Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The red, white and blue
The subject of nationality in France has become a hot-button topic for the upcoming presidential elections. Nicolas Sarkozy wants a ministry of immigration and national identity, while Segolene Royal thinks every French family should have a French flag in their home. My host dad asked me tonight why so many Americans have American flags in their homes. To the French, this idea is absolutely bizarre.
I compared the 4th of July to Bastille Day and asked him if it was a big national holiday here (which of course I knew it was - I was just hoping for more details about how they celebrate it). All I really know is that the French aren't decked out in red, white and blue on Bastille Day like Americans are on the 4th of July. I'm guessing that means no one sells baseball caps with French flags on them, either.
My Islam in France professor had also brought up the subject recently and had asked us the same thing: why do so many Americans have flags? To be honest, I never thought of Americans as being particularly flag-waving all year round. My family only brings out tiny flags for our garden in July, and that's about it. I don't really know many military families, but in terms of the civilian families I know, no one hangs the stars and stripes above their mantelpiece all year round.
Americans can be very patriotic, there's no question about that. The flag hype has died down considerably since September 11, as I told my host dad, but the American flag is definitely more visible in the States than the French flag is here. According to my host dad, you really only see the French flag flying at government buildings. After thinking about it for a little while, I realized that you really do see the American flag flying at random places - office buildings, schools, shopping centers even. I rarely see a French flag here.
I don't know if the French think we're too patriotic or not, but the big difference I see here is how nationalistic the French are. There has been more of a debate lately over what makes America America, whether it's making English the official language or adjusting immigration laws, but the U.S. doesn't have nearly as many problems with immigrants as the French do. Yeah, lots of my family members get angry when they hear people speaking another language when they're out somewhere, but that feeling is more frustration at not knowing what those people are saying than dislike.
But it's totally different in France; I can see the dichotomy between the Arabs and Africans and the white French. France is having an identity crisis, and one of the presidential candidates wants to make a ministry dealing with "national identity." What is national identity? How can a selected group of people determine what that is? In a world where globalization is pretty hard to hide from, the idea is just ludicrous. My country has plenty of faults, but compared to the French, I think we have the better end of the deal on this issue. Obviously the U.S. is very different from France in this area because it was a country built on immigration - it can be nothing but a melting pot. Yes, there has been discrimination against certain ethnic groups who came to the U.S. at different times (who could imagine discriminating against the Irish now?), and we have our own problems now. Maybe we're seen as so patriotic because the one thing we all have in common is that - our flag and what it represents.
France has hundreds of years of history, much more than the U.S. has, and with that comes different sets of circumstances. Most of the immigrants France receives are from its former colonies in Africa, so there are already underlying issues from colonial times that have not been dealt with yet. These countries were considered part of French territory in the early 20th century, yet the native peoples were not considered French citizens. Some of them who have moved to France aren't considered citizens now due to citizenship laws that have changed.
But if France wants to keep its spot as a nation of influence in the world - which has been shaky at best in the last few decades - its leaders need to accept that as the world becomes smaller and smaller, definitions of cultural identity will expand and change. What does it mean to be French? I don't think it's anything different from what it means to be American.
I compared the 4th of July to Bastille Day and asked him if it was a big national holiday here (which of course I knew it was - I was just hoping for more details about how they celebrate it). All I really know is that the French aren't decked out in red, white and blue on Bastille Day like Americans are on the 4th of July. I'm guessing that means no one sells baseball caps with French flags on them, either.
My Islam in France professor had also brought up the subject recently and had asked us the same thing: why do so many Americans have flags? To be honest, I never thought of Americans as being particularly flag-waving all year round. My family only brings out tiny flags for our garden in July, and that's about it. I don't really know many military families, but in terms of the civilian families I know, no one hangs the stars and stripes above their mantelpiece all year round.
Americans can be very patriotic, there's no question about that. The flag hype has died down considerably since September 11, as I told my host dad, but the American flag is definitely more visible in the States than the French flag is here. According to my host dad, you really only see the French flag flying at government buildings. After thinking about it for a little while, I realized that you really do see the American flag flying at random places - office buildings, schools, shopping centers even. I rarely see a French flag here.
