Xrays

20 January 2010. Train Station. Orleans, France.

Soon after arriving back in Chartres, from Paris the day before, I made my way to the gare routiere to catch the bus to Orlèans.  Finally, after several months of being here and having my paperwork submitted, I was being summoned by immigration for my medical visit.  Oh, immigration.

Fortunately, the day would not be devoted completely to the whims of the French government.  Orleans is home to much better shopping than Chartres, and we are in the midst of the Soldes.

(The Soldes, "Sales," are France's month-long period of deep discounts. Think Black Friday for two months a year, in January and July.  Regulated by the government, the sales were originally intended to help stores clear out last season's merchandise and usher in the new seasons.  If my memory serves, about 60% of all purchases made during the year are made during these two months.  Outside of January/July, sales are still strictly controlled. From what I gather, the system was liberalized a bit in the last couple years, but there still remain heavy rules on how many days a year a store can have sales, how they advertise sales, what exactly is put on sale... You get the picture. Socialism! Plus Capitalism!)

Travis, who was also convoqued on the 20th, and I arrived in Orleans and quickly made a bee-line to the nearest H&M. Ahhh, comfort.  I am very proud of myself for limiting myself to just one new skirt, as I had splurged in Paris a couple weeks earlier. My wardrobe thanks me. Hopefully, my students won't look down on me (as much) any longer.

While waiting for OFII to open, we had a quick coffee at the resto just down the street from Immigration. The café was the closest to a diner that either of us had EVER seen in Europe. A diner! Felt strangely at home sitting there, sipping our espressos. Missed that feeling terribly while being pushed through the medical visit.

-----

We were assured that it would take only half an hour to finish, an hour maximum.  The doctors/nurses would be nice, it wasn't a bad experience. HA. I'll assume that those people were convoked on a day where there were primarily teaching assistants, and that they had a different staff.  Travis and I waited in line behind two pregnant women, a Mexican, a Moroccan, and a Spaniard.  Aside from the Spaniard, these are all classes of people that the French would probably have a problem with. Their mistrust resulted in a long wait for Travis and me, and then when they got to us, were in a bad mood.  I won't get into exactly how it all went, but I left that building feeling insulted and abused.

Ah, the life of an immigrant in France.

I should also note that everybody else was carrying around prepared dossiers for their medical visit/immigration to France, and the cover proudly declared "PREPARER VOTRE INTEGRATION," or "prepare your integration." Subtly is not their strong point; they'll be happy to turn your cap around in the right direction for you.

------

Oh, Orleans has an awesome train station. It's glassy and modern and open and enjoyable.  Too bad there is no train between Orleans and Chartres.  Instead, we arrive at/leave from the disgusting-looking and urine-smelling bus station around the corner.  Today was the first I've left Orleans without feeling ill, likely because we spent no time waiting in the station.  Lovely.