This magical piece of paper was only, apparently, available in once place in the world: The French Consulate in San Francisco, which handles all visas for the NW region of the US. However, the biggest piece of the puzzle that I was missing was that Patrice and I did not properly register our marriage with the French government. We thought since we were married in the U.S. we would only need to be aware of U.S. procedures, but the reality was that we needed to follow the same steps in France as we would have were we married here including the publishing of the “banns” (a public declaration of your intent to marry), a French transcription of our marriage, new certified copies of our birth certificates, an Apostile copy of our marriage certificate from the State of Oregon (“Um, a requirement of the 1961 Hague Convention, obviously” – a near-actual quote of an embassy worker. Naturally! How *silly* of me not to have remembered the 1961 Hague Convention and all of its bylaws…) . With this proper registering of the marriage, we would then receive our “livret de familie” – our family book – which starts with an entry of our marriage, has room for the subsequent birth of our up to 11 children (um, ouch) and finally our deaths. And with the livret de famlie, I would receive my long-stay visa, which would allow me to remain in France while awaiting my residency permit.
The problem was, it could take six to nine months to put together this “livret de familie” and my visa was expiring in a month. The consulate official that we initially dealt with was *very* unsympathetic of our ineptitude in understanding of international marriage laws and *especially* very unsympathetic of Patrice. “He’s French, he should know these things!” However, we truly, utterly and completely were blessed with some of the nicest and most helpful government officials I have ever dealt with (unfortunately not my friend, Rick’s, experiences with the State of Oregon officials…). The aforementioned consulate worker, Stephane, bent over backward to get this done for us – very, very unusual and we are very grateful. I arrived at her office in San Francisco on a Friday and left with my visa and family book the next Monday. Our bump in the process was an (unexpected) immigration interview outlining our relationship and marriage. Because we had a rather whirlwind courtship and wedding, the felt they needed more proof of our established life in France. We are very, very lucky to know the assistant mayor of St. Jean and she was able to personally vouch for us – to know that we were part of the community and that our marriage was valid and not for a green card (me being Andie MacDowell, Patrice being Gérard Depardieu, naturally). After receiving that information, everything was good. I have to say, being handed that book at the consulate’s office was a very emotional experience.
I have to say it was really hard to be back in Portland and San Francisco visiting my friends. I want to thank Rick, Mike and Rob for being such amazing friends and helping me with this unexpected visit – Rick for “loaning” me the money for the plane ticket, even though he knew it would be a long time before I could pay him back and all three for picking me up, shuttling me around and making it possible that I didn’t have to spend a penny. This whole relocation has been a huge financial kick in the pants to say the least, and I just simply couldn’t have taken care of this trip without the help of my three wonderful friends!! It was very bittersweet to say goodbye. I missed Patrice, of course, but being back in Portland especially felt like I’d been gone forever and at the same time, gone for not even a day. I think it was almost too soon to be back because I was still in the adjustment mode in France.
As time goes on, I am still finding my little routines (like "Hetty Wainthrop Investigates" on BBC at 2:30 pm, which has been been thwarted for the time being by having Patrice and the kids here on three week's vacation). Even with a city like Paris so close, it is very easy to feel like I am in the middle of nowhere which, in the fact, I am. One thing about the smaller cities and villages that is such a strange adjustment is how DARK they are night! Not a streetlight or porch light anywhere. It is very Bram Stoker’s Dracula at times… (thankfully without the torch-wielding villagers). Most every house has these large shutters that they close at night so there literally is not a ray of light. Bad for people like me who like to take walks at night and do a little ‘surveiling’… The shutters are awesome, though, for sleeping until noon on your day off and thinking it is only 6 a.m. when you wake up. Sometimes, though, it feels almost too quiet. We were in Paris for Bastille Day and we lay down on our blanket along the Seine near the Eiffel Tower and the traffic noise just lulled me to sleep – something I miss out in out little town.
One thing I love about the country, though, is the fresh everything. Fresh flowers, fresh eggs from my neighbor’s farm, fresh plums, green beans, lettuce and other seasonal things from Patrice’s parents’ garden, fresh flour from the mill down the road. It is just so easy to eat a more pure diet – we never eat processed foods - even though we certainly don’t eat low-fat - and I make most everything from scratch, so we are not eating artificial preservatives (on a side note: “preservatif” is French for prophylactic , not for the agent that preserves our food. It took me a little while to catch onto the blank stares when I said I preferred my food “without condoms”…). The beauty is with the cooking is that Patrice has gained about 8 pounds (he was 6’ and 137) and I have lost weight – so go figure. I really have loved cooking and trying out new things, but I am also understanding the need for books like “501 Chicken Recipes”. It is *hard* to come up with new meals while not buying a million different ingredients. We laugh now that the choice tends to be “poulet et pomme de terre or pomme de terre et poulet”…. And I have upped his tolerance to spicy foods although I still feel mortally wounded when he whips out the salt at the table.