I don't know if the French think we're too patriotic or not, but the big difference I see here is how nationalistic the French are. There has been more of a debate lately over what makes America America, whether it's making English the official language or adjusting immigration laws, but the U.S. doesn't have nearly as many problems with immigrants as the French do. Yeah, lots of my family members get angry when they hear people speaking another language when they're out somewhere, but that feeling is more frustration at not knowing what those people are saying than dislike.
But it's totally different in France; I can see the dichotomy between the Arabs and Africans and the white French. France is having an identity crisis, and one of the presidential candidates wants to make a ministry dealing with "national identity." What is national identity? How can a selected group of people determine what that is? In a world where globalization is pretty hard to hide from, the idea is just ludicrous. My country has plenty of faults, but compared to the French, I think we have the better end of the deal on this issue. Obviously the U.S. is very different from France in this area because it was a country built on immigration - it can be nothing but a melting pot. Yes, there has been discrimination against certain ethnic groups who came to the U.S. at different times (who could imagine discriminating against the Irish now?), and we have our own problems now. Maybe we're seen as so patriotic because the one thing we all have in common is that - our flag and what it represents.
France has hundreds of years of history, much more than the U.S. has, and with that comes different sets of circumstances. Most of the immigrants France receives are from its former colonies in Africa, so there are already underlying issues from colonial times that have not been dealt with yet. These countries were considered part of French territory in the early 20th century, yet the native peoples were not considered French citizens. Some of them who have moved to France aren't considered citizens now due to citizenship laws that have changed.
But if France wants to keep its spot as a nation of influence in the world - which has been shaky at best in the last few decades - its leaders need to accept that as the world becomes smaller and smaller, definitions of cultural identity will expand and change. What does it mean to be French? I don't think it's anything different from what it means to be American.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
"Experience" overload
I've come to realize that even in Paris, I need a sense of normalcy sometimes (I prefer "normality," but since Warren Harding made up the word back in the day, I'll just go with it).
It's Sunday, it's raining and just plain gross outside. Usually, I like to go exploring somewhere in Paris, most of the time by myself, just so I can feel like I'm really experiencing the city. Most Sundays I'll try to go to a museum or some other historical site in Paris, but today, I just need to chill out.
Back in Philly or D.C., I have no qualms about sleeping in on the weekends and spending the day inside to do work (a luxury that is typically not afforded to me in D.C. because of The Eagle, but once in a while comes around). But living in Paris makes me feel like I have to be going 100 percent of the time, always jumping around from place to place, operating on what I like to call "experience overload" because everything here is part of "The Experience" to me. Getting to class late because an RER derailed and those who crammed on the train that finally pulled in refused to get off even though they were blocking the doors? Part of The Experience. Not finding a taxi home at 3 a.m. on a Saturday night because a) they all have passengers already, b) there aren't enough taxis working in Paris and c) because they don't want to drive me all the way to the 20th arrondissement? Part of The Experience. Having men stare me down to the point where they're obviously undressing me with their eyes, some of them even trying to cop a feel on the metro? All part of The Experience.
Sometimes living for The Experience just tires me out. Every morning I wake up at 6:10 and am out the door by 7:15. Some days I'm not back at my host family's apartment until close to 6 p.m., later on other days. As much as I love living here and love seeing what the city has to offer, I do need to sleep sometimes. Only sometimes, though.
So right now, I'm getting a head start on my homework and enjoying the afternoon from my apartment since I slept through the entire morning. Even though I do wish I could go to a museum and absorb more of Paris today, I need to let tiny breaks now and then enter into The Experience.
It's Sunday, it's raining and just plain gross outside. Usually, I like to go exploring somewhere in Paris, most of the time by myself, just so I can feel like I'm really experiencing the city. Most Sundays I'll try to go to a museum or some other historical site in Paris, but today, I just need to chill out.
