‘But WHY do you want to change your driving licence, madame?’ said the surprised voice. ‘It’s unnecessary - England is in the EU!’
‘You’re Right!’ I nearly said, ‘What the hell am I doing, voluntarily plunging into the tortured bowels of French bureaucracy?’
But I didn’t say it. Because my English licence is quite old – one of those pink and green papery things coming apart at the folds, and there's certainly No Photograph. (Did we even have cameras)? So it's instantly suspicious.
And you’re never sure of the reaction it’ll provoke when stopped routinely by the gendarmes: we've had hilarity, fascination, incomprehension, Outrage-with-Severe-Reprimand for even bringing it to France (he was an unusually unpleasant specimen having a bad day)… But I don’t want to be flung into an oubliette because of my annoying driving licence.
The Préfectures in France are the Houses of Mass Administration. In March this year I made my first foray into their Website/licences/driving/resident/foreigner/EU/shortperson… This revealed an interminable list of Essential Documents that must be Translated by approved professionals and Sworn to by approved professionals who Mustn't Know me At All.
Naturally I gave up, but re-attacked a month later by phoning for clarification. A very friendly bloke narrowed the List down to proof of address, old licence and a photo - Just take them down to the Préfecture and they’ll send me a French licence. Simple!
Then I forgot about it. Until this week when with uncharacteristic Dynamism, I assembled all the docs, including terrifying photo (“you mustn’t smile, madame!”) and phoned to check they were open that afternoon…
But it seems every member of The Administration has a different set of rules. That day's member, after my insistence on carrying it through, passed me on to a colleague with special knowledge.
The colleague pointed out the need for another document (there's always one more) with proof of Maiden Name. Have you ever noticed that Maiden Names are instantly jettisoned from British passports and the like? Eventually I found some old GCE certificates, and post-eventually, birth and marriage ones (I’ll take them all).
I couldn’t go that afternoon, though, because this person was adamant that an appointment was imperative. ‘OK then – when can I come?’ (Hoping she wouldn't say Wednesday afternoon, as I had a trim & blow dry booked). 'End of September, madame'.
Damn! What a complete waste of Dynamism!
Still, it will be properly sorted out then, because every administrator we've met here has been charming and helpful in spite of our incoherent jabberings.
And of course, it gives me time for a load more attempts at the Terrifying Photo…
Happy all the things!
1 day ago
35 comments:
Oh, goodness. What a hassle! Do these licences have an expiration date? I mean, will you have to go through this all again in the future. Ours last five years (used to be three) and then we have to go and have an eye test and a new photo. And the licences are State issue, so if you move to another State, you have to change your licence.
Pictures are taken by the Motor Vehicle people, but we can smile! I'm sure this is not the way everywhere, but when we moved to Pennsylvania, we were given an option to preview the photo on screen and, if not pleased, they would take it again. Benefits of computerization.
My other half still has his old UK paper licence (issued 45+ years ago and doesn't expire until 2013). Who knows, it may come in handy one day....
Hi Expat - yes, mine's just like your fella's - it even expires the same year! (Splendid vintage).
They are quite decorative, in a Flimsy sort of way.
Doesn't he get weird police reactions to it sometimes? The rules you describe seem fearsomely strict... Though I like the photo thing. I'd probably be Rejecting for Some Time...
Well, he doesn't use it. Our US licences are good in the UK so it's not needed. But I do have a story about one incident, years ago, here in the US.
When I get my head above water, I'll pop back and tell you about that.
Ah, Expat - he just keeps it in his Treasurebox.
Can't Wait to hear about the Incident...
CI's silence since Tuesday is not a good sign, Dolores, given his post on his blog. I am concerned.
Me too, Expat - been vainly dipping in there for news. Am hoping grandpa has had miraculous leap back to health and they're busy having fun.
Where are you CI? Please let us know how things are...
Thank you both for your messages! You really are special friends!! I’m so sorry to have been away for so long. I’ll explain more in good time (but it will be sometime later, best done over on my blog).
I really like my UK driving licence. It’s so interesting! I’ve just dug it out of the far recesses of my wallet and spent some sleepless time painstakingly de-bonding it from its protective plastic sleeve. Who knows? Perhaps I accidentally spilt some super-glue over it many a year ago? Or maybe plastic and paper just fuse together when kept in close contact and in the dark for 33 years? I know it was 33 years because I can see the mirror image of the date 02 06 76 preserved on the plastic. There’s a vague memory of this license replacing a pretty little red booklet, which has long since vanished from my life. Did you ever have one of those? I’ll need to keep the plastic. It may come in jolly useful because the date seems to have got itself completely detached from the actual driving license itself.
