out once a month to give the young lovers their space. If your son complains, remind him that if the nest is too comfortable, one never leaves it.

Q: My ex, the father of my 6 year old child, refuses to pay any attention to his little girl. This saddens and confuses my daughter, who doesn't understand why her daddy doesn't love her. How do I get him to take an interest?

A: I sense that you aren't really over your ex. The real question here is: Why haven't you found someone else yet? Find a man who can love and take care of both of you, that's the best way to provide a father figure for your daughter.

Le Palais Garnier: Home of l'Opèra National

(Photo stolen from the Internet)

So Educo took us on a field trip last week! The tour guide was very interesting and told us a lot about how Garnier (the architect) created a new style- Napoleon III- and hid references to himself everywhere, but since they say a picture is worth a thousand words, here are some:


The grand staircase
This was the place to see and be seen before the show, during intermission, and after. If you weren't sneaking off for some romancing with one of the ballerinas, that is.
(Sorry about the low quality, my camera had a nervous breakdown over the romantic lighting.)

There are stills from old productions on the walls:



The theater itself is gorgeous, and huge! Notice all the curtains- it seems no one ever actually watched the shows until a Russian director came in and banned closing them, talking, and sexy time with the dancers during performances.


A mural on the ceiling of the theater by Marc Chagall. He made it a gift to France, charging only the cost of production. Thematically, it deals with classic subjects similar to the mural on the grand staircase- the glory of Paris, Swan Lake, etc - but in a more modern style. Of course, it was widely disliked when it was first unveiled. It certainly is happy to look at though, and less oppressive than the gold-leaf-red-velvet-and-six-kinds-of-marble look everywhere else.

CampusFrance: Welcome to Bureaucracy

Before she left for Germany to be an au pair, my stepsister, Hélène, encountered a German woman on the streetcar. Hélène, who only spoke a little bit of German, must've expressed some concern about being able to communicate during her trip because the nice Berliner said to her, "Don't vorry. If you make ein mistake, de German vill politely correct you... Not like de French -- Dey don't vant you to know!"

While the statement may be based on an unfair stereotype, it sure struck a cord with me and my co-exchangers and good friends, Le Jumeau and Le Chef, as we were filling out the CampusFrance form. Why? Let me count the ways:

First there's the website. I get it, we're going to France, we should have a working knowledge of the language. Fair enough. I even started the application form in the French version, but when that became a bit iffy (and I really like to be sure what I'm answering on government forms) I switched the language setting to English. Apparently, the French Embassy's webmaster speaks about as much English as I speak French because all the hard words were still en français. Awesome. The website had a few other quirks. Both my inbox and my outbox on the site's email page - you communicate with them 100% on their terms; there is literally no phone number for CampusFrance - were labeled "list of received messages," the options for the type of education you have received are ludicrous.

Overall, the layout was kind of confusing and the expectations were extremely unclear. The user guide helped a lot: http://usa.campusfrance.org/en/1.html

With the help of Le Chef, who's very precocious, as well as my university's study abroad office, I discovered that I only needed to report my social studies grades and did not need to attach the "proof" the website demands when filling out the 3 part (each with 3 steps) "Education" section. But after doing this, clicking through the point of no return, and sending in my $70, I have a little box that says "Education à completer." This ambiguous phrase is rather terrifying when accompanied by the warning that if any part of your CampusFrance application is incomplete, well, no visa for you! Yikes!

Le Chef had the same message, and he is now the proud owner of a visa, so we'll see what happens when Le Jumeau and I get to the consulate. Yay roadtrip!