the challenges of French bureaucracy

Administrative Adventures in France

To maintain order in your bureaucratic life, you more or less have to stay home; go away for any length of time and you’re always likely to run foul of some agency or another.” – Michel Houellebecq, Submission

One of the realities of life in France is that you never really know when something is going to come from some agency that requires your (more or less) immediate attention.  Sometimes you expect it, like the tax forms that are released in May and expected to be filed in early summer, followed by the official government acknowledgment of the correctness of your sums in late September.  Sometimes these documents and declarations arrive on time, sometimes not, because, after all, this is France.


But sometimes you’ll get something for an unexpected reason.  One such correspondence arrived towards the end of 2018.  It came in an envelope from the Direction Générale des Finances Publiques, which never contains good news, and can be paralyzing enough to some of my French friends that they tell me they set aside such envelopes to read a week or two in the future, when they have “gotten up the strength” for it.  I’m a “bad news first” sort of person so I will sometimes tear into the envelope on the way up the stairs from my mailbox.

This note contained a request for my taxe d’habitation as well as a “contribution à l’audiovisual public” which was a charge I was liable to if my building had a television antenna on top of it, even if I didn’t use the connection to that antenna.  I know, you can’t make it up.  But right away I knew that my taxe d’habitation would be less as in 2018 I was no longer living in the flashy and central 2nd, but in the quiet gardens and parks of the 19th.  I replied, letting them know that I had moved and to please tax me appropriately at my new address.

Keeping in mind I had lived in France for over five years at that point, I should have known to include PROOF that I had moved.  Hence I was not all surprised to receive a response in late February from my note in January saying that if I might please provide my “état des lieux” I might get the administrative result I wanted.  I’ve spoken about this document before and it also relates to another adventure later on in this article, but in case you don’t know, this is a document completed between you and your landlord that certifies you moved out on such and such a date and sometimes includes an inventory and notes of a walk through upon your departure.  This is a key document.  Thankfully, I keep all of these sorts of things, both in hard copy and digital form and happily sent it on to a M. Cavaro who had sent the reply to me.  All good, I thought.

The next exciting letter from the Direction Générale was actually two notices, one for my taxe d’habitation which was, as I had guessed, 33% less, as well as the silly TV tax, which was exactly the same.  But I had a majoration, which is a “late fee,” attached.  How could I have gotten a late fee when this is the first time I was properly billed, and only due to my own intervention?  Now, keep in mind I have lived here long enough to have a corrective French voice living inside my brain.  “Now, Stephen, let’s be fair, hein?  If you had told the Mairie when you ‘ad moved into ze 19th, none of zis would ‘ave ‘appened!”  It’s true, there is a twisted logic to the administrative game, so I bowed to the logic of my internal Gallic voice, and went on playing it.

I composed a letter which explained that I had only recently received these billings, and included previous correspondence which documented the paper trail.  I also enclosed two cheques (that’s how Commonwealth countries and the French spell what we call “checks” in America) for the proper amounts, less the “majorations,” hoping my explanation would be sufficient.

In early June, seven months after this correspondence began, I was returned both cheques under a cover letter of a M. Guigues who let me know that as of 18 March 2019 neither of those charges applied to me, and I dumbly examined the cheques which were for more than 400 euros back in my hands.  Very rarely does the Direction Générale send you money you had written off but I wasn’t going to question it.

Carte Vitale

Last year those of us who were in the Profession Libérale classification (think solopreneurs) and paid an agency called La Ram for our health care costs were rolled into the CPAM agency, which covers all the rest of France.  It was part of the efficiency measures Macron had campaigned on, and I for one, was generally happy to have one regime instead of two.  That said, my Carte was programmed to bill La Ram for my health care charges.  The only problem was, when I went to an orthopedist and dentist in early February, the change had taken place.  I was supposed to stop by a pharmacy and get the card reprogrammed, but I had neglected to.

