Monday, 5 October 2009

Passport? I nearly passed out!

I have itchy feet. I shouldn't have, I should feel well rested from my weekend away in Paris. I should be glad to be back using pounds sterling and to be no longer peering at coins to figure out their denomination. I should've been speaking French all weekend and reached new highs of fluency (or perhaps just hit new lows of embarrassment).

HOWEVER, none of this happened because I didn't get to go to Paris.

All because of a pesky passport.

I had a sneaking suspicious that I wasn't entirely sure where it was, and the night before started to root around for it. After 2 hours of picking things up, going through all the bookshelves, the drawers in the filing cabinets, under the sofa, the bed, behind furniture, through all the kitchen drawers. I exhausted all possible locations and myself in nearly equal measure.

The French Consulate in Edinburgh were very nice to me when I phoned to ask if they would let me in their country bearing a copy of my marriage cert, a passport from 1999 and the photographic counterpart from my driving licence. Despite all my "I love speaking French" nonsense that I frequently roll out, after a cheery "Bonjour" from Edinbourg, I managed a reasonably confident "Bonjour" in response before anouncing -"I am a UK citizen!!". Everything they say about the Brits and their language skills was confirmed in that very moment.

Anyhow, to no avail. The French do not allow someone to enter their country bearing only their YHA membership card and a signed school photograph. And no, the damn thing never turned up and I had to call my chum and explain that Paris was fermé.

So.... we went to Arran instead.

Not quite the same, that's for sure but at least it was a holiday.

We rescheduled the flights and we are going to Paris in December- DV, passport agency allowing.

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