Back in Philly or D.C., I have no qualms about sleeping in on the weekends and spending the day inside to do work (a luxury that is typically not afforded to me in D.C. because of The Eagle, but once in a while comes around). But living in Paris makes me feel like I have to be going 100 percent of the time, always jumping around from place to place, operating on what I like to call "experience overload" because everything here is part of "The Experience" to me. Getting to class late because an RER derailed and those who crammed on the train that finally pulled in refused to get off even though they were blocking the doors? Part of The Experience. Not finding a taxi home at 3 a.m. on a Saturday night because a) they all have passengers already, b) there aren't enough taxis working in Paris and c) because they don't want to drive me all the way to the 20th arrondissement? Part of The Experience. Having men stare me down to the point where they're obviously undressing me with their eyes, some of them even trying to cop a feel on the metro? All part of The Experience.
Sometimes living for The Experience just tires me out. Every morning I wake up at 6:10 and am out the door by 7:15. Some days I'm not back at my host family's apartment until close to 6 p.m., later on other days. As much as I love living here and love seeing what the city has to offer, I do need to sleep sometimes. Only sometimes, though.
So right now, I'm getting a head start on my homework and enjoying the afternoon from my apartment since I slept through the entire morning. Even though I do wish I could go to a museum and absorb more of Paris today, I need to let tiny breaks now and then enter into The Experience.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
C'est l'amour
It took a while, but I'm finally in love.
I was starting to feel a little concerned with myself - I'd been in France for almost two weeks, but my mental jury was still out about how I felt about the whole thing. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I was still not pleased with the amount of cigarette smoke I encountered, the cabbies who turned down my fare because of where I live or the cashiers who answered me in English just because my French is a little slow. Since I've been looking forward to this experience since I popped out of the womb, I was afraid that I had played it up too much in my mind. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't feel like I was appreciating the experience in the right way.
I don't know what happened this weekend, or even today, but I feel more confident than before that this is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I'm a person who likes to be comfortable. Not too hot, not too cold, exercising only indoors (on machines that can help me regulate my breathing - physical activity is not my strong suit), and never appreciating a freak rainstorm when my hair is straight (if your hair fro'ed out like Diana Ross in the humidity, you wouldn't be happy, either).
Ever since I moved in with my host family, I've been out of my element. I can't always understand the kids because they speak quickly, and when I answer someone, I usually have to think about what words to use to respond for a few seconds, making me look like I didn't understand the statement, thus causing the speaker to repeat what he said either a) slowly (always good) or b) in English (pride killer). Spontaneous conversation has always been what I need to work on the most with my French, and living with a host family is the only way I'm going to get it down.
Little by little, I'm realizing that I may not get it right the first few weeks, but in time I will get better. I'm une vraie perfectioniste, and to not be able to improve instantly has made me feel more than incompetent. I can understand my host family a lot of the time; it's thinking completely in French that's hard, and it doesn't help that my friends and I all speak English to each other when we're hanging out. I'll never say another word about people in the U.S. who speak their mother tongues to each other when they're out and about. Who wants to be uncomfortable when they don't have to be?
Sunday night I had dinner with my host family and their neighbor. We were eating cheese fondue with tiny baguette pieces, and, but of course, I drop my first piece of bread in the fondue pot. Tradition has it that I should be punished. Luckily, my family didn't make me sing, in English or in French, like they said I should, but after that incident (and dropping a second piece in the fondue pot), I became more at ease with myself here. Just listening to my family speak with each other helps me more and more each day. I'm still the awkward American girl who mixes up some French words every now and then, but the only place to go from here is up. I'm nowhere near perfect yet, but I'm starting to accept it more and more.
There are still going to be plenty of times when I'm uncomfortable, like when it's pouring rain at 3 a.m. in the Latin Quarter and there isn't a taxi in sight, or when I ask a waiter for change and he brings me another espresso. But if I can tell a cabbie where to drop me off in French and feel at home studying at the local cafe in spite of a few verbal blunders, then I know I'm becoming more and more at ease and at home here in my temporary home.
