Le Franco Phoney

In December, I went to the prefecture in Annecy to switch my British driving licence for a French one. Since Britain is part of the EU (for now at least!), a British licence is accepted for driving in France unless you are caught doing something wrong, like speeding. For the first time in my life, I was pulled over for speeding around Lake Annecy last year. This is an area where the speed limit changes between 30 and 70 with a few 50s thrown in, and I was careless. Two gendarmes with a handheld speed camera pulled me over. The bad one of their good cop/bad cop combo told me I wasn’t allowed to drive in France on a British licence and that he would have to charge me for that too. I stood up for myself and said I knew that was incorrect, and the good cop agreed. Phew! Feathers ruffled, bad cop insisted I must change my licence to a French permis de conduire immediately. Most of the Brits I know have never bothered changing their British licence even if they’re legally meant to, but exchanging my Australian licence for a British one only took a couple of weeks and it was a very simple procedure involving the post office and a form, so I decided to do the right thing.

I kind of regret that now.

Three visits to the prefecture later, all well-spaced thanks to letters being sent backwards and forwards demanding to see paperwork they had already seen, and I was given an A5 sheet of printed paper with the blank spots handwritten as a temporary permis de conduire.

It was March!

The paper had a two-month limit. No problems, I thought. The British one took less than two weeks to arrive. How much more difficult can this be? Well, there’s either a backlog, or it’s very, very difficult. As the end of the two-month limit loomed, I wondered if I should no longer drive. Six days before the deadline, I called the prefecture. Bad news: two public holidays in a row, so no chance of getting through. Counting down to four days, I called and was told that nobody was there that day to take my call. Ah, that’s why it takes two months perhaps. It was a Friday, so I called back Monday — the day the temporary paper ran out — and spoke to a lady who seemed totally confused as to why I was calling. “But we sent it out to you more than a week ago!” she gasped. Perhaps she lives in a different France where mail takes only a week to arrive.

Two days later, the licence arrived. The accompanying letter said I’d need to replace it in 2014 due to a new law to update the current tri-fold style permis to a more standard credit-card-sized permis. Of course I’ll need to replace it. Why on earth would the French government offices be any more efficient than offering a driving licence for a year and a half? If nothing else, the extra workload is bolstering the French employment figures at a time when France has officially entered a recession. So, well done, I say.

Besides, the tri-fold permis is enormous. It doesn’t fit in my purse at all, so I’m looking forward to the next round of switching licences next year when I will once again be able to fit the card in my purse. I’m guessing it will arrive some time in 2015.

Copyright protected by Digiprove

Annecy bursts into life as soon as winter ends, as you can see from this photo from just a few days ago. The old town of Annecy becomes a labyrinth of tourists and locals lounging over long lunches on chairs and tables speckled over the cobblestone roads.

The intersection of Rue Royale and Rue Carnot, pictured, is no exception, with café patrons and shoppers filling the streets. This area is pushed to capacity during festivals such as the Venetian Carnival and the Annecy International Animation Festival, when people flock to Annecy. Rue Carnot links the old town to the new town, and is lined with shops on either side, making the road into a mall where cars do not enter.

This crossroad has a very different past, and one that I knew nothing about until an old man in Annecy pointed out this sign. The plaque appears right above the road sign on the crossroad of Rue Carnot and Rue Royale. The top line refers to the road being the ‘Route Nationale 201‘ – the main highway in the area. It lists some cities nearby, including Geneva at 41.8km away.

Now pedestrianiased, these two roads are the main arterial for nothing more than foot traffic these days. And if you’d asked me last week if these roads were ever part of a Route Nationale, I would have been certain that such narrow roads couldn’t have been.

The plaque is a fantastic reminder to look up regularly when you’re in a city, and finding it has motivated me to find some other interesting objects at height. Feel free to share any you’ve found, and watch this space for new ones!

Copyright protected by Digiprove

Public services in France, like most countries, vary in quality and accessibility.

This advertisement in Annecy displays the faces of local public servants — lovely smiling faces, like Sebastien’s, above. Just last week, I had a positive experience at the Annecy prefecture (council), where the new kid handed me the forms I needed without making me to take a number for the queue, then complimented me on my spoken French.

