Spoonfuls of Nutella and the "Paperwork Nightmare"

6h France time

There's this expression in French—“je vais craquer.” It means kind of what it sounds like: “I’m going to crack” or “I’ll lose it,” but it’s pretty lighthearted. Well. Today je vais craquer thanks to all of this red tape. Paperwork and documents are of the utmost importance in France, and if one wants to get anything done, rest assured copies of identification, photos, and duly filled-out forms will be necessary. I decided today to try to get a head start on my CAF, a document that will allow me to get some of my rent back (because I don’t have an enormous salary). I realized, however, that I needed a social security number to fill out the document. Well. I don’t have my social security (more like basic health insurance here) number yet. I looked at my form for the Sécu Sociale, and I don’t even know what to fill out or whom I should give it to. And I actually don’t think I can fill it out before I have my Carte de Séjour, which is essentially a piece of identity that says “I’m authorized to be here.” And I can’t get my Carte de Séjour until I have a form that says I did go to the doctor’s last week for my immigrant check-up. It’s like a never-ending parade of documents. Out of a sitcom. Or a cartoon.

And just now my landlady, Nicole, told me that a document that I spent 8 € to fax to my parents must be redone. I had them sign a form that said that they would pay my rent if ever I couldn’t, but since they don’t live in France, they won’t work. Nicole told me to talk to a teacher at my school about filling it out. That should be awkward. Then she told me that I had to pay my rent with a check, not with cash; but I know that one of my friends paid two month’s rent recently entirely in cash. I can only conclude that the French want things to be difficult for foreigners. Or maybe for everyone.

Anyway, enough negativity. I had the most pleasant weekend out in the countryside, in a little town called Arnac. Paula invited me to come with her to the home of this adorable French couple, and she and I met up with two Chinese girls, Mei (who I’d met before) and Edith, to take the bus out to Arnac. The couple, Christophe and Monique, fed us dinner on Saturday evening and let us stay overnight in their very comfy attic. (They live in a converted school house. It's quite interesting.) Christophe, Edith, and I also took a walk through the village and into the woods a bit that night. I felt like I’d never seen so many stars at once, though I could be romanticizing things a bit since it’s France. Before and during dinner, I was drilled about my thoughts on Obama’s health care plan: why, my friends asked, are a number of American people so staunchly against it? It seemed like progress to them. I reasoned that the plan resembles socialism, which still scares the pants off of Americans. And then I had fun telling them how much I paid in health insurance in the United States. It elicits the most hilarious reaction out of people here. They freak out, and then they suggest that Americans must have much bigger salaries than Europeans. We do have slightly higher salaries than the French, but the difference isn’t great.

The health care debate got me to thinking—and I’m still turning it over in my head—and just to warn you, this is boring—about why Americans reject the idea of socialized health care and the French embrace it. I think, first of all, that U.S. citizens are often inclined not to trust their central government, and this has something to do with the fact that the U.S. is so enormous. How can people living in the center of the country trust politicians in Washington, miles and miles away, to make the best decisions for them? Politicians, Americans reason, guide in self-interest. The French, on the other hand, think it awfully suspicious and bizarre that Americans would entrust their health care to privately owned businesses. In France, the central government controls everything. It is a well-oiled and pervasive machine, so even if the French complain about it, they still trust it because they have to. And what’s more, the French are heavily involved in their government. I’ve read that one in ten French persons is a civil servant; the French protest constantly (it’s practically a way of life) and most of them vote. Relative to France, the United States is a loose confederation of states full of politically uninvolved and complacent people. And voilà. It’s all a matter of who people trust, which is really a matter of who people know best.

So, on Sunday, Christophe and Monique hosted a birthday party for Christophe in the form of a three-hour lunch (long meals are apparently the norm). The couple’s friends who attended are all quasi-anarchists/communists who are very politically informed, and talk at the table was very current events-y. There were two or three discussions in rapid French at a time, and it was pretty hard to keep up, but I was addressed directly a number of times to be asked about American politics, opinions, and ways of life. After lunch (and two very chocolatey desserts), the party went for a walk in the woods. Christophe told me that there was a cave nearby that had housed prehistoric peoples, but we didn’t get the chance to go see it. We did see a shrine in the middle of the woods that had sculptures of Mary in it, but it was apparently a “popular” religion shrine that combined pagan and Christian ideals so that everyone could be happy. It was quite pretty. After the party, Christophe and Monique chatted with me about European history, and I ate it up. This whole weekend was such a good look at the French way of life and at the political dynamic in Europe. It was fantastic.

So now I’m going to have to put together some good lesson plans for my kids. I’ve been really relaxed about it, but I think I should probably be a bit more organized. The kids have all been really cute, and so far they seem to like me a lot. Every time I walk through the school yard at one of my school, I’m swarmed by little girls, many of whom just kind of look at me with big eyes. Some of my six-year-olds keep giving me drawings and bits of eraser. Really, children are wonderful. They’re so harmless and sweet.