Anyway, I’ve carefully unfolded the paper and laid the fragile document out on the table before me. I’m scared to turn it over. It is in a ruinous condition; tatty at the edges, ragged at the folds, and it sports a number of jagged holes. But I love it. It’s beautiful. Just like a part of the family.
Do you have any useful tips to help me help it on its journey back to the safety of the far recesses of my wallet? I’m a bit stuck now that I’ve unstuck it from its former home.
But you’ve reminded me of my new car in Tenerife. It’s a funny story, on topic, and I want to be back here soon to tell it. Please tell your story, Expat. I adore you both.
I've just remembered I forgot to tell you!
Expat - my license expires on 18 01 2013. SNAP! Same year as the other half!!! (If you are really clever, you'll be able to tell my birthday - but I can think of two pitfalls that you'll have to avoid! So, what is my birthday, and what are the two pitfalls?
Dolores - I agree. Splendid vintage...
Blimey - what a coincidence!!!!!!!!
Hmmmm....
Your birthday is January 19th.
And does your license identifiation number contain the numerals 401193?
Don't know about the pitfalls....
Spot on, Expat. Brilliant detective work, as always. And yes, the number 401193 appears immediatly after the first 5 characters of my surname (I think this is a scrambled version of my date of birth).
Pitfalls? In the USA the month appears before the day in dates, and a UK license runs out the day before a 70th birthday (not on the birthday itself).
(Clever Clogs!)
How delightful to see you back, CI! And a member of the Pink & Green 2013 club.
The tricky part is photocopying the damn things for Vital administrative procedures. George and I dedicated aeons to smoothing it out on a table without jam stains, multi-sellotaping the gaping fissures, and Forcing it to Stay Put on the copier.
We are proud of the result. (Although its rigidity demands large briefcase to carry it now)
Elementary, my dear CI. It was simply a matter of cherchez la form.
I had already sussed the bithday (there being but 12 months in a year). Perusal of the other half's license told me the rest.
It's every bit as tatty as your and Dolores' licenses so I didn't attempt to remove it from its plactic case. I just tucked it back into the treasure box. (Yes, we do have one. It's a rather beautiful walnut Victorian tea caddy that looks like a miniature pirate's treasure chest. My grandson loves it.)
Dolores, you may well start a fashion trend with your large briefcase in lieu of handbag. Think of all the STUFF you can tote around!
Sometimes coincidences just go on and on, don’t they?
I too, have a Treasure Chest, measuring 15 x 7 x 6 inches, made of a stout deep brown wood of unknown origin by a craftsman in another age. It has beaten metal edges, iron studs, a large recessed metal handle, ornate hinges and intricate locking mechanism. It is battered and beautiful, and contains all my darkest secrets. Just to look at it evokes visions of the pirates of the Spanish Main, plunder and booty. Yo-Ho-Ho and a Bottle of Rum!
Mystery, adventure and imagination - every grandchild’s delight!
Yes, Expat - I Shall be Very Trendy with my enormous driving licence briefcase, pigeon feathers fore and aft.
And I, too, have a Treasure Box. (They seem to be De Rigeur)!
Mine belonged to my grandma - it's a 'CWS(Co-op)Crumpsall Biscuits' tin, with three hinged layers; she won it at a dance around 1920.
And it's much treasured
A 14 year-old could get a driving license in Arkansas when I lived there from 1989 to 1992, so why didn’t I take the State driving test? Was it a fear of the humiliation of failure? Was it laziness? Nope, it was because my UK license was valid for a continuous period of six months per visit to the USA. So my frequent short visits back to the UK ensured my UK license stayed valid in Arkansas.
It’s fun when the weirdness of your personal lifestyle prevents bureaucracy from getting its clutches on you. I had several minor skirmishes with police whilst driving in AR on my UK license, and on each occasion the police seemed to give up when they saw my UK license (although my wonderfully engaging smile and English accent may have helped).
