Elizabeth Brauders,
Staff Writer
The decision to go on Erasmus is not one that should be taken lightly, there is a lot of planning, preparation, and careful research to be done before you can get on that plane and jet off to your glamorous new European lifestyle. Two weeks ago, I arrived in the south of France without any such prep work done. As I dragged a suitcase the weight of a small child around in 30-degree heat whilst wearing sweatpants, searching in vain for my hotel, I realised that something would have to be done. I decided to become organised. Despite the popularity and notoriety of the unconcerned shrug amongst the French, nonchalant they most certainly are not. Wine, cheese, and passionate-but-sensitive lovemaking have been shafted from the list of ‘Stereotypical French Interests and Pastimes’ in favour of bureaucracy, red tape and subtle-but-threatening eyebrow raises.
In my head being organised involved nothing more than a trip to a stationery shop and a nice montage of labelling things, and then putting them in folders whilst carefully sharpening some pencils. It has proved to be a lot more difficult. Everything here is a battle. New phone? Internet connection? Opening a bank account? Buying a student bus ticket? You will need to bring your passport, a photocopy of said passport, some spare passport photos, a rental contract to prove you live in France, all of your bank details, at least one specific form to be signed and stamped by someone on the other side of the city (who will claim they have no idea whatsoever about this form), and some blood and urine samples. Only those last two are made up. It has been an uphill struggle and one which has, at times, had me racing to aerlingus.com to look up flights home, craving milky tea and a nice Jacobs’ Mikado biscuit (though I hate both), and sobbing all over my room-mate, who, by some miracle, has still agreed to live with me. I’m not sure why, it’s either for my entertainment value or my junk food stash.
At the end of a fortnight of incomparable stress, made bearable only by the proximity of my apartment to the beach, I have still to acquire many of the all-important documents, but I am on my way. Little by little, I am making progress, and millions of phone calls and emails later, desperately explaining in broken French that I’m not an illegal immigrant or a terrorist, I am but a few days away from being granted a precious student bus card.