However, that’s the first positive experience I’ve had at the prefecture, with most visits taking longer than expected: someone once jumped the queue and took my spot, and the reception lady always tuts about incomplete paperwork, then gives in with a sigh when I insist I have everything listed on the official paper in front of her. Twice, I’ve arrived to find a sign that says the office is closed due to exceptional circumstances. Opening for those four-and-a-half hours per day is too long, perhaps?

Sebastien here is probably sneering, thinking of ways to make a simple request from the member of the public into a week-long effort for that person.

But that’s just the prefecture, and I do feel for public servants who have to answer the same old questions day in, day out. So what’s the excuse for La Clusaz?

The ski resort opened for the weekend of 1-2 December due to so much snow, and they had the busiest opening weekend ever. They must have expected a similar situation last weekend after more snow fell during the week, so you’d think they’d get the roads as clear as possible the night before, then start work early in the morning to remove the overnight snow. Yet the roads were clogged not only with snow, but with snow-clearing trucks and tractors which caused a hold-up of traffic through town before the lifts had even opened. Carnage continued outside the town centre, with the roads so poorly cleared that a truck was stuck on a corner near the La Balme ski area, and cars lost traction on the alternative route up, blocking it too. No worries: the top section of La Balme never opened, and the bottom section opened closer to 11am than 9am, and those waiting couldn’t even access the few other areas open because the Fernuy lift didn’t open until after midday. But the (non-public service) ticket office were still charging people €28 for a day ticket. Safety is obviously a priority, so piste closures were inevitable, but if you’re advertising an early opening to the public, at least prepare all the roads before 9am, and offer a price that reflects the limited skiing options.

That grin on Sebastien’s face is perhaps his relief that he had to work on Saturday morning instead of navigating the roads in La Clusaz. Wait; the prefecture isn’t open on weekends either. So, well done to the person who put this poster up. It’s now soggy and flaky, which seems like the perfect advertisement for public services around these parts.

Copyright protected by Digiprove

With snow on the ground here in Saint Jean de Sixt, and the partial opening of La Clusaz happening this weekend, the locals are happy. The man driving this car was particularly happy when he arrived home and parked his car. He did three fantastic donuts on the road, which was covered with a layer of ice, then powdery snow on top of that — perfect for making snow donuts.

He can keep his snow donuts: I’m off to La Balme to check out the snow. Happy Saturday!

Copyright protected by Digiprove

The French language is always switching things around, like “la piste bleu” for “the blue piste”, so when I saw La Clusaz advertising “The Vespa free” I figured they were giving away a free vespa, or better still, holding a day of vespa riding for free. I have friends visiting during The Vespa Free, so when I saw this flier, I imagined my friends and I humming around town on different coloured buzz-bikes, with sunshine and giggles.

This is totally incorrect. There is no day of free Vespa riding. It’s actually no fun at all for us non-scooter owners. No.

The Vespa Free is just a way of annoying those of us who live here by gathering all the people with scooters in one spot, making them pay, and letting them loose on the mountainous roads. There will be so many buzzing around the roads that cars will find it impossible to overtake the glorified lawn mowers, and will instead be surrounded by that constant, annoying buzzzzzzz from the scooters in front and behind. It will be a slow traffic weekend.

Scooters remind me of mosquitoes. Unless you like mosquitoes, avoid La Clusaz on 1st and 2nd of September. The mountains will go from tranquil to two-stroke in just over ten seconds.

The only redeeming feature is a DJ set from Radio Meuh, who will hopefully be able to quell the buzzing at least for one evening.

If The Vespa Free had been free Vespa testing, I never would have mentioned mosquitoes or lawn mowers. My version of The Vespa Free would have been a fun weekend. Looks like my visiting friends will see more of Annecy than La Clusaz!

Copyright protected by Digiprove

On Sunday, a law kicks in across France that’s caused a stir. Drivers will have to add a breath testing kit to the existing required safety equipment of reflective triangles and safety vest. French police hope that drivers will do their own breath test if they think they’re over the limit. I do see a slight flaw in this logic: drunk people never think they’re that drunk. They’re going to have to rely on a friend to tell them that they should take the test. There’s a flaw there too though. A friend around these parts is probably more likely to tell them of any police spotted by others and suggest alternative ways home to avoid getting caught.

I know I know: a true friend would stop them from driving, but that friend is probably also drunk and resisting taking the test. And even if both friends insisted they each take the test, they’d both agree after that the test is wrong and they’re both fine to drive home.