But I did have an embarrassing experience when I bought a car in Tenerife last November. The car dealer was an ebullient English lady who could talk the hind off a donkey and who assured me that she would take care of all the Spanish paperwork. Dolores, you may be grumbling about French bureaucracy, but I’d find it difficult to accept that the French are worse than the Spanish when it comes to paperwork. I gleefully accepted the lady’s offer, and two weeks later I took possession of my new motor car, plus a mountain of completed paperwork that was colourfully adorned with a multitude of official-looking stamps. Off I drove, happy as a sand-boy.
Two months later, my Spanish bank account (the one I’d used to pay the lady) was frozen by the police. It transpired that (unbeknown to me) she had signed me up as a permanent resident of Tenerife, and the police had notified my bank that my non-resident account was no longer legal. It took me ages to sort this out, and reclaim my non-resident status. Luckily I had a second Anglo/Spanish bank account that the police were unaware of, so I was able to continue doing what I do best (eating, drinking, going to wild parties, etc).
Looking forward to your story, Expat…!
Yes CI - plunging in & out of administrative debacles is very familiar.
I've been enthusiastically setting up my miniscule enterprise - trumpeted at the beginning of the year as a super-simple way of earning & paying one's dues.
I now find that the foibles of the system (and Maybe, one tap too many on the keyboard) have set it up in George's name, and that I must align myself to a Completely Different regime specially aimed, no doubt, at Myopic Shortarses with a Headache.
YES Expat - the Incident!
Oh, the incident.
Well, it was a long time ago and perhaps not that interesting after all…
John is older and wiser now, but back then he thought he could give Stirling Moss a run for his money. This was before I came over and John was here on business (I think…hazy on that point).
So, there John was at a traffic light. Just him and a souped up car in the next lane. It was nighttime and no other traffic around. The other guy was revving the engine, showing off. John thought “Ill teach him!” and when the lights changed he floored it and took off like a bat out of hell. But there WAS another car around….that turned on its sirens and flashing lights. John was pulled over. The cop walked up, big gun on hip. The usual routine…do you know why I pulled you over sir? (Well, duh! Drag racing on the highway, perhaps?). He asked for license and insurance. John pulled out his UK license. The cop turned it over and over.
“What’s this?”
“It’s my license. I’m British.”
“Where’s the photograph?
“These don’t have photographs.”
“Take it out of the plastic, sir”
(Cop scrutinizes the license, asks a few more questions, then…)
“When does it expire?’
“2013”
‘What??”
“Yes, 2013”
‘Are you trying to be funny with me, sir?” (hand on big gun holster)
“No, Officer. 2013. Really”
(At this point the cop realizes that his citation form doesn’t cater to crazy English visitors with even crazier licenses. He can’t fill in the boxes. He gives up in disgust)
‘When are you leaving the country, sir?”
“In a few days”
“Well, I’m letting you go with a caution, this time. But if I ever see you round here again….”
Cop heads back to his cruiser.
John heads (slowly) for the hotel bar.
Excellent story Expat! - I can Feel his terror. (In fact, I don't suppose he actually felt any - I'm feeling it for him...)
Beautifully told, Expat! Gosh, I was really worried the story wouldn't have a happy ending. Maybe the "2013 Club" has an Angel watching over...
Maybe this will sound silly, but I've had a recurring dream since childhood. Three people on horseback, watching over me, very brave, very wise, my heros from another age. The dream always happens when I'm under stress, and I can never quite make out their faces.
Hmmm.... Maybe it's greedy to have three Guardian Angels?
Sorry, I'd have been along earlier but I was trapped in the woods.
Chaps, some of the funniest driving licence / insane bureaucracy tales I have ever heard. Mine pale.
Good to see you are all benefitting from the sunshine.
Well, Jon, I could also tell about the time that my (then) 18-year old was stopped for speeding on a back road in his bright orange Jeep CJ7 (jacked up and with oversize wheels). The female police office, smiling broadly as she handed him his ticket, noted that if one wants to stay under the local cop radar one doesn't tool around the neighborhood in what she described as " The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown,"
You have to be a Peanuts fan to appreciate this...
'The Great Pumpkin' - Fabulous image, Expat. (Our specimen of car is more like a mouldy bit of courgette).
Jon, it is with relief that we see you made it back from Them Thar Woods - did you Feel the trees were watching you at all?
(ref your Outdoor Activities http://vendeeblog.net/?p=328)
CI - Your recurring dream sounds rather more Scary than silly.