Bastille Day (or Quatorze Julliet – the 14th of July – as it’s known here) in Paris was amazing! It is something I probably wouldn’t have the desire to do every year, but it was a great experience. We arrived on the Champs-Élysées at 6:30 in the morning to stake out our place – managing after a little bull-headedness between the two of us – to get a great spot in the front row for the 10:00 a.m. parade. We had to clear our spot momentarily before the parade so they could put a security point in place for each section. Then we were scanned and everyone went back to their original spot. When I turned around to look for Johnathan, the police were pulling weapons out of him left and right like and episode of Captain Caveman! He had brought fireworks, numchuks, toy guns, good lord – it was hilarious! And he lost all of them, which was unfortunate, but geez! The program for the parade said it would start at 10:00 and was listing certain events as starting at 10:17, 10:32, etc. I thought “My, that’s pretty ambitious” and true to French form, it certainly did NOT start on time. It was, however, a wonderful parade. We were right near where the people sang for Sarkozy and got a great view and listen. Not even being French, it was great to see the troops so proud of what they were doing – and to see the other 26 countries of the European Union represented – check out the Spanish soldiers in my photos: Skin-tight, v-neck uniforms with chest hair a’ flyin’, tilted hats and sexy little sideburns.
After the parade, we wandered up the Champs-Élysées, looked in shops, marveled at the $11 price tag for a 4-ounce glass of Coke, had lunch and headed towards the Eiffel Tower. We napped for a bit along the river, and then found a great spot at the foot of the tower to relax and people-watch until the fireworks started. The fireworks were absolutely amazing – wonderful music as well – the best display I have ever seen! The crush AFTER the fireworks, though, was a nightmare. We were right at the base of the tower and there were probably close to a million people there (600,000 people stayed for the concert afterwards which featured Michel Polnareff - Google it and try not to laugh - , Nelly Furtado and Tokio Hotel) and all those million people seemed to be wanting to go different directions at exactly the same time. It was a little frightening, especially with Johnathan. I was pushed into some guy in the crush of people and he just flipped OUT on me, so much so that he and Patrice got into a ‘don’t touch my wife’ chest-butting incident. That was one time when it was nice to have a macho, headstrong husband…. ha ha. We made our way through the crowds, past the closed metro stops and finally to the jam-packed stop that would take us home. It was a LONG, but wonderful day. Beautiful weather and great people.
It’s funny, the French have such a reputation for being rude, stuck-up a**h*les (how’s that for a bunch of asterisk?), but I have found it to be absolutely 100% the opposite. (Of course, all countries have their stereotype, the loud, pushy American, the cold, uptight German, etc). But whether I am in Paris or out in the sticks, I seriously have found the nicest people who have bent over backwards to help me or answer a question when I needed it. When I returned back from the States on this last trip, I had two really heavy bags and didn’t want to take the Metro because it meant lugged 120 pounds of luggage up and down tons of stairs. So I stood outside near the taxis and shuttles to see what I could find to Austerliz (my station in Paris). This shuttle driver of a reserved shuttle called his boss to see if he knew (he didn’t) and asked several other bus drivers. He ended up giving me a ride to downtown Paris for free (normally 30 Euros), getting me a taxi and lugging my luggage to the taxi. I had a nice conversation with the taxi driver (who LOVES America) and when I got the train station, after asking an employee if there was place I could plug in my cel phone to get a charge, he not only took me to his office to let me use the outlet, but gave me a bottled water for the rest of my journey. I found this kind of niceness everywhere, consistently. I don’t think I have run into a rude person since I have been here – although I am sure speaking French helps.
Finally, I had a wonderful opportunity the other weekend to have dinner with a friend of mine from Portland who was visiting Paris - Lisa, my friend and former boss when I was a work-study student 15 years ago at PSU. Patrice and I met her around 6pm at the Pantheon in the Latin Quarter and had dinner at a beautiful French restaurant about a 10 minute cab ride away; a restaurant once visited by the likes of François Mitterrand, Jacques Chirac and even Madonna, I later discovered. Lisa speaks fluent French, which was great for Patrice, and we had simply the most lovely dinner I have had in Paris. It was a great evening and it was fun to see someone out of the usual context. She and her traveling companions were headed to Turkey the following week and I have to say, it was really hard to say goodbye to her that night! I'm a little sniffly right now... sometimes those little glimpses of your former life are hard to let go.
Anyway, that is “all” for now – I feel like I could write a million more pages especially since I have not written anyone for months – time simply slips by before you know it. I would love to hear from you all and what you are up to! I miss Portland a lot and it is great to get any update, etc.
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