This morning I was startled by a knock at the door. It’s extremely rare for someone to arrive unexpectedly at our door – in five months, I think the postman has needed a signature a couple of times, and Florian (hay and puppies!) has turned up unannounced occasionally.
I cautiously opened the door, to find a large casually-dressed man carrying a set of folders. Who on earth was this? Casual dress is no clue in France, as except in the most formal office almost no-one wears a suit or a tie. (Yes, I feel very much at home!). Perhaps it could be a Jehovah’s Witness? Yes they do call round – and we’ve had one visit here and one at our old house in the South, both of which surprisingly provided very pleasant conversation opportunities – but surely they always hunt in pairs?
It turns out to be something far more prosaic, and yet fundamentally French.
It’s a representative from the Mutualité Sociale Agricole (MSA). Monsieur Barichard has come to see me to process my application to join the MSA, which is the specialist national health scheme covering the agricultural sector.
I’ve heard loads of horror stories about how hard it is to jump through the hoops associated with employment, taxation and healthcare in France. I can now say that my experience is utterly unlike these stories – all the stages of the several processes involved in starting a business, registering for income tax and VAT, establishing livestock holding details, and joining the national health service have been well coordinated, efficient and pleasantly conducted.
My only reservation would be that we started the process in July, and it’s therefore taken two months to complete – but then you do have to take account of the August holiday period!
M Barichard spent about an hour taking me through the various forms which had to be completed, and making sure that I understood the explanatory dossier he was leaving me. He was able to answer all my questions, and gave me several really helpful pieces of advice about some of the options I had to select over the next year or so. He was mystified by the informal name system in the UK – how on earth could a system function if a woman’s maiden name was not recorded on all official documents?? – but he left with all the information he needed. He has promised that I shall shortly receive an interim attestation which will entitle us to see a doctor or get prescription medicines in the period until our official entitlement cards (the carte vitale) are issued.
I’m sure all this would have been much harder if I did not speak, read, write French reasonably well. Public bodies here do not, unlike in England, make any significant effort to provide translation services. You can, however, get state funded tuition in French . . . . (the French approach to immigrants is very different from the British – and perhaps should be the subject of further posts).
But I am left with an overwhelmingly positive impression. I’ve had no problems with any of the agencies I’ve dealt with. All the individuals I have needed to speak to have been polite, friendly and helpful. And to finish with a home visit to complete the health forms was the icing on the cake.
So we are now fully in the French system. I’m a fully accredited farmer (llamas and pigs – yes pigs, more about them later!). We shall have to pay taxes and various social charges, but we shall be covered by the health system that the WHO rates as the best in the world. And if I am ill or have an accident, I shall be paid benefits on a daily basis (unlike the self-employed farmer in the UK!).
Success! And this has given me the idea of writing a series of “How to . . .” articles to demystify some of the bureaucratic demands which face the British immigrant to France. I really want to provide a helpful counter to some of the nonsense which circulates in parts of the expat community. Watch this space!