Have any of you ever had those Night Terrors, where you wake up convinced of a clawed hand on your pillow? (Clawing at you)?
Or was it just the cat...
But you didn't have a cat.
I think it was a mistake to watch the FrightFest film the other night.
I guess it’s my turn now to tell a story - and it's one that may give you a turn, just as it gave me quite a turn at the time.
Winter 1968. I have a restless overnight stay in Newcastle, punctuated by a brief sleep in which I have my recurring dream. This time, the three horsemen ride out towards me from a swirling mist, and appear to be barring my path.
Late next evening, I drive up the Pennines heading towards Liverpool and hit fog. It’s serious swirling fog, slowing me down to a crawl. Then there’s blackness – my headlights are picking out nothing, nothing at all. I feel a chill on the back of my neck, running down to the base of my spine as the vision of the horsemen comes to my mind. I stop.
I get out of the car. The fog is so thick that I keep my hand on the side of the car as I begin to walk forward. I can see nothing. Then the fog suddenly lifts. My front tyres and my toes are on the edge of a precipice, and far away in a valley below I can see the lights of a town.
I had driven off the road on a bend, with only inches to spare through two traffic bollards, and had thankfully stopped when I did. The memory still gives me the shivers (and vertigo) today.
Dolores!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Or should I call you Howard?
You dark horse, you!
CI, Dolores has introduced us to a horse of another color. (Check out her latest favorite blog link.) But I shall respond to YOUR horsey tale very soon.
CI: That is a wonderfully heartwarming story. Scary for you, yes indeed, but proof positive that your Three Horsemen are not apocoylptic but true guardians. How lucky you are.
Now for the horse of another colour...
Is the Dolores we know and love really Howard masquerading as Dolores?
In which case, is George really Lisa?
And are they really in France?
Come to think of it, is Jon Doust really a blogging gite owner or just another illusion created by Dolores to fool us as to her true identity?
Ha! Maybe Dolores was Constance all along!!!
I ask you, who can you trust these days?
Dolores is definitely Howard, with strong connotations of Constance. I know this for certain. It’s a simple matter of numerology, as follows:
If you consider each letter in the alphabet to be represented by its sequence number (A=1, B=2, C=3 and so on), you will find that “HOWARD” sums to 69.
The answer is always 69.
And the answer was always 69 on the Constance blog!
Fan Dabby Dozey!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Well, this is all very confusing! Howard and Lisa have disappeared. You know what, I think Dolores has multiple personalities. Howard managed to come out somehow, but briefly. maybe he will resurface again soon....
Bloody Hell, Expat - you worried me with your last comment! But he's still there - I've just frenziedly checked.
Thank you Hugely, you and CI, for Noticing Howard (who I'd fiendishly placed at the top). I only dared do it, though, when Blogged gave him a Very Good rating. Sorry - it only happened yesterday and I'm SO excited! (And Up Myself)...
He is mine but not me (except in parts), and Lisa is most Definitely not George! (the 'horse' is Eeyore).
In fact, H & L are from a Famous Book I failed to get past chapter three with, so I vent my frustration bloggedly...
As for Jon Doust Vendée Blog, now there's a thought... Could that Dashing avatar and all those highly credible details be the cunning fibs of an Alien from Jupiter? He does have remarkable engineering (and plumbing) knowledge)...
CI - your tale is indeed worthy of the FrightFest season - I'm jolly glad it had the Scary Anticipation and not the Gore!
Hmmm, I'm thoroughly confused by all these multiple identities. Although I must confess to three (Me, Myself, and I, these are my favourite people..). Do you remember the song?
And Dolores, all three of me may want to get famous too! Who is "Blogged"?
And how can you wonderful ladies Doubt Doust?
(I'm into spelling at the moment in another place).
:-)
Hello CANARY ISLANDER - just back from your Other Place, easily clickable from top of page here...
Interestingly complex post!
'Blogged.com' is a place full of blogs, where blogs are supposed to find and like each other, whilst discussing (via 'Chatter'), the world.
It can be exciting when you submit a blog for rating; it can also be frustrating to navigate round.
Give it a go, though, CI - who knoweth where it may lead?
What Famous Book, Dolores?
EXACTLY, Expat! But I still cherish the dream...
You already know the thrill of being published - I want to be (the late, sadly) Clare Boylan, & Deborah Moggach. May take a while...
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