I was starting to feel a little concerned with myself - I'd been in France for almost two weeks, but my mental jury was still out about how I felt about the whole thing. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I was still not pleased with the amount of cigarette smoke I encountered, the cabbies who turned down my fare because of where I live or the cashiers who answered me in English just because my French is a little slow. Since I've been looking forward to this experience since I popped out of the womb, I was afraid that I had played it up too much in my mind. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't feel like I was appreciating the experience in the right way.
I don't know what happened this weekend, or even today, but I feel more confident than before that this is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I'm a person who likes to be comfortable. Not too hot, not too cold, exercising only indoors (on machines that can help me regulate my breathing - physical activity is not my strong suit), and never appreciating a freak rainstorm when my hair is straight (if your hair fro'ed out like Diana Ross in the humidity, you wouldn't be happy, either).
Ever since I moved in with my host family, I've been out of my element. I can't always understand the kids because they speak quickly, and when I answer someone, I usually have to think about what words to use to respond for a few seconds, making me look like I didn't understand the statement, thus causing the speaker to repeat what he said either a) slowly (always good) or b) in English (pride killer). Spontaneous conversation has always been what I need to work on the most with my French, and living with a host family is the only way I'm going to get it down.
Little by little, I'm realizing that I may not get it right the first few weeks, but in time I will get better. I'm une vraie perfectioniste, and to not be able to improve instantly has made me feel more than incompetent. I can understand my host family a lot of the time; it's thinking completely in French that's hard, and it doesn't help that my friends and I all speak English to each other when we're hanging out. I'll never say another word about people in the U.S. who speak their mother tongues to each other when they're out and about. Who wants to be uncomfortable when they don't have to be?
Sunday night I had dinner with my host family and their neighbor. We were eating cheese fondue with tiny baguette pieces, and, but of course, I drop my first piece of bread in the fondue pot. Tradition has it that I should be punished. Luckily, my family didn't make me sing, in English or in French, like they said I should, but after that incident (and dropping a second piece in the fondue pot), I became more at ease with myself here. Just listening to my family speak with each other helps me more and more each day. I'm still the awkward American girl who mixes up some French words every now and then, but the only place to go from here is up. I'm nowhere near perfect yet, but I'm starting to accept it more and more.
There are still going to be plenty of times when I'm uncomfortable, like when it's pouring rain at 3 a.m. in the Latin Quarter and there isn't a taxi in sight, or when I ask a waiter for change and he brings me another espresso. But if I can tell a cabbie where to drop me off in French and feel at home studying at the local cafe in spite of a few verbal blunders, then I know I'm becoming more and more at ease and at home here in my temporary home.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
The more I see, the less I know
I'm finally here!
It only took two flights (second one nearly missed), 10 hours, one confusing airport and a 45-minute cab ride, but I made it. But for some reason, I still don't feel like I'm here.
I haven't had an existential "what am I doing" crisis (yet, anyway), but I've been waiting so long to come here that I don't think I know how to feel yet. Nothing has been too hard yet. I'm sharing a hotel room with three other AU girls until tomorrow when we meet our host families. I've had to use French when dining out, but sometimes the waiters pick up on our accents and speak to us in English anyway. I did buy a cell phone "tout a fait" in French, though, so that made me feel pretty good.
Then came meeting the host family. I actually ended up switching with Emily, another AU girl with the enclave, because both our families lived in the same apartment complex in the 20eme arrondissement, but hers had a cat. I had checked off "no pets" on my application, but of all the four-legged creatures I can handle (sort of), it's cats. And he looks like Ryan's old cat Lenny, so that made me happy.
My family, les Vallee, are very nice. There's a mom and dad, Karin and Etienne, and three kids aged 9, 10 and 14 I believe - Nicolas, Pierre and Marie. Marie is adorable - she wants to look up to me as a big sister, which made me happy because it's sort of like home except now I have a much younger little sister. They made me couscous with three different types of meat for dinner. I think I ate like a bird compared to them, but hopefully they know I did actually like it.
