2: Unexpected Exile

and other challenges in my first 10 days in Paris.

16 November.

I am grateful for having the frustrating, attention-demanding process of applying for a French visa as a distraction from the news. When I read the names that the next administration was nominating for Secretary of Defense and Attorney General, I decided that the application process for a French visa was less painful than scanning the New York Times headlines. But not by much.

And yet, I cannot stay away from the relentless, castigating analysis — Is the Obama Era over? Did the Democratic Party abandon the working class? I did not expect to feel like an exile. I was one of those voters who felt reasonably sure Kamala Harris would win. However, those questions are not why I am here — in Paris or writing this newsletter.

Yesterday, sitting at the kitchen counter with my tea and toast, I learned the hard way that obtaining a visa without the help of a corporation’s or university’s HR department consists mostly of slamming suddenly into locked doors, the keys to which you have to figure out what or where they are. This is mainly because the websites every applicant has to visit are really bad and infuriating. You will attempt to log in over and over again. You will be told you have to wait two hours before trying again. Then you start your application over again. Even with the help of a very competent expat agency, like mine (Your Friend in Paris), whose purpose is to guide their clients through the process of settling here, they can only do so much. I am the one who has to open an account online on the French government’s visa webpage as well as one on the website of VFS Global, the company to which many governments, including the French one, outsource the processing of visa applications. So, around lunch time, I put on some music, pulled out some cheese, sliced some bread, took a deep breath, and started again.

To obtain a visa, I need to show that I have signed a lease for an apartment.¹ Leaving aside for now the process of finding an apartment, I need a guarantor, like a co-signer on a loan, who will be responsible financially for the rent, if I default. A guarantor can be a French citizen, who has to provide their own proof of sufficient income to indemnify the money pledged in the lease. Those who are not on adequately intimate terms with a French citizen willing to do this must apply to a guarantor company, like Garantme.fr. Halfway through the online application, I ran into a locked door. I could not proceed without supplying a French phone number, something I did not have yesterday morning.

Frustrated, stuck, and running up against a noon appointment to walk in the Tuileries Garden with an American woman from Davis, Elisabeth, who has lived here for 2 years, I exited the application, aware that I’d have to start all over when I returned. I left with little Billie, who has terrible manners on city sidewalks. It’s easiest to tuck her under my arm and stride. I took the Métro’s 12 line to the place de la Concorde stop. Since it was her first time, Billie quivered in my arms the entire way there. Once we reached the gardens, she was outraged by all the square patches of grass she wasn’t allowed on.² Elisabeth and I (with Billie literally in tow) walked around the gardens, getting to know each other. She was generous with information, insight, and suggestions. One of her recommendations turned out to be the key to the online locked door I ran into back in the apartment.

At her urging, on the way back, I stopped by a mobile phone store, Free (but Orange or another company would work as well), and signed up for an e-SIM card. A French mobile number was added to my US iPhone. For 10€ a month (with a Visa or Mastercard bank card), I can toggle between my US T-Mobile number and my French Free number, both of which appear in Settings>Cellular. Now I don’t have to buy a second phone to use in France. I had no idea.

Equipped with a French phone number and back sitting at my laptop, I started the application for a guarantor again, uploaded scans of my ID, proof of income, and investment account statements. Within half an hour, I was approved to rent an apartment. The certificate issued by the company is all a landlord needs to see. As a result, when my apartment search begins in earnest next week, I will be ready to clinch the deal. I felt reassured when the real estate guru at the expat agency expressed confidence that I’ll have the keys to my new apartment before Christmas.

Which is good, because I went ahead and booked an appointment at the Manhattan center of VFS Global at noon on New Year’s Eve. Ha! Ha! Manhattan, New Year’s Eve day, what could go wrong? Which means changing my flight to return to NYC a week earlier than scheduled.

Sadly, my tasks are not finished. I now have to sign up for private health insurance, without which VFS Global will not consider my application. However, that is a task for another day.

In the meantime, I am making a dinner of sliced rotisserie chicken, a small portion of potato gratin, and a salad dressed with a vinaigrette seasoned with chicken drippings, all purchased this morning at the Saturday market a block away. Listen, I’m in Paris!

1. I’m told by reliable sources that Airbnb reservations do not always satisfy immigration authorities. You might, however, get lucky.

2. In a subsequent post, I’ll describe Billie’s first encounter with French off-leash dogs, which, spoiler, went surprisingly well.