I thought this was solved by my orthopedist’s assistant, who punched away information into the handheld device which was asking her questions, probably forcing her to do what I should have done at the pharmacy. And, as usual, within a week, my reimbursement was in my account.  I went to the dentist the day after the orthopedist and for some reason or another his terminal sent the charge to La Ram, which, as a defunct agency, meant that the bill went nowhere.  I sent a letter to CPAM explaining this issue, with a terminal printout from my dentist, asking for reimbursement, but that was shortly before the entire Covid shutdown here in France, so who knows what limbo it is in now?  As an extra precaution, I went to a pharmacy that same day and ensured that the card was, indeed, switched over to the new (for me) CPAM regime.

I then realized I needed to change over to the CPAM system online so I could track these charges and registered, as I was instructed, at Ameli.  It asked me to create a login and at the bottom showed an option called “FranceConnect”.  What is FranceConnect?  It’s a service that allows you to automatically log into one of your government accounts using information from one of the other accounts you already have a login for.  To put it in US consumer terms, it’s like the “login with Facebook” feature that allows you to bypass filling in all the normal fields when you establish a new account somewhere.  I was incredulous, as this is very convenient, but why fight the future?

The shock would continue.  After establishing my account I found out that there was an iOS app for health insurance which I could log into using facial recognition.  In the app I could see what charges had gone through, when, for what amounts, and when my reimbursements were sent.  I also took a moment to request my EU “Carte Vitale” which was something I could use for emergencies within the EU.  That took about four days to arrive, despite them warning it might take two weeks.

Office Depot

I recently took the chance to grab some office supplies and with free delivery from Office Depot on order for purchases of 75 € and above, I added some toner to my purchases of batteries and pens.  The very next day a package arrived.  I stood outside the vehicle as my socially-distant delivery driver handed me the package and told me “there’s another box coming, this is only one” in French.  I looked down at the delivery receipt and saw that yes, this had been marked one of two.  Fine, I thought.  I understood just-in-time logistics and thought that perhaps the toner would be coming from a different warehouse or even via the mail.

That afternoon I got a follow-up phone call from Office Depot asking how my delivery went.  I told him fine, except that there was an item missing, using the meandering flâneur French I use when trying to describe something I consider technical using everyday terminology.  I heard keys tapping away, “C’est noté,” he responded amiably, and told me that if nothing arrived in the next 24 hours to give them a call or email, then kindly gave me the details for both.  The next day I sent an email and the day after I made a phone call.  That day I was told by a recording that I should call back during normal office hours, listing a closing time of 18h30.  I looked down at my phone.  It was 17h05.  I chalked up the inconsistency to changed Corona hours.  I tried again the next day, but much earlier, and the person who answered had that smooth, comforting customer service voice (what former FBI negotiator Chris Voss calls the “late night FM DJ voice”) and I almost wanted to prolong the interaction to get just a bit more zen for my Friday.

He told me that I should hear something in the next day and that my toner would be with me soon.  When I pressed for precision, he simply said, “as soon as possible.”  Alas, that was contradicted by the email I received later that day from someone in the same department who told me that the item was back ordered and that is why it was not sent.  She wanted to know what I would like done.  I asked for a refund and she complied, letting me know that it would arrive within 48 hours.  We’ll see if I need to follow up, but as you can see, even in private corporations in France, the left hand sometimes has absolutely no idea what the right hand is doing.


I’ve often recommended Groupama for renter’s insurance over the years, but after 3-4 consecutive incidents in which the franchise (read “deductible,” my fellow Americans) was higher than the cost of the repair, I figured that I didn’t need the renter’s insurance any longer after moving from the 2nd to the 19th.  I went in person into my agency, as instructed by the kind lady on the telephone who told me no, I couldn’t cancel with her by phone.  When I repeated the story there, they said, “That’s fine, send us a letter requesting that.”  I’m sure you can guess that despite my years in France, I laughed.

I calmly explained the only reason I was all the way here, in the 17th, was because this was the arrondissement I first moved into in 2013, and I was here because one of her colleagues had instructed me to come here to cancel the insurance in person.  Insert Gallic shrug.  “In any case, monsieur, we need a letter with these elements included to show why you are cancelling.”  I’m cancelling because I moved out of that apartment, I replied.  “Do you have proof of that?”  I laughed, remembering that my word is insufficient in this country.  Proof is what matters.

