Life, Tourism Chaos, and Surviving French Bureaucracy

Oh goodness, yes, that happened. Everything vanished. Thank goodness it was not the originals. Sometimes it takes a memory popping up on your timeline to make you remember.

We do not work nine to five, far from it, but it can be eight until late, or not at all, or every day for a month or two straight, then hibernate like cheese loving cicadas who have done their summer stint.

It can feel like chaos, glorious, sun drenched, rosé fuelled chaos.

That is the thing when you work predominantly in the tourism industry, you make hay whilst the sun shines. We bustle. We sweat. We serve and graft and juggle twenty things while trying not to trip over our own flip flops. Then, in September time, when the last visitors vanish like the last bottle of rosé on a Friday night, we become almost normal. Almost.

The Great Reality Slap

Let us rewind. It all has to start somewhere, and it started for us when we realised this little dream of ours was going to be expensive.

We moved to France in 2019, bright eyed, bushy tailed and totally unprepared for just how fast money evaporates. We were three months in when we realised no amount of just in case cash is ever enough. Then the pound took a nosedive, and we knew we had to start earning.

Only, you cannot just start. You have to get a SIRET number. You have to be in the system. Which means forms. Which means French. Which means help.

So we did the sensible thing for us at the time. We called in a handholder.

Cowboys and Angels

Look, there is no shame in it. Do not let anyone try to tell you there is. Navigating French bureaucracy is like trying to do algebra while blindfolded in a wind tunnel.

Not all handholders are created equal. There is no regulation, no register, no polite warning light to say this one is a disaster dressed impeccably. So you have to choose carefully.

There are angels, and there are absolute cowboys. We got lucky, but we also did some due diligence on what was needed so we had an idea of where it was all supposed to go. We understood the process even if our language skills were not up to it at the time.

We wanted to get it right, work legally, get into the system, and get that shiny green Carte Vitale. We were not faffing about. We were in it for real.

Paperwork Purgatory

Yes, you can do it yourself, and huge respect to those who do. I was not one of them the first time around. I knew my limits. My French was toddler level. My patience was zero. My brain was fried more efficiently than an egg in the sun.

It was too hard. There, I said it. And I am so glad we got help.

You might not always need it, but if you do, you do. Just gathering the paperwork made me feel like I needed a lie down and a litre of wine.

Then Came the Letter

Now, here is the punchline of the admin circus: the only thing worse than getting endless paperwork from the French government is not getting the paperwork.

All those years ago, I can still remember, we were waiting for my Social Security number. Waiting and waiting.

Lockdown happened. Post went missing. The usual letters arrived, helpfully asking for the same documents we had already sent. Pro tip: never, ever send originals. You will be asked for them forty two more times.

The missing letter never came. And this was not just a letter. It was the letter. The one with the magic number. The one that unlocks medical care and existential peace. The one that never gets sent again.

I could not call as I did not have the French. The offices were closed, or so busy they gave me hives just thinking about it.

Then, one glorious day, the post lady handed over the letter. Pages of demands. A full admin assault course. Trees worth of paper. But there it was: my Social Security number. Tucked in the reference title like a golden ticket amid bureaucratic doom.

Reader, I almost wept. And of course I said I would never complain about French admin again. I did, obviously. Repeatedly.

The Victory Scan

There is a strange thing that happens when you finally get a win. You go into a sort of paper fuelled mania.

You find your best pen. You threaten the printer into behaving. You restock the ink like you are going into battle. You scan. You copy. You conquer.

Until the next time, when some official in a distant office demands your long form birth certificate, a certified translation less than three months old, and paperwork for any and every name change in your entire life.

You Are Not Alone

So, lovely reader, if you are flailing, panicking, or tempted to chuck your file of doom in the bin, you are not alone. Ask for help if you need it. Pick your angels wisely. And never send the originals.

Before you know it, you will be doing it all yourself just like us, eye rolling and shoulder shrugging your way through the lot of it!

We know everyone moving journey is different, but the feelings are the same: overwhelm, hope, and a long to do list. If you are feeling that now, you are not alone.

Lee, Bob, and I share our lives, the ups and downs, the laughter and the setbacks, because we know that it can help people to see that things go wrong sometimes, but you can make your way through it.

There is no judgement here, just us walking a path that so many of us have, sharing our experiences and sharing tips so you do not make the same mistakes.

Come and join us!

Jen x