Erasmus, they said. T’will be grand, they said. Little
did we know as we boarded our plane with our 15 kilo Ryanair baggage with
another five kilos of layers strategically fitted on to us what exactly we were
getting ourselves in to. Now currently in my third of a fourth year degree, I
thought that I had college life and more importantly, college REGISTRATION down
pat. However, no manner of UCD online registration, of tutorial clashes, of
program-office fights, of random emails sent to various members of faculty
and of utter confusion had prepared us for the beast that is French
administration. It appears that trying to do anything of importance in France
requires an inordinate amount of documentation and without fail, proof of
residence, proof of EU citizenship and passport pictures. Passport pictures everywhere.
Never have I gone through so many passport pictures in such a short space of
time. Two reams of passport pictures later and I now consider myself an expert
in how to take the perfect passport picture that is not only flattering but
also conforms to ID-appropriate dimensions. Truly a talent that is not mastered
by many. That is one thing that I can definitely thank French administration
for. That and Tyra Banks for mastering the smize.
Notwithstanding this incessant need for my face to be
plastered on every document I sign my name to, is also the need to PROVE that
you are a resident of France. Even availing of a student rate in the local
swimming pool involves a declaration of residency, commonly known as an “attestation
de domicile”. There was a week of my life where I just about carried around
every item of important documentation with me in the likelihood that someone,
somewhere, would ask me to produce it. If I had lost my bag I would genuinely
not have an identity or any means to prove that I once did, in fact, have an identity. I fondly remember the time when I opened up a bank
account in 5 minutes during fresher’s week in first year solely because I got
some trivial, free thing in exchange. I managed to open up a bank account in
Paris and basically needed therapy afterwards it was that stressful.
Registration has been the most intense registration
period of my life (UCD online registration is a blessing in comparison). From
having to sign a learning agreement (???) to sending it back and forth from
home university to host university and having to obtain not one, not two, but
THREE different stamps and signatures, I feel like I have somehow signed over
everything to Nanterre, including my soul and my willpower to try to get my
head around French administration. From the constant beating that French administration
has given us (I speak of such solely in the hypothetical sense, that shit has
been outlawed for years) I’ve come to this weird acceptance whereby I have
admitted defeat and am ready to submit to the overlord that is bureaucracy in
France. I have made peace with the French system and in return, it continues to
baffle me, require me to produce proof of residency and constant selfies of
myself. I guess I will learn to deal with it.
Maybe one day, someday, very far
in to the future, I will understand it. And we will ride above ground in to the
sunset together on the wonderland of Paris metros. <3 <3
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