Victory! French Driving Licenses

Or:
How to Get a French Drivers License: Go on Friday and Look Pathetic.

The metro strike wages on, but the trains have gone back to a part time schedule. On Thursday and Friday, the days without trains, the traffic was heavier, but not too bad until Friday night, when the drive home took about 2 hours.

Of course, we missed the a.m. rush hour on Friday because we spent the morning at our favorite place, the prefecture. If you recall our last visit to the French Center for Red Tape, we lost an entire morning and a lot of love for France when we were denied driver's licenses after a series of hoop-jumping.

So the return visit was certainly not something we looked forward to, but the letters from the Michigan Secretary of State (see The List) expired on October 20. And my buddy the translator didn't send the translated letters back until just last week, so we had a small window.

The first happy surprise was had that morning was the refreshingly close parking spot we found on the street. Definitely a first.

We went through the usual security points (by now the guards must recognize us), and into the offices for driving licenses. We went straight for the reception line, but no one was there. And taped to a nearby pole was a sign that said "The office of license exchanges is closed on October 18".

A small part of me rejoiced at the excuse to put off this horribleness by another day, and I was already composing another "I hate France" blog post in my head. But Dave looked at his watch and said "It's the 19th", and just then, a woman sauntered up to the reception chair and smiled brightly at us.

We turned over our sheaf of documents, passports, photos, and translations, and she sang a little song as she shuffled everything into plastic folders. Then she handed everything back in their neat little packets and told us to take one ticket for the both of us. We exchanged looks: last time we were firmly told to take one ticket each. What was going on?

We skeptically walked over to the machine, took one ticket, and looked back at her. Was she sure? She bobbed her head merrily. Go on then, go sit down.

So we sat, and I examined the ticket: You are the first in line. Your estimated wait is 0 minutes. That couldn't be right. Maybe the machine was broken.

In fact, we were the first in line. And the wait ended up being about five, but I was not about to complain. When our number flashed on the board, we walked together to the little booth and prepared for the other shoe to drop.

Unbelievably, the woman at the license exchange desk was even cheerier than the receptionist (David later told me that she was not the same person he'd dealt with last time). She spoke to us in about 80% French, only switching to perfect English when we looked at each other in complete bewilderment.

We'd done a few things not perfectly, but she guided us through the corrections with ease and efficiency. She flipped through our piles of papers, muttering "perfect" here and there, checking for dates, asking a few questions. With every inquiry, we leaped forward in our seats, eagerly pointing out the required dates and figures.

Then she pulled our Michigan drivers licenses out of the folders and slid them across the desk to us. "You take these back" she said.

I eyed her skeptically (it was a morning of skepticism). Was she sure? According to the US Embassy website, books, and personal accounts, the French government takes and destroys your US license. In fact, I just Googled it and found three independent websites that confirm this fact.

"Yes", she said proudly, "In France, we give you a French license, and you keep your old one."

Well, best not question an esteemed member of the French government. We scooped up our Michigan licenses and tucked them away. There's a headache adverted when we go home this Christmas!

Finally, apparently satisfied with our offering, she gathered up our papers and happily informed us that our French licenses would arrive in the mail within three or four days. Three or four days?? Every book or website I'd read said it would take a minimum of 6 months. Was she sure?

Maybe the pure mental exhaustion from grappling with French bureaucracy over the past months had left me with a look of pathetic hopelessness, because she gave me a kind of patronizing smile and said yes, three to four days. Why would it take any longer than that?

We sat back stunned. She smiled and said au revoir, and suddenly I remembered something.

"What do we need to pay?" I asked.

She looked equally stunned. "Pay? You pay nothing! I am sure of this!"

What? We get to keep our Michigan licenses? Our French licenses arrive within four days? And we pay nothing?

Had we somehow stepped into a parallel French universe? What country is this?

Well, we'll hold off the celebrations until we actually get the licenses in the mail. Which should be interesting, considering that they're being sent by certified mail and the Levallois-Perret post office is under construction.

But I'm sure that will be another story.