The only problem with the entire evening was that they reminded me too much of my family. I've talked to my mom every day, but I haven't really been homesick. I guess that was because I was living with all the other girls who were in the same position as me, so I had a strength in numbers feeling the first few days. Now that I'm actually in the situation I will live in for the next few months, it's scary as hell. To top it all off, I ended the day by breaking down in front of my host parents because I couldn't figure out how to ask them about keys and building access codes.
I had sworn to myself at dinner that I wouldn't cry in front of them because I didn't want them to think I didn't like them or their family. At least the kids weren't there, but I felt awful anyway. I'm sure they understand because they've hosted kids before, but it wasn't my best moment. I didn't feel like I wanted to leave; I just wanted a hug from my mom. Well, maybe it was a bit of an existential crisis. I wanted a hug from my mom at my house.
Oh, well, hopefully today I can communicate about things that aren't technologically related. Bonne chance a moi!
It only took two flights (second one nearly missed), 10 hours, one confusing airport and a 45-minute cab ride, but I made it. But for some reason, I still don't feel like I'm here.
I haven't had an existential "what am I doing" crisis (yet, anyway), but I've been waiting so long to come here that I don't think I know how to feel yet. Nothing has been too hard yet. I'm sharing a hotel room with three other AU girls until tomorrow when we meet our host families. I've had to use French when dining out, but sometimes the waiters pick up on our accents and speak to us in English anyway. I did buy a cell phone "tout a fait" in French, though, so that made me feel pretty good.
Then came meeting the host family. I actually ended up switching with Emily, another AU girl with the enclave, because both our families lived in the same apartment complex in the 20eme arrondissement, but hers had a cat. I had checked off "no pets" on my application, but of all the four-legged creatures I can handle (sort of), it's cats. And he looks like Ryan's old cat Lenny, so that made me happy.
My family, les Vallee, are very nice. There's a mom and dad, Karin and Etienne, and three kids aged 9, 10 and 14 I believe - Nicolas, Pierre and Marie. Marie is adorable - she wants to look up to me as a big sister, which made me happy because it's sort of like home except now I have a much younger little sister. They made me couscous with three different types of meat for dinner. I think I ate like a bird compared to them, but hopefully they know I did actually like it.
The only problem with the entire evening was that they reminded me too much of my family. I've talked to my mom every day, but I haven't really been homesick. I guess that was because I was living with all the other girls who were in the same position as me, so I had a strength in numbers feeling the first few days. Now that I'm actually in the situation I will live in for the next few months, it's scary as hell. To top it all off, I ended the day by breaking down in front of my host parents because I couldn't figure out how to ask them about keys and building access codes.
I had sworn to myself at dinner that I wouldn't cry in front of them because I didn't want them to think I didn't like them or their family. At least the kids weren't there, but I felt awful anyway. I'm sure they understand because they've hosted kids before, but it wasn't my best moment. I didn't feel like I wanted to leave; I just wanted a hug from my mom. Well, maybe it was a bit of an existential crisis. I wanted a hug from my mom at my house.
Oh, well, hopefully today I can communicate about things that aren't technologically related. Bonne chance a moi!
Monday, January 8, 2007
Prepared? Right...
People keep asking me if I'm ready to go to Paris, telling me they're jealous and that this will be the best experience of my life, etc. etc. Honestly? I feel like a bump on a log.
What have I done to prepare so far, considering the Big Day is 20 days away? Well, I read the entire A section of The Philadelphia Inquirer every day. If I'm not shopping with my mom, I run on the treadmill. My preferred shower time is 1 p.m. I really like watching "The West Wing" and "Band of Brothers" on DVD with my Dad. I may drive down to Ryan's after dinner. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I am tutoring a neighbor in French, so there's my one feeble attempt at preparing myself linguistically for the semester. I keep telling myself I'm going to start reading the French news sites I did last semester for my French press class. Right.
My mom's already gotten teary in my presence twice. No matter how many times I say "I'll be fine," it doesn't mean she is.
