To: France

From:Andrew Levy

Re:What's the deal?

Dear France,

Do you have a vendetta against me?

Listen, I'm not generally one to take it personally, because I understand that rules are rules and everything. The reason that I ask is that, for reasons I'm not quite sure of, you seem to be making it really difficult for me to get settled here. If I didn't know better, I'd say you really don't want me here at all.

Just so we're both clear, I'd like to run down some of the hoops you've been having me run through so that I can have the grand privilege of living in your country to take a cooking course that I've duly paid for.

At first, you seemed like you were going to make it easy on me. You even let me in the country on a tourist visa to let me have a look around and see if I can get stuff worked out. I figured I needed four key things to get going: (1) a student visa, (2) a bank account, (3) a telephone, and (4) an apartment -- not necessarily in that order. Since you let me in with the tourist visa, I figured I could easily get 2, 3, and 4 accomplished, and then leave the country briefly to take care of 1.

Apparently, you had other things in mind.

Pretty soon thereafter, after some investigation, a few things became clearer. To wit: (1) you can't get a bank account without a visa, (2) you can't get a phone without a bank account, (3) you need to go back to the US to get the visa, (4) once you get back from the US with your visa, you need to get a residency permit, (5) you can't get a residency permit without an apartment, and (6) you can't get an apartment at all.

Let's deal with these one by one, shall we?

OK, so I was only partly right about the bank account. You can get a "non-resident" bank account without a visa. Not that anybody particularly wants to do this for you, because I had to go to 6 branches of 3 different banks to find one who was willing to open a "non-resident" bank account for me. And to do so, I had to agree to give them a € 1,000 untouchable deposit as some sort of guarantee, and pay them a tidy sum for the privilege!

Now I have a go at the phone. I return to one of your many mobile phone shops, complete with the information you say is necessary. Bank account info, passport, cancelled check, statement from the person who's letting me stay at their flat. It's all there! "But wait," you say, "you need your visa before I can give you the phone." Right. OK, so the phone goes back on the drawing board.

Moving on, we go to get the visa. Not content to let me apply for a visa from the French consulate in London or Madrid, and not even happy to let me do it from the consulate in New York, you made me go to Miami to apply for the visa. Because it's not enough that I had the 3 passport photos, 3 copies of your form, and 3 copies of several financial, health insurance, and school documents, you needed me to present myself in person in Miami to file my application. Why don't you require taking a pint of blood, just to be safe?

OK, now back to the phone. I got back to France from the US, visa in hand, and now had the documents supposedly necessary. Bank account info, passport, cancelled check, statement from the person who's letting me stay at their flat, and visa. "But wait," you say, "you need your residency permit before I can give you the phone." "Ah, no," I retort, "you said I just needed these other 5 pieces of documentation." "Ah, yes," say you, "you need this to get the phone." Undaunted, I made the end run to another phone shop who apparently were unaware of your residency permit requirement. Sure, I managed to circumvent your process, but did it really have to be that complicated in the first place?

Realizing that I had snuck one by, I figured now go to get the residency permit... just to be safe. Your process says that I must go to my school, give them the ever increasing documentation, and then they do the work with your police department. But wait! Now you tell me this process takes 10 days, and during the interim I'm free to leave France but if I do so, I can't come back to pick up the permit!

"Perfect," I say. As long as I'm stuck here during those 10 days, I can get really focused on finding an apartment! "Not so fast," you say. There are many apartments available in Paris, assuming you want to live outside Paris. To get one of the few that are available inside Paris, it is basically like fighting for space for a bath in the Ganges. You have to do it, but that doesn't mean the experience is going to be particularly refreshing. So I go on a couple of visits to apartments. "What is your job?" you ask. "I'm a student," I reply. "We don't take students," you say. OK, plan B. "What is your job?" you ask. "I'm a person of independent means," I reply. "Are you moving in alone?" you ask. "I'm single," I reply. "We're looking for a couple," you say. Consider those 10 days written off.

So now I go back to the school to get my residency permit. But you wouldn't possibly make it that easy, would you? No. Now you give me a piece of paper and send me to the police station, where I can supposedly pick it up. You have to understand that my faith in you is running low at this point, but off to the police station I go. I wait 90 minutes outside in your line, and then another 30 minutes inside for no apparent reason, at which point you deign to give me your residency permit.

At this point, though, I'm wondering if I still want it.

Look, I like your cheese and your bread. I've discovered this "Pain Suisse Chocolat" thing, and it certainly makes things more tolerable. Your metro runs well when it's not on strike, and it's cool that you can get many CDs of my taste months before they are released elsewhere.

But frankly, I've just about had it with your bullshit. And if you throw much more of it my way, any remaining ambiguity regarding your desire to have me here will be gone.

So please, with sugar on top, cut me an ounce of slack. Let me find an apartment. Make simple chores as simple as they need to be. In short, stop harassing me and let me get on with my life.

Sincerely,
Andrew Levy