The Elusive Carte Grise

Maybe it isn't something we think about, but the places we live change us.
Living in France for the past two years has changed us -- at least according to our oldest son.
"Look, you guys need to be a little more decisive!" he told us at lunch last week. He claims that since we moved to France we're more laissez faire -- we make plans that can easily morph into other plans.
We just laughed at his assessment, but I do hope that it's true, that we're becoming more laid back about plans and schedules and time -- French time, our friends joke when we show up late.
Maybe it's the lack of jobs to go to, or the fact that our house is paid for without a monthly mortgage payment, or the number of friends we socialize with, but life does feel easier in France.
It's a good place to go to avoid stress.

Relaxing with friends

Only one thing about our France life is causing me stress -- it's a carte grise for our car, basically a registration and title. We bought the car in January 2019, and due to circumstances, bad luck and bad management on my part, we still don't have a legal carte grise. Luckily, we haven't been stopped, although we have received a ticket in the mail for speeding.
Right after we bought the car, I had to come back to the States for about six weeks. We had rented an apartment for the year, but it didn't work out because the wifi wasn't good, so we moved from place to place when I returned to France. Then Earl went to the States and I stayed alone, working. We came back to the States for the summer because we had no place to live; we bought a house; we returned to France and started a renovation of the house. Things were hectic for a place we chose because it's relaxing.
Since June, I have been working with a company called LegalPlace, which collects the documents and then gets the carte grise.
I thought we were close when we left in June. I had sent all the documents. The company said it needed a copy of our controle technique, which is basically an inspection of the vehicle.
I sent a photo of the sticker in our front window which said we had our contrôle technique, but they needed to see the entire report.
We were in the States and we asked our friends to search through the paperwork in our car. They couldn't find it. We told LegalPlace that we'd get it when we returned to France in September. When we still couldn't find it, our friend Maurice went to the inspector who issued the contrôle technique and sent us a copy.
I quickly shipped that to Legal Place in September, but guess what? The contrôle technique has to be within six months. We bought the car in January so the paperwork was nine months old. We would have to get a new inspection.
I made an appointment with a man in Quillan, it was just a week before we were leaving for the States. He declared the car in good shape except for one problem.
In April, someone had hit the car while it was parked. It knocked the headlight out. With the help of a random man passing, I had put the headlight back, it worked, and I continued to drive the car. But the unattached headlight was a problem for the contrôle technique.

Poor car with missing headlight

I didn't really understand how the insurance worked and after a few attempts to contact our insurance company, I had let the accident damage fall to the wayside in the face of everything else we were juggling. In my defense, I took the accident report to our insurance company/bank in Limoux, half an hour away. They said they didn't have an insurance branch there but they would fax it to the proper branch. We didn't hear from them. Then in June, before we returned to the States, we called and spoke in my best telephone French (which is really hard) to make a report. I got an email from them and tried to reply with the accident report but it bounced back. So I let it slide. The car is already dinged up from numerous car doors in French parking lots.
But when our car didn't pass the contrôle technique because of the headlight, you should have seen the look of judgment on Earl's face. He had been pressing me to get the accident damage fixed. And, it's my responsibility because I speak French and it was my idea to move to France.
With the failed contrôle technique, we had two choices, pursue the insurance claim or fix the headlight.
My friend Derrick helped dampen the anger and the expectation, explaining that even if it was someone else's fault, we might end up paying a lot to have the headlight and dent fixed. Earl ordered a new headlight and replaced it himself.
We returned to the contrôle technique mechanic and got the stamp of approval a day before our quick departure, rushed by the ensuing train strikes. I sent the contrôle technique off to LegalPlace, along with a note saying, by the way, we have a new address -- since we bought our house in August. That, of course, required even more paperwork.
And, this seems very sketchy, we had to send off our old carte grise -- physically mail it -- to them.  Of course, I'm in the States and relying on friends to take care of all this paperwork (thanks, friends).
Just this morning, I received probably the 50th email from LegalPlace informing me what documents are manquant (missing).
I sent pictures of the documents, and I wait ever patiently for the carte grise, but I'm making tentative plans to roll the car into a river and start over if we can't get it.

French Forms

The morning was punctuated by rain on one side and high wind on the other,
but the bridge, the river and the mountains persuaded me to go for a run anyway. 

Just when you think you're out of the French form business for another year, with both a driver's license and a carte de sejour tucked in my wallet, a minor accident and a car purchase send us back up to our necks in forms in French.
Truthfully, the forms aren't so bad, it's trying to figure out what to do with them. Can I take a picture and email them? Do I need to fax them (are there still fax machines)? Should they be mailed?
During the past month, since our departure from the apartment we thought we would be in all year,  we lived on a narrow street where cars insist on driving quickly. I was sitting at my computer by the window on the road, preparing for my class to start at noon when a car zoomed past and I heard a crunch. I just had a feeling.
I walked out of the house and saw something strange hanging off the front of the car. The headlight. Pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that.
A car was parking in front of our car, so I waited until the woman got out.
She was nice about it. She had cut too close as she tried to park.

I told her I had to get inside to teach so she gave me her name and number and said she would be back home, just down the street from me, at 6.
In between classes, I contacted a few French friends. I barely know what to do in an American accident, much less a French one.
One friend sent me a form to be filled out. It's an "amiable" form, which means both drivers agree on what happened.
But the woman didn't get home at 6 or 7 or... well, I quit watching for her and texted. We agreed to meet the next day at 4 at her place.
So she cordially offered me coffee, but I declined and we filled out the necessary forms. It was Friday afternoon. I had no idea what to do with the forms. She suggested I call our insurance company, which is also our bank. I tried but got stuck in the "Press 1 for xxx" and "press 2 for xxx." Speaking French to a person on the phone is hard enough. Figuring out what a machine says is even more difficult. I decided to head to the bank branch 30 minutes away on Monday.
Come Monday, I checked the hours and saw that the branch is closed Monday. I knew Wednesday was a holiday, so my only option was Tuesday.
The bank was open until 5:20 p.m. and my last class ended at 4. I would have time to drive half an hour before it closed.
Then I got there at 4:40 and saw that it was closing early (exceptionelle) at 4:50. I barely made it. The woman who helped me, after a 5-minute wait, had no idea what to do with the form. The bank does not have an insurance branch. She searched online. Then she went to her manager's office and he suggested they would send it for me. So whether it was mailed, emailed, faxed or simply struck in a drawer, I have no idea.
The car accident reminded me that I had never received my carte grise for the car. The carte grise is like the registration. Our friend who sold us the car did all the French paperwork online, but we never got the form.
I hopped online and claimed that it was lost, even though we had never received it. They asked for 99 euros, which I paid, and said they were processing the request. Then I got an email that listed about 10 documents I need to send in before I can get my carte grise.
It's all a little overwhelming. I need to print out the forms and mail them in.
Technically, it's illegal for us to drive the car without the carte grise, so we need to be super careful not to get pulled over before we receive the paperwork.
But, the good news is, that my husband has safely returned to France, so anything I'm dealing with now is not on my own.
The weather was so cold today, I feel like I might be in a Nordic country rather than the south of France, with temperature in the 30s (4 C) and high winds that endanger pedestrians from flying market umbrellas.

These fabrics are beautiful, but expensive. They said they were hand-loomed. 

No matter, we're still enjoying life.
As for our living arrangements, they become more nomadic by the week, so I promise an update soon.