A tad cynical, right? Not as cynical as some. Only two different breathalyser kits have been approved for use, and it turns out that a senior executive of one of those companies is the head of the road safety group that lobbied the Sarkozy government to implement the law. The French company, Controlco, have reportedly gone from ‘struggling’ to struggling to keep up with demand.

Pictured is the alternative offering by Redline Products of South Africa, which are currently on sale at Carrefour for a discount price of €2 each (normally €3). The pictures on the back have a tick and a cross that say “Test negative” and “Test positive”, but I wonder if they shouldn’t just have “Too drunk” and “You can drive” to avoid drunk people thinking that positive is a good thing.

Police are planning to check cars coming into France from the various ports as well as spot checks around the country, but don’t panic if you don’t have the kit just yet: in typical laid-back French style, the police will be showing some leniency until November, giving everyone time to adjust to the new rule. And after that date, if any tea-totaller should fail to convince police that they don’t need to carry around a breath test they will never use, the fine is only €11 anyway.

Addendum November 2013: the law about carrying a breath test kit has been put on hold for now, where it’s likely to stay for a very long time.

Copyright protected by Digiprove

I’d hate to be a bus driver in La Clusaz. The roads are windy and sometimes narrow. Add in snow and a few obstacles such as a broken-down truck and a police car, pictured, and the bus drivers really have their work cut out for them.

They also have to deal with customers who are annoyed that their full-day lift pass doesn’t cover their bus journey from one ski area to another. These customers, who have already held up the queue by arguing with the bus driver, have to rest their skis and poles somewhere, take off their gloves, find some money, then put their gloves back on, pick up their skis and move up the aisle. Filling a bus in La Clusaz can take some time. People with a lift pass that covers more than a day can use the buses for free, as can the holders of the French Carte d’Hote (hotel card) Why aren’t the buses just free? Most people get on for free anyway. Why not extend it to the few who have day passes or are just pedestrians?

But it gets even better. By April, most of the tourists have left and the bus timetables change. Services are reduced, and some lines are cancelled altogether. From Saint-Jean-de-Sixt, the buses that normally run twice every hour to both La Clusaz and Le Grand Bornand ski resorts switch to once an hour, with a long lunch break in between. By the way, a season pass is the only type of lift pass that can be used on this bus. Those without who don’t hold a Carte d’Hote have to pay in each direction. But I digress.

I took this bus to La Clusaz a few days ago, then skied to La Balme — the highest area of the resort with the best snow. The main access via Fernuy was closed after an avalanche late last week, leaving just the slow green run to La Balme. I discovered later that day that the only way back to the village of La Clusaz was via the bus (Fernuy lift was closed and the green piste back had no snow on it). The queue for the bus was massive. Easter holiday-makers were stranded like me, and after fifteen minutes, a bus on the reduced timetable finally turned up. Yes, there’s absolutely no other way back to the main resort, and it’s Easter holidays, but La Clusaz hadn’t thought to put on any extra buses. Not everyone squeezed on the packed bus, but at least the driver didn’t insist on seeing everyone’s lift pass. By the time it made it back to the La Clusaz bus station, the bus for Saint-Jean-de-Sixt had already left, with the next one an hour away.

I learnt my lesson. Yesterday, a friend and I drove to La Balme instead, potentially saving ourselves hours in waiting for buses and feeling like sweaty sardines. We found a great car park just near the lift, and we booted up. Then we discovered the whole area was closed because of high winds. Fed up with trying to find the best snow in the resort, we took our boots off, got back in the car, swore a bit and had lunch in town instead.

The moral to this story? Go to a resort where the buses are free and often!

Copyright protected by Digiprove

France and Switzerland seem like unlikely neighbours to me. The French love slow time while the Swiss love to keep time. Some of my French friends park illegally and don’t care while a Swiss person can book their neighbour for parking in a car-free neighbour’s allotted spot. France is still learning what the internet is all about while the Swiss tourism people have already embraced social networking to make personalised advertisements starring you.

In a country where the tunnels near Geneva airport sometimes smell of peach cleaning product, Switzerland takes the cake for being efficient. And that’s why I was surprised when these doors appeared across the car park at Geneva airport when I tried to leave. My passengers, eager to get on the piste, had already been held up for an hour getting through airport security. They tried to hide their impatience.