On a happy note, I got some euro for Christmas from my godmother, and my Pop Pop gave me some euro coins from my grandparents' last trip to Europe. All I have to say to the EU is THANK YOU. You print coins with the number value on them so I don't have to memorize which historical/cultural figure goes with which amount of currency like the good old U.S. of A. Merci beaucoup.
Ok, happy time's over. I'm going to get my International Student Identity Card today hopefully, I don't have a cell phone plan yet, I need more euro to survive my first few days, my banking situation is still nonexistent, I don't know what I'm packing, and I need a new laptop.
I'm going to Paris in 20 days. I'll let you know when the freak-out truly commences.
What have I done to prepare so far, considering the Big Day is 20 days away? Well, I read the entire A section of The Philadelphia Inquirer every day. If I'm not shopping with my mom, I run on the treadmill. My preferred shower time is 1 p.m. I really like watching "The West Wing" and "Band of Brothers" on DVD with my Dad. I may drive down to Ryan's after dinner. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I am tutoring a neighbor in French, so there's my one feeble attempt at preparing myself linguistically for the semester. I keep telling myself I'm going to start reading the French news sites I did last semester for my French press class. Right.
My mom's already gotten teary in my presence twice. No matter how many times I say "I'll be fine," it doesn't mean she is.
On a happy note, I got some euro for Christmas from my godmother, and my Pop Pop gave me some euro coins from my grandparents' last trip to Europe. All I have to say to the EU is THANK YOU. You print coins with the number value on them so I don't have to memorize which historical/cultural figure goes with which amount of currency like the good old U.S. of A. Merci beaucoup.
Ok, happy time's over. I'm going to get my International Student Identity Card today hopefully, I don't have a cell phone plan yet, I need more euro to survive my first few days, my banking situation is still nonexistent, I don't know what I'm packing, and I need a new laptop.
I'm going to Paris in 20 days. I'll let you know when the freak-out truly commences.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
The visa: everywhere I want to be?
So on Tuesday I finally went to get my visa. After much confusion reading and re-reading the French embassy's Web site and figuring out I needed an appointment to obtain said visa (thanks for the info, AU Abroad), I had secured a time slot and obtained all the documents needed to assure France I'm not a terrorist and that I actually have a purpose to enter their country: exposing all things wrong with French society in my tell-all book due out in 2010. Not really. Well, not yet.
Well, I thought I had everything settled. Then Sunday night I started filling out the paperwork, first in French, then in English - because embassy workers should know English, right? - (way to have all the instructions in French, by the way - I'm sure foreigners who are coming to France solely to learn the language are pleased with your setup) when I realized that I had no letter from my insuance company proving I was covered internationally. Quel dommage.
I frantically called my half-asleep father and begged him to call the insurance company in the morning and work his negotiating magic so that I could finish this last bit of abroad business before moving out of my apartment Saturday. (The way the French Embassy sets it up is that they have consulates in different U.S. regions, and different groupings of states must send their residents to one consulate designated to that area. I had the option as a college student to also go to the consulate in the area my school is located.) As a PA resident and a DC college student, I had to go to the DC embassy either way, so I wanted to get it done during finals week. I could have mailed my application and the fee in, but I trust the U.S. Postal Service about as far as I can throw it.
I miraculously obtained some kind of bureaucratic-ese letter about my international coverage Monday afternoon, so I was finally all set for my Tuesday appointment. I went with Clare, another AU girl studying in Paris, to Georgetown. We ran through the gate to the embassy as it was closing, praying a French SWAT team wouldn't come out and shoot us. The fact that the embassy is gated is hilarious to me. Most of the embassies on Mass. Ave. are as open as can be. Apparently the French aren't into the whole "open arms" type of thing. Kind of like their immigration policy. Hmm.
Anyhoo, so we relinquished IDs so the kiosk lady by the gate knew we had a purpose to be there, and we went up to the visa department. Clare and I got in line, all out materials ready to go. Oh, wait. When they say "employeur" on the application form, they mean fill out your school's address since you're a student. Oops. Out of line, fill it out, back in line. Everything else looks good, that'll be $128.57. Oh, by the way, no refunds if you're rejected. Thank goodness I had that other Visa on hand.
