Getting A French Welcome

I grinned to myself, thinking first of our local Auberge where the set menu is thirteen euro for three courses, and then of the tiny, vine covered restaurant, further out in the country, where for eleven euro they throw in a quarter litre of wine per person along with the feast.

It is so affordable to eat out and that, coupled with the gifts of food we receive - it is a rural community and they all grow far more than they need - means one can eat well for next to nothing. Perfectly good wine, as already mentioned, is excellent and inexpensive. So it’s cheap to live here and the natives have been more than friendly. The welcome has been unbelievable. And it hasn't stopped. Then, we crossed the big line and received the Carte de Sejour - which means we are fully registered within France as full time residents. It was an interesting experience, those couple of months of full-blown French officialdom. And I can hardly remember ever having had such a number of polite, good mannered, courteous encounters in my life.

Before I left Ireland in 2003, to live in France for good, well meaning buddies predicted all sorts of horrors for me - French officialdom and personal financial troubles. The sudden lack of a significant salary frightened some of them. Great words, unforgettable, from a true 'shop till you drop’ fashion guru, 'What about Brown Thomas on Saturdays’? I am sure the shop is carrying on splendidly without me. Pasta Fresca too I suppose, although I do get a little pang about that one now and again. Scene of many a good long lunch and those mad dinners after the aforementioned Brown Thomas evenings, when the store was opened especially for the equally mad cardholders.

Then there were others, people who appeared to know everything about ’systems’, who told me that I would be entitled to over one hundred euro a week from the minute I arrived in France and to make sure I got it. 'It's European law', they said, claiming it was the same all over Europe. I simply could not understand this alleged law, otherwise why wasn’t everyone simply upping sticks and moving to live in their favourite country in the sun?

Looking back now, it is lucky that I did not come here with any expectations of claiming welfare. I cannot imagine arriving and trying to claim any benefits. It may indeed be possible to do so, and I have no doubt someone could prove that it is, but personally I wouldn’t be in a hurry to test the French system.

When I was making my plans to move to France, I called to the European Commission offices in Dublin where a terrific and helpful woman offered me lots of solid information. She made it very clear that to arrive in France looking for handouts would be a disastrous beginning.

The laws that go along with the freedom of movement that being part of the European Union allows are rigorously applied here. It is easy to come to France, but not so easy to stay. A holiday home, a place where people come to spend just a few months of the year is one thing. But buying into French life for good is totally different.

Until very recently, a Carte de Sejour - your official permission to stay in the country - was necessary. Now, when having the Carte de Sejour is not, strictly speaking, a legal requirement; it is a well-known and acknowledged fact here that you are far better off having it. The easiest way to explain this is that everyone here has 'papers’ and the Gendarmes are entitled to stop you and request to see those papers at any time. A Carte de Sejour is the big one. People who do not have one tend to carry their passports with them at all times.

To apply for our Carte de Sejour, we presented ourselves at the Prefecture’s office in the town of Foix, the principle town of the Ariege, with all our paperwork. Beginning with birth certificates and passports, and everything else that had happened in life, marriage and divorce papers, particulars of our house purchase in France and our financial details.

Regarding our finances, Monsieur’s was quite clear. He was retiring. So pensions, tax etc was all sorted out. It was quite obvious that I hadn't brought five million with me to France. I am a bit younger and was immediately asked if I was intending to work here. I said no, not for the moment, due to having only conversational French, not commercial. No problem, Madame. At no point were benefits of any kind discussed. Here in this country, where there is no evidence of me being able to support myself for the moment, I am deemed to be living 'chez Monsieur'. Years ago, this attitude would have had me tearing my hair out, but that is the way the system works here. Who was I to argue? After comprehensive and extremely polite questioning all our documentation was taken away for photocopying.

An up to date photograph of me along with copies of all my documentation is now lodged in the Mayors office in our local town and in the Prefecture's office in Foix. We understand copies of everything are sent to Paris as well. Should I decide to turn up in any other part of France attempting to claim benefits of any sort, all my details are clearly logged in the system. I am one very traceable woman in a country of over 60 million people.

Eventually, on that day, we were each given an incredibly impressive item. A big, solid square card with our photos and official stamps all over it; laminated and with a big gold ring through it. I thought this must be it, the French identification papers. I was ready to have champagne. But it was stressed that this was just an acknowledgement of our application and we should keep it with us at all times to produce whenever we were asked for our papers. I thought of the movie 'Casablanca’ and the famous letters of transit signed by General de Gaulle.

We had champagne anyway, feeling that we were half way there now.

A few weeks later, we were surprised when a note arrived from the local Gendarmerie. It explained it was to do with our applications and requested that we present ourselves at the Gendarmerie in our local town, at a fixed date and time, with all our paperwork. Off we went again.

A young, friendly and exceptionally polite Gendarme interviewed us, going over all our details, thoroughly. Are we really retired? Monsieur is. Is Madame not a bit young? I say I do some freelance writing. Have we really bought our property as a first home and not just a place to come for the summer? Yes. Yes, honestly, we really have. We told him how much we loved everything here. The people, the climate, the relaxed lifestyle, the food, the wine, the mountains, the fabulous scenery. He seemed delighted with our enthusiasms and joined in the general celebration of the area.

Every scrap of paper was photocopied again. What happens then is that the Gendarmes do their work and send their report, good or bad, back to the Prefecture in Foix, who eventually contacts the most important man in every French village, the Mayor. We waited. We knew we should be ok. We weren’t running away from anything. We seemed to have made friends in the village, been invited to the Mairie for drinks even. Still, you never knew? Some weeks later a formal letter arrived from the Mayor's office telling us that our Carte de Sejours were ready for collection and to call at any time.

We raced up the ancient narrow streets to the Mairie. In the office we were given our cards and formally welcomed. As we walked back through 'our’ Mediaeval village, one of it’s oldest and kindest residents, Madame Minvielle met us. Thrilled with our happy news, she invited us in for a drink and gave us a bag of lovely brown, just laid, eggs.

Yes, there is a lengthy procedure here but the system works. And yes, they look after French nationals first and why on earth shouldn’t they? After that everyone is welcome, but you will not be allowed to be a drain on the welfare system which is, after all, paid for by the French workers. It seems logical. Why should the social welfare office simply give me money because I want to live in a lovely climate?

Also, I would have as much chance as the proverbial snowball in hell of getting a job anywhere, if a qualified French national was in for the same position. And I am glad, because the longer I am here, the more I believe this is why the welcome is so stupendous. I am not taking anything from the French - if anything I am adding to the economy, plus restoring two old houses. I am no threat to anyone. Their system is arranged, in my view, correctly, by putting the French people first and welcoming the rest of us to join them in this beautiful country, where life is, as they say, 'tres agreeable'.