I buzzed a nearby airport intercom and explained in French that some doors were closed and I couldn’t exit the car park. The guy clearly thought I was a nutter, but said he would come down. Minutes passed so I called again. The man said he was still on his way.

Five minutes passed and a queue of cars had built. This didn’t feel like Switzerland at all! A driver asked me what was happening, then he swore into the intercom and eventually, two workers arrived and looked surprised at the closed doors. After some discussion, they overrode the automatic closure system and manually forced the doors open, grunting along the way.

Just a few minutes later, we were moving at the speed of a tortoise with a hangover thanks to a car accident and the chaos of no traffic police. I wondered if we were really in efficient Switzerland until the smell of peach cleaner returned as we crawled through a tunnel. My friends managed half a day on the piste. It would have been less had I not made a new car parking space near the ticket office.

I’ve ranted before about the ridiculous amount of paperwork in France, but I never expected it to impinge on the simple act of getting some snow tyres fitted to a car. You’d think it’d be as simple as going to a tyre shop, asking for some snow tyres, and having them fit them, but no. A friend of mine has a Renault Kangoo which resembles what we’d called a panel van in Australia: front seats only and a large, flat back suitable for carrying all sorts of big objects, although he mostly uses it for carting around his shopping. I drove down to Annecy with him so he could cart my shopping around after sorting out some new tyres. End result? No time for shopping and no snow tyres. Here’s a quick run-down:

Shop 1: “No, we don’t stock those tyres. You need commercial tyres because you don’t have back seats. We don’t stock them.”

Shop 2: ‘Those commercial tyres always sell out early. You won’t find them now. We can sell you the non-commercial tyres and put them on your wheels, but we can’t mount your wheels back on your car because you should have the commercial tyres. You’re welcome to jack up your car and remount your wheels in our forecourt once we’ve put the tyres on your wheels.”

Shop 3: “We’ll check out the back.” (30 minutes later): “No we don’t have any. We can order the commercial tyres in for you. They cost more than double the standard tyres. You’re missing a code on your car registration papers. Go to Renault because you might be able to get the standard tyres if you get those numbers added.”

Renault: “That’s very odd that you don’t have those details. I’ll check with my supervisor” (10 minutes later): “We can’t give you your car’s details. You need to go to the prefecture (car registration office, which is a depressing place), although since it’s late afternoon, they are closed. They are only open in the mornings, and they’re closed entirely at least one day during the week but I forget which day. Good luck.”

At this point, my friend gave up and we drove home as the day faded into night, having achieved nothing but a feeling of defeat.

But part of living in France is about embracing this paper trail and using it your advantage. My friend took his car to the local garage that passed his car for its two-yearly check-up recently, and it seems that they didn’t need the missing code in order to fit standard tyres.

The moral of this story? Don’t waste your time, effort and stress on official processes: it’s just not the French way.

If you ever drive in France, you need to know this road rule. It’s some weird hangover from the past that sometimes causes confusion at roundabouts and often results in accidents. This yellow diamond with a black strike through it often appears at the start of a town, and for months I thought it had something to do with a change of speed limit. How wrong I was. This sign means that roads to the right have right of way over the main road — by default! That’s right, you can swing out of a side street and into a main road regardless of oncoming traffic and still have right of way. Whether anyone on the main road stops for you, however, is a different matter. At least one of my French friends in the past year has had an accident resulting from this road rule. Worse still, there seems to be little consistency country-wide over just how much weight the priority has at such intersections. In addition, most roads have road markings that dictate that the main road users have priority over the side streets. So, much like the French language, there are exceptions to the rule.

Add in the roundabout rule of giving way to the left and you’ve got a world of confusion. I’ve been motioned through at roundabouts by locals on the left who just don’t understand why I’m not following the default “give way to the right” rule. I don’t help matters: if they’re going to give me right of way, I’ll take it, even if it’s not mine to take.

Meanwhile, these plain yellow diamond signs are often placed at the end of villages, where the speed limit increases. Once you’re past this sign, the main road users have right of way over the side street users. At last — something that makes sense! Weirdly, however, most French drivers seem to barge on in past the give way signs and dotted lines on the on-ramp of faster roads, expecting the faster traffic to slow down while they cut off a car and slowly pick up speed. All you can do is sit back, brake and say “Bof” while doing your best shrug. May as well fit right in and embrace the local customs, eh?