It is not possible! Wednesday and Thursday 4th & 5th March 2009.

Our letter had arrived from the prefecture telling us the next step to obtain our residency cards.

Let's rewind a little, and remember that we have spent two days queing at the prefecture in a line of 'immigrants', it's not pretty. I look at the people lining up for service, first in the cold outside and then inside, clutching their number and waiting for it to be displayed, inching themselves a little closer to navigating the mire of beauracracy inside the prefecture. This department is like a sausage factory that churns out one sad and dejected face after another. It is not a happy place to be but we understand it is necessary to be here and with each visit, we too take a step closer to living our lives a little less ordinary.

It's Wednesday morning and John and I have a 9am appointment at the prefecture medical department. We take all medical records, immunisation records, my maternity book (what the?), recent chest x-ray ???, glasses if worn, passport... blah, blah, blah.

We arrived on time which results in us puffing a little, let's leave the blood pressure test until last shall we, we think to ourselves. In absence of a current chest x-ray we are given one. We are cleared for tuberculosis (phew), diabeties, high/low blood pressure, no need to present my maternity book (double phew), "do you have good teeth?" they ask.

I don't suffer fools easily, John constantly reminds me of this. They have our documents, return plane tickets, itinerary, proof of full medical insurance for the duration of our stay, I ponder, "Is this all necessary?" It is it seems, so you go along with the game, take your shirt off here, breathe in here, breathe out there, pull up your sleeve, this won't hurt a bit, etc, etc. We are both given a clean bill of health and are told to go to the 'tabac' to pay €300 each (ouch, that's $1,200 AUD), attach payment to this form and present the medical certificate, payment and passport at prefecture for carte de sejour. Easy!

We walk a few kilometres to our local 'tabac' to pay the fee as instructed. "No, no, no" we are told, "You must go over here" says the friendly man as he steps outside. He points over the river to the distant Soffitel building. Another kilometer or two we trudge and find the Lyon Treasury. After much explaining, we hand over the €600 and are given 40 x €15 immigration stamps. Off we go. What a productive day we have had, tomorrow we will be at the prefecture at 8am, (queue for an hour before the door opens or forget about being seen that day), and we will have our carte de sejour. Difficult and labourious but worth it.

Tomorrow comes and Alex and Theodore set off to school together walking in the opposite direction to John and I. It is a good 35 minute brisk walk from home to the prefecture, a nice way to start the day. We queue in the immigrants line for the 3rd morning, we feel at home here now, relaxed and chatty, although not enjoying the second-hand smoke from others around us.

Our number is called. Voila, all our papers are approved, medicals are fine, we have the correct amount of money in stamps and our carte de sejours will be sent to the Lyon prefecture in May. "Huh", we exclaim, "We will not be in Lyon in May". Well, if we cannot be here to collect it we cannot have the carte. By this time we are quietly fuming. We have spent five full days on administration to obtain our carte, everything is approved but just because we will not be in Lyon, it is not possible. The words "It is not possible" are used as a reply to almost every question when dealing with administration here, bless them for they know no better.

We are advised to apply all over again to the prefecture where we will be when our current visa expires, for a three month extension and to keep doing this all year. Now the stamps are not required so we can return to the treasury for a refund. We are dumbfounded but have explored every avenue and come out no further advanced than the day we have arrived in France. We were warned about the french administration, we have played the game, jumped through hoops, even stripped bare for them... it is still not enough. Would it not make sence to forward our cartes to our local prefecture where we can collect them? "This is not possible."

We are walking our legs off with all this running around, back up the treasury steps we march to get a refund on the immigration stamps we bought yesterday. We arrive at the counter with our cheeriest "Bonjour" even in the midst of these trying times. "We would like to obtain a refund for these stamps, here is our receipt from yesterday, we bought them from the man at that counter over there." "This is not possible", came the reply.

This has been one battle after another and I feel broken, I have reached the end. Silent tears slip down my cheeks, tears of defeat. John thinks I am joking and trying to milk a little sympathy. I assure him I am not.

We ended up with between 2 and 4 treasury staff working on our plight for the next hour. They wanted to pay it into a French bank account, we do not have one. "It is not possible" to pay it into an Australian bank account. We paid cash yesterday so we are peturbed as to why we cannot give them the stamps (still in pristine condition) and they just fork over €600. There are calls to Paris made and then the director of the Lyon treasury appears . All this for us, my goodness we make an impression wherever we go.

In the end we leave with our €600 in cash, we all gave eachother little cheek-to-cheek kisses, exchanging thank yous and goodbyes. The administration was a total nightmare but those working in it were utterly delightful. I ran up to Place Bellecour and buy them a bunch of flowers, they were thrilled. I think we made their day as much as they made ours.

The beautiful thing is; just when it seems that something is not possible, sometimes it is.