Prefecture

n. – prefecture – official residence of a prefect (a person appointed to any of various positions of command)

I need a “carte sejour” (the French equivalent of a green card) in order to work or even stay here for an extended period of time. Since I’m married to a French man, it’s “my right” as the man at the French Consulate in New York explained and all I needed was to come in two months before our departure to get the visa in order to show that at the French prefecture within two months upon arriving in Paris. I went in person in to inquire because it wasn’t possible to get anyone on the phone to explain. I went back again in person because I couldn’t figure out how to secure the appointment on the web only to discover that it’s not possible on a Mac. So finally after my husband made the appointment for me from his PC at the office, I went back to the Consulate in New York to provide them with copious amounts of paperwork and proudly acquired my visa.

I was told there that all I needed to show at the French prefecture was my passport with said visa inside, but being ever the pessimist, I chose instead to go armed with the same copious amounts of paperwork just in case or “au cas ou.” So two months later and after returning from my first short trip to Germany, I marched over to the main prefecture, which happens to be located very close to our temporary Paris apartment.

Upon arriving, I explained what I needed and was told that in fact, that’s not where I was supposed to go, but rather to the prefecture de police or police station near Notre Dame, also not that far away. Upon arriving there, I was told that this was still not the right place and that I needed to go the prefecture de police in the 17th arrondissement since that’s the one that coincides with people living in our area, which is the 4th arrondissement. Interesting, since it’s pretty much on the other side of the city, but I’m learning not to question the logic of things. So I dutifully trecked over there (now by cab) and stood in line outside along with my fellow immigrants on what was probably one of the coldest days on record for Paris in early December.

After a long wait and another longer wait inside, it was finally my turn. I proceeded to show my passport with my visa and then without even being asked started bringing out my papers – photo copies of my marriage certificate, my husband’s passport, his ID card, our lease, etc. Well of course that wasn’t enough and clearly irritated by my ineptitude in procuring the proper documents, the woman dealing with me told me I needed my husband’s original ID card, not a copy. I explained he had it with him since he was in Germany. Even more irritated, she then told me that I couldn’t ask for a carte sejour in France if my husband was in Germany so I had to clarify that he wasn’t actually living there, but only there on business.

In any event, that wasn’t all – the lease since it was temporary also didn’t count and what I needed in addition to his original ID was a gas bill or some proof of permanent residence, which of course I didn’t have yet. And I’m not sure if I alone would be able to secure those things without a bank account, which of course I tried opening, but was unable to without a carte sejour! Ah well, like the arrondissements in the great city of lights, it’s one of those vicious circles, but I’m sure somehow just as I’m getting better at navigating myself around the city, I will be able to sort through the red tape that comes with re-locating to a foreign land.