Suspicious, I sent a letter “suivie” (which is simple tracking, not registered mail) with all the proper wording and completely forgot about it.  A year passed, at the end of which I received an email from Groupama regarding my new billing schedule.  Not only had they not refunded me for the months up to the time I received this notice, they continued to charge me, and had eaten up my billing credit.  Now, they wanted to bill me again.  “Ça suffit,” I resignedly chortled, and printed out the billing schedule and took the métro to the agency.

I began as nicely as possible to explain the entire situation.  After politely hearing my explanation, the young man at the office told me I needed to send a letter.  I stopped him mid-explanation, presenting my tracking number for the letter.  His brows furrowed and he went back into my account.  “Hmmm,” then he turned the laptop around so that I could see it.  “Est-ce que c’est toi?” he asked.  There I could see what was clearly a scan of my long-lost letter, sent almost one year prior.  He apologetically U-turned from his previous recommendation that I write a letter and as he banged away at the keys I understood his rapid French to say that, essentially, the request had been scanned in but not completed, and that he would ensure that would happen, and to follow up with him in the next 48 hours.  A bit taken back by such a reversal, I asked about the money owed from the cancellation.  He frowned again, then said he would do what he could.

I did indeed email him exactly 48 hours later, CCing the colleague he told me that was in charge of such requests.  A week after that I received a final cancellation notice, but no word about the 175 some euros I was owed.  Grateful to have had it put behind me, I put it in the collective mental “gain/loss” account whenever one decides how to respond to administrative injustice.  Would it be worth my time to chase down this money?  Would I even get it should I put in the effort, given how much it had taken just to cancel my account and stop them charging me more?  Groupama had always been responsive when I was a client in the past, but was almost entirely useless when I was no longer a client.  This brings me to the final point which I alluded to in a previous article about cancelling my Société Générale bank account.

“It’s not worth it”

In America we often love to tell stories about amazing and dreadful customer service.  Indeed, one of the more recent ones in my repertoire is, “Why I’ll never fly Qatar Airlines again,” but that’s another story for another time.  For us as Americans, these are parables of good vs. evil.  The agent who goes out of her way to make sure we get on a flight, or get that corner suite, or allow us to return an item, she is good!  The airline that lost our bags, the hotel that didn’t have our reservation and was sold out, the store that won’t accept our return, they are evil!  These parables reinforce a quintessential American value: the customer is always right.

No equivalent value exists in France, though I have noted in the past that this doesn’t mean there isn’t customer service here.  It’s just based on a different set of assumptions which live cheek-by-jowl with the administrative realities I’ve outlined above.  So, when the French complain about how terrible their bank is, or how worthless their internet company is, or how bad their phone service can be, it’s simply to vent their spleen, not to ask you for advice.  I long ago learned that the proper response is not to ask, “Why don’t you change?” but simply to nod my head in solidarity.  The answer is simple: “it’s too hard.”  The French in question would have to go through the (relative) administrative adventures I’ve outlined above, which also include going changing all the direct debit (autopay, my fellow countrymen) information for all the companies that access that bank account, which for an average French person, is perhaps in the dozen.  Why do that when you can just leave things status quo, and have one more reason to complain?

So much of the French economy trudges along in inefficiency and mediocrity simply because the French cannot be bothered to change providers.  While the customer isn’t always right in France, vigilant customers do get what they want, in the end, as long as they are willing to put in at least double the effort they would normally have to in America.

As with quicksand, the more you struggle against the realities of France and its administrative adventures, the more you sink.  Instead, accept the realities and dutifully trudge on.  You’ll still get to your destination in the end.  And remember, you’re living in one of the most amazing places in the world.  Consider it part of the price of admission.

Photo by Jukan Tateisi on Unsplash

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4 thoughts on “Administrative Adventures in France

  1. Beautifully written, this reminds of when I was passing through a metro station in France in 2018 I think it was Citi and was I charged €75 ×4 for not having a picture on my metro card the metropolice. I came back home to my country (Trinidad) and wrote all the relevant authorities in France and was eventually refunded but that’s an abridged version of a long story. I think you should still persue your refund of €175 as a matter of principle. Even if you have to write the CEO of Groupama. I would love to hear your story with the airlines and hotels believe me I have many as well, from hurricanes to a closed apt in London and most recently I was on route to China in England when BA cancelled my flight and had to return home. Keep writing, do you write for a living. Keep up the good work.

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