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BY MAKI SOMOSOT

In print | Published September 9, 2010

Paris is not your average city. Nor are the French, proud inhabitants and vanguards of the City of Lights, content to be known as an average people.

While being a Swattie ostensibly connotes that I am less average than the norm, my official status this semester will not just be your average Swawkward-Swattie-Studying-Abroad. I hereby designate myself as a Swawkward-Swattie-in-Paris, who also doubles as a diehard Francophile, intent on soaking in the best and the worst of the glittering Gallic capital.

Bearing this bias for French culture, I carry an ulterior motive to ensure that the French are not the snobby, pompous living caricatures that popular culture has long depicted them to be, especially since I’m supposed to be living among their kind for the rest of the year.

Voilà mon grand projet for this column — the deconstruction of the French stereotype.

STEREOTYPE 1: THE VISA PROCESS

Before I proceed with the cultural documentary, I must first document the visa application process, otherwise known as the bane of every study abroad student’s experience.

The French visa process was as stereotypical as it could possibly be: long, tedious and nerve-wracking, with even the classic hell-cat of a consulate officer thrown in for good measure. I should note here, first and foremost, that before applying for the actual French student visa itself, every study abroad student must first go through Campus France.

Campus France is a specialized intermediary institution, which reviews the student’s academic record, educational background and overall proficiency in the French language. It is also a complete pain in the ass to apply through. Its website is an unfriendly linguistic hybrid between French and English, and if you don’t understand enough of the former, you will be lost in translation.

The point of Campus France is to obtain the all-important quittance de paiement, the official receipt of payment that every French Consulate in the U.S. requires from all study abroad students. After finishing your application, you have to send a money order of $60 to the Campus France headquarters in Washington. Campus France only accepts money orders and will not start to process your application upon receipt of this money order, which normally takes two or three weeks. I made sure to apply very early.

Thanks to an unknown stroke of fate, Campus France increased the application fee to $75, the day right after I had sent in the $60, the original amount. I was pissed off. For three weeks, I gnawed my nails into exceptional shapes and forms, agonizing that Campus France wouldn’t accept my money order in light of their recent fee increase. Just about when I had finished decimating half of the cuticle on my ring finger, I finally received the official Campus France quittance in the mail, exactly two days prior to my visa appointment at the New York French Consulate.

The French Consulate requires your personal appearance for a visa application. The Consulate also asks for the original document and one or more corresponding copies. I made at least three copies of the 12 required documents. All in all, 36 sheets of paper. The French visa application turned me into an environmental mercenary.

Horror stories of people getting turned away at the door loomed over me like an intimidating cloud of disrepute. Ils peuvent être difficiles, my French professor said about the New York Consulate in particular. They can be difficult. So I made more copies.

I braced myself for the Consulate. In fact, I braced myself so well that I was one day too early for my appointment. When I arrived at the Consulate, I was unceremoniously turned away by the guard. Your appointment is for tomorrow. My conviction was such that I never bothered to double-check the actual date on the appointment confirmation sheet. Epic fail.

The next day, I went back to the Consulate with dampened clothes and spirits, but still determined to procure my visa at any cost. All was well until I came face to face with the Consulate Officer from Hell.

Madame was a redhead, with bloodshot eyes, massive eye-bags and a shrill, exacting voice that rose in deadly pitch each time she demanded a particular document.

She began her crusade by taking my photo for the visa, insisting that I press my face as acutely as possible to the partition glass separating us to capture a better angle of my face.

“Madame, PLEASE move CLOSER to the camera — yes, no, NO, STOP, NOT like that, but CLOSER. ”
And so on and so forth, until she was finally satisfied with my precise spatial location. This bizarre, back-and-forth dance that I was forced to engage in is probably why I look like a confused deer-in-the-headlights in my visa photo.

Madame was, as the French like to say, tres exigeante. She was demanding and impatient to near-intimidating extremes. As she demanded rapid-fire for all my documents, the meticulous order in which I had arranged my documents came undone under pressure.

She was also quick to pounce on unwanted verbal mannerisms.

“Do NOT say ‘UH HUH’ to me, Madame, I do NOT understand this ‘UH HUH,’ say ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ instead. I do NOT understand this ‘UH HUH!’”
Finally, she was satisfied.

“Your paperwork is perfect. But because you have a Filipino passport, you have to come back in two weeks for your visa.”

It wasn’t as straightforward as that, I explained to Madame. I needed to have my visa processed earlier than two weeks, because I was leaving soon for the Philippines.

Madame scowled, and pondered the possibility of an expedited student visa, which was completely against Consulate rules. She instructed an increasingly despondent me to return to the Consulate three days before my flight to the Philippines, for further advice. It was, of course, without the assurance that my visa was going to be issued, given that the Consulate never makes the exception to expedite the process.

I became manic. I griped to friends, professors and even casual acquaintances unlucky enough to cross my path. I sent angry e-mails to the Consulate. My French professor and I called the Consulate at least 10 times.

Quietly desperate, I returned to the Consulate on Friday. I encountered Madame again at the same window.

“I have the approval for your visa, Madame. Please sit down and wait until your name is called.”

When Madame’s high-pitched voice called for me through the speakers, the most beautiful green page entitled “VISA: Valable pour FRANCE” (Valid for France) with the official seal of the French Consulate General of New York greeted my eyes.

“Please check that everything is in order, Madame.”

I nodded mutely, trying to digest the reality that I was actually receiving my French visa four days earlier than was permitted by strict, unbendable Consulate policy.

“Yes, everything looks good,” I managed to croak back audibly. I turned on my heel to leave, with the full intent of dancing like a madwoman down 5th Avenue.

“Bon voyage!” the Consulate Officer from Hell, or rather, an Angel-in-Disguise, wished me, with a fond hint of a smile on her face. Meanwhile, she scowled at her next victim standing in line, ready to rip his visa application apart. Was this curiously paradoxical behavior stereotypical of the French? It remains to be seen.

The French bureaucracy, as eloquently embodied by Madame, exceeded its infamous reputation for being unhelpful and exigeante when it came to my personal dilemma. Perhaps it was a case of well-placed, propitious bureaucratic guilt that she felt towards helpless college students like me, God knows. But contrary to the stereotype, the impassable, uncaring French bureaucracy of ill repute does indeed make humane exceptions from time to time. Just as long as you spare the Consulate officers your Americanisms.

Moral: Make sure you have all of the required documents and enough copies for each. Be aware of the limitations of your paperwork. Be ready to answer for them because the consular officers are professionally trained to spot and scrutinize them. Never assume that “Uh-huh” stands for an adequate response.

Just don’t.

Maki is a junior. You can reach her at msomoso1@swarthmore.edu.

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