Since I last wrote, I have been finding my feet, settling into my life in Menton.
Until Wednesday I had no Internet and was relying on the hotspot from my iPhone. In spite of this, I decided to start on the list of admin tasks that was growing by the day. Validating my visa was at the top of the list. The process seemed straightforward, until I came to a question that asked me to select a code—there was a choice of two. A picture showed me where the code would appear on the visa, but my visa had a blank space. Fortunately, I wasn’t the first person to notice this omission and trawling the online expat forum, I discovered that the consensus was to use the second set of numbers, so that’s what I did. Hopefully, in doing so I haven’t declared myself a diplomat or illegal alien, but it seemed to allow me to continue to the conclusion of the form and pay my €200. As I understand it, the process of validation provides access to an online portal that, when the time comes, will allow renewal of the visa.
It was third time lucky with the internet. To my dismay just one technician arrived instead of the promised two, but he did have a ladder and a bit of common sense so that, after a little thought—methodically solving the problems of walls 20 inches thick and two storey drops—he was able to run the wire from the apartment and connect it to the white box in the courtyard below. Suddenly I was connected. He deserved every penny centime of the tip that I gave him.
It was ironic that as the connection was made, my favourite pen ran out. Fortunately a technician was not required (bright or otherwise). A simple trip to town sorted the issue and I can now know ask for a medium, black Parker refill in French.
Thoroughly overconfident from the success with the internet I decided to tackle the health side of things. A doctor had been recommended and I had the two copies of my SI provided by the NHS business authority. The certificate must be handed over as soon as possible to the healthcare institution in the place of residence it states bossily. So, I located the CPAM (Caisse Primaire d'Assurance Maladie) in town and set out with all my documents (passport, birth certificate, marriage certificate, SI, bank details etc). It was hot and sunny but as I walked along the front, the wind got up causing a mini sandstorm to arise between the valiant sunbathers on the beach. I found the CPAM in what had once been a grand building but it had obviously been a government office for far too long. I didn't get past the security guard on the door. He waved aside my documents, said something unintelligible and put a square of paper in my hand, which gave the address of CPAM in Nice.
Not wanting an unnecessary trip to Nice and noticing that the phone line would be closed, I went onto the website. This helpfully told me that I could attach and send my documents. It wasn't until I had completed the form and attached the documents, that I found that it would not be accepted without a social security number, which of course I do not have. After more internet searching, I discovered that you can't apply for a social security number until you have been resident for three months. I will find someone to ask!
It hasn’t all been form filling. I've been walking, swimmimg, socialising, reading, writing...
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| A few moments before I was one of those early morning swimmers. |
Catching up with Freddie Hall who, all summer, has been performing along the Riviera from Cannes to
San Remo.
https://www.facebook.com/freddie.hall2
A beach party to celebrate a friends birthday, tested my skill at water balloon catching and quoits. I showed no skill at either, but found no difficulty swimming in the sea (such a novelty for me at seven in the evening) or in fact, drinking prosecco and eating delicious food.,
I feel so at home here that I know I’ve made the right decision. It’s a friendly welcoming town and I am blessed with wonderful views from every window in the apartment. The old town is beautiful from which ever direction you approach it; my mountain comes and goes; the sea is constantly changing...
I sometimes feel twinges of guilt that I am living in this beautiful place, feeling happy and settled, when I know that others are struggling. I also know that my being unhappy and agitated would not help them in any way. Perhaps I can offer more support from my position of calm.
***
I borrowed The Long Afternoon from the local interest section in the library. It's a beautifully written, gentle but compelling novel, set in Menton in the early 20th century and based on the lives of the author's grandparents.
I found The Hill Station when I unpacked my books and realised that I had never read it.
I love JG Farrell's books (Siege of Krishnapur, Singapre Sling etc), with their ironic view of history and larger than life characters. It may have been because it's an unfinished novel that I hadn't started it (he tragically died in a fishing accident before finishing it) . I'm pleased to have read it now, it didn't seem to matter that it was only half a book. With words by John Spurling and Margaret Drabble about his work, a personal memoir by Malcom Dean and a section of his Indian diary it made a very interesting and enjoyable read.
If you have enjoyed reading this and would like to be sent a link when the next episode is published, please contact me on info@jacquelinejames.co.uk and I will add you to the list.
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