First Steps
Col Marie Blanque
The hardest part of change…
As with most things in life, the hardest part of change is taking the first step. If you have ever watched a baby’s evolution from sitting upright to walking independently, you know that it is a slow process of “Simon Says;” taking one step forward and another back. At first, the baby is content to explore crawling on hands and knees. Then there is a period of just trying to stand, the monumental effort usually rewarded by an immediate plop onto a diapered bottom. Success at that stage leads to island-hopping; a propulsion forward by reaching out and hanging on to one secure surface after another. Though sometimes regressing back to the safety of the crawl, eventually all babies gain the confidence and develop the stability to perambulate, gleeful in newfound freedom.
Moving to a new country has often felt like learning to walk all over again. Minimal French language skills and lack of familiarity with cultural rules and nuances, can transform activities that were once mindlessly accomplished into concentrated efforts that require varying success strategies. Our tactics have ranged from:
practicing a mock conversation before an anticipated encounter
locating the youngest person available to help in a store or office as they will more likely speak some English
finding an email avenue of communication rather than a phone call
resorting to Google Translate.
Like most toddlers, we have stumbled and suffered setbacks along our way. One moment we may celebrate a small victory and the next crawl back from an embarrassing faux pas.
Our first steps…
The first wobbly step of our expat life took place in the comfort of our own language before the real journey even began: acquiring visas for the legal right to stay long-term in France. The acquisition process promised to be a bit of a marathon, thanks to the French art of bureaucracy. Since running marathons are JB’s forte, he took on the challenge. Several weeks were spent meticulously gathering and organizing paper-work to prove we had financial self-sufficiency, proper travel and identity documents, French accommodation, and international health insurance. After a very thorough review, he filed the required online application with VFS Global in Boston (an outsourcing and technology services company that the French government uses to process visa requests). We paid the 99 Euro fee and scheduled the requisite appointment to review our application.
During that appointment, we discovered a critical misstep. JB had set up an account in his name on the VFS site to download all necessary forms for both of us and meticulously filled in the required information on our individual forms. As instructed, we brought our completed forms to the appointment. We did not know that we would need individual accounts in their system to process those documents. This oversight gave the agent the right to send us packing, but perhaps because our paperwork was so thorough and the panic on our faces so evident, he extended a helping hand. Since we could not use our own electronic devices on the premises (for security reasons), the agent allowed me to use a VFS computer to set up my account and continue with the appointment. After satisfactorily answering a few more questions, the agent hinted that we had “a strong application” and took our passports to send them with the application to the French government.
Champagne or tears…
It was disconcerting to hand over those well-worn blue pages and the ability to travel freely until they were returned. Even more disconcerting was the knowledge that they would come back to us either with new visa pages, and the promise of a new life, or exactly as they left us, sans visas, and accompanied by crushing disappointment.
We popped champagne when our passports, now stamped with French visas, arrived in the mail two weeks later. We repeated that celebration again in twelve months when our local French prefecture readily extended both our visas for another year with the prized “Carte de Séjour” (residency card). However, this was only the beginning of many first steps that awaited us in France: buying a car, obtaining driver’s licenses, getting a tax ID for filing and paying taxes, managing major home improvements with local artisans, and scheduling (and muddling through) appointments with doctors and dentists.
Gratitude...
Much like a child’s first steps, ours in France could not have been taken alone. We are so grateful for the patience of local shop keepers, medical staff, pharmacists, and artisans who have endured our butchering of their beautiful language, urged us on with encouraging comments, resorted to English when they could and astonishingly apologized when they couldn’t. We are also grateful for the skill of a local translator Christi, also an American expat. She was providentially assigned to us by the Notaire (a government appointed lawyer) at our property closing and is now a dear friend, as is her delightful French husband Jean-Pierre. Christi has been invaluable in assisting the navigation of major financial transactions and has aided us in a range of urgent situations from contacting roadside assistance for a flat tire to resolving telecommunication problems and health issues.
Momentum...
As we continue to stumble along, I have occasionally indulged in a child-like melt-down. My husband typically responds by dropping “pearls of wisdom” drawn from his life of athletic discipline: “the first step is the hardest” or “just putting on your sneakers is the hardest part.” Although I can’t resist tossing him a major eyeroll accompanied by “you’ve got to be kidding,” I must reluctantly admit that he is right. We’re both learning that most things in life are easier the second time around, and if we just “lace up” and take that first step, momentum will be on our side.
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