Then came the hour-and-a-half waiting period. Luckily, even though Clare's appointment was half an hour after mine, the French work the visa process like a doctor's office - you have an appointment, but when you get there you just get in line to pay the co-pay and they take you as you come. Worked for me. Except for that exorbitant co-pay
Playing the waiting game got me to thinking about all the people who try to get into France but can't, particularly unskilled immigrants from former colonies. Considering the paper I just wrote about racism in France and how immigration has really changed French culture, much to the chagrin of the white French, it's hard for me not to wonder what it's going to be like when I move over there, especially after the race riots last year. Will I be living with an ultra-right-wing family who thinks Jean-Marie Le Pen's anti-immigration rhetoric is the way to go? Maybe a socialist family who agrees with presidential candidate Segolene Royal's "ship-'em-off-to-boot-camp" mentality in regards to ghetto youths who get in trouble with the police? I could go on and on about what's caused these problems and what's perpetuating them, but I'll save that for another day, maybe when I encounter them firsthand. But for now, the French did decide to let me in and give me that visa, so I'll wait and see where it will take me.
Well, I thought I had everything settled. Then Sunday night I started filling out the paperwork, first in French, then in English - because embassy workers should know English, right? - (way to have all the instructions in French, by the way - I'm sure foreigners who are coming to France solely to learn the language are pleased with your setup) when I realized that I had no letter from my insuance company proving I was covered internationally. Quel dommage.
I frantically called my half-asleep father and begged him to call the insurance company in the morning and work his negotiating magic so that I could finish this last bit of abroad business before moving out of my apartment Saturday. (The way the French Embassy sets it up is that they have consulates in different U.S. regions, and different groupings of states must send their residents to one consulate designated to that area. I had the option as a college student to also go to the consulate in the area my school is located.) As a PA resident and a DC college student, I had to go to the DC embassy either way, so I wanted to get it done during finals week. I could have mailed my application and the fee in, but I trust the U.S. Postal Service about as far as I can throw it.
I miraculously obtained some kind of bureaucratic-ese letter about my international coverage Monday afternoon, so I was finally all set for my Tuesday appointment. I went with Clare, another AU girl studying in Paris, to Georgetown. We ran through the gate to the embassy as it was closing, praying a French SWAT team wouldn't come out and shoot us. The fact that the embassy is gated is hilarious to me. Most of the embassies on Mass. Ave. are as open as can be. Apparently the French aren't into the whole "open arms" type of thing. Kind of like their immigration policy. Hmm.
Anyhoo, so we relinquished IDs so the kiosk lady by the gate knew we had a purpose to be there, and we went up to the visa department. Clare and I got in line, all out materials ready to go. Oh, wait. When they say "employeur" on the application form, they mean fill out your school's address since you're a student. Oops. Out of line, fill it out, back in line. Everything else looks good, that'll be $128.57. Oh, by the way, no refunds if you're rejected. Thank goodness I had that other Visa on hand.
Then came the hour-and-a-half waiting period. Luckily, even though Clare's appointment was half an hour after mine, the French work the visa process like a doctor's office - you have an appointment, but when you get there you just get in line to pay the co-pay and they take you as you come. Worked for me. Except for that exorbitant co-pay
Playing the waiting game got me to thinking about all the people who try to get into France but can't, particularly unskilled immigrants from former colonies. Considering the paper I just wrote about racism in France and how immigration has really changed French culture, much to the chagrin of the white French, it's hard for me not to wonder what it's going to be like when I move over there, especially after the race riots last year. Will I be living with an ultra-right-wing family who thinks Jean-Marie Le Pen's anti-immigration rhetoric is the way to go? Maybe a socialist family who agrees with presidential candidate Segolene Royal's "ship-'em-off-to-boot-camp" mentality in regards to ghetto youths who get in trouble with the police? I could go on and on about what's caused these problems and what's perpetuating them, but I'll save that for another day, maybe when I encounter them firsthand. But for now, the French did decide to let me in and give me that visa, so I'll wait and see where it will take me.
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