The most sophisticated gadget on my last car was the electric windows. For ten happy years, I ran around Cape Town in my little Honda Jazz, successfully nipping into tiny parking spaces, and dodging dueling taxis on the N2. Sure, I couldn't use it on the dirt roads in the Cederberg Mountains or explore the sandy tracks of Namibia. If I was going to do that I'd borrow someone else's car.
Here in France, I'm driving a car with a brain. All I have to do is get in, press a button, point the car in the right direction, and enjoy the ride.
My only job, as far as I can see, is to steer and the brain will do the rest. It will keep me in my lane and read the traffic signs to ensure I am always at the correct speed. It will mirror the car in front, slowing down, speeding up, or stopping, all at a safe distance. If it starts to rain the windscreen wipers will suddenly come on at the appropriate speed. The same with the headlights in fading light.
It knows when I'm approaching a round-about and will slow down, only moving forward if there are no cars approaching. I do have to steer it off the round-about, otherwise we could be there all day.
It's not great at judging the severity of the bends. As I like to see how long I can go without touching the brakes, this produces some fantastic formula one manoeuvers.
On the whole, it is a huge act of trust and one that doesn't come easily - or quietly, as the whimpering and handle holding of my passengers can be very distracting.
Another leap of faith for me is diving in to the dark and scary pool of French bureaucracy. As a recent immigrant to this safe and modern democracy, I understand the need to justify my existence and to validate my claim to some world renowned health care. However, without a current electricity bill in my name, a form S1 from my country of origin and the name of my first pet, it can be a game of Dungeons and Dragons.
People love to post on Facebook about the horrors they've encountered when applying for entry into the hallowed chambers of public health care, so I had very little faith in the system. However, I had a cunning plan. I made an appointment with the local Prefecture. Armed with Google Translate and a file 2 cm deep of supporting documents, I set out to nail down exactly what was needed, before applying.
My assigned Prefecture was a frosty female, who looked like she hadn't smiled since the last guilloting in 1977. Nevertheless, when she saw how complicated and potentially hopeless my case was, I'm sure I saw a flicker of delight.
There are a lot of issues around the many rules and regulations in France. Despite that, there is something reassuring about being well-governed. You feel like Mum and Dad know what they're doing and that they've got your back. Everyone is aware of what is expected of them and how to behave and the consequences if they don't. For instance, very few people take the risk of speeding. In the five months that I've been in France and over the hundreds of kilometres that I've travelled looking for a house, I have not seen one accident. Although, my partner would say I've probably caused a few behind me.
Another reassuring thing I like about my new foster parents is that they are not afraid to make difficult and controversial decisions. For instance, the freedom of abortion has recently been inscribed in the Constitution and this month the 'Kill Bill" was unanimously approved in Parliament. This has nothing to do with the Tarantino film, although I do feel it could fuel an insatiable desire for revenge from the Chinese. This Bill targets ultra fast fashion sold by on line retail giants such as Chinese owned Shein and Temu.
These behemoths damage the environment, hurt the economy, feed impulse buyers and are suspected of using forced labour. This new legislation will ban advertising and penalise the offenders by annually increasing increments up to ten Euros per article of clothing until 2030. I'm not sure what happens after that date. France is China's third largest importer in the EU, mainly aircrafts and beauty products, so it could get interesting when the rice farmers run out of L'Oreal.
Another thing you can rely on is taxation and the French are masters at it. However, instead of paying for Government Ministers' Breitling watches, Gucci hand bags and holidays in Malta on private jets, you can trust that it will be plowed back in to society, to give us all a chance of the good life.
With a functioning police force the vulnerable are assured of protection, the needy have access to a high standard of healthcare, the old to heating in the winter and the mentally disabled to secure facilities. I've yet to see a stray, abused animal or a homeless beggar. Maybe it's different in the bigger cities or I'm not going to the right places, but I'd like to believe that's not the case. It's amazing how beneficial it is to your well-being.
However, it comes at a cost. Creative revenue raising is required. My partner and I recently had a meeting to write our Wills. We learnt that, being unmarried, everything I leave to him will be taxed at a rate of 60%. This came as a bit of a shock and immediately prompted my partner to fall on to one knee and propose. Our darling Notaire, who on her bad days, looks more chic than I ever could on my best ones, just smiled and scribbled something on her legal pad. Probably inserting a sanity clause.
Of course, the system is not perfect. No society seems to be able to get it totally right, except Finland. They've just been voted the happiest nation in the world for the seventh year running. The Fins put it down to, among other things, high levels of trust and freedom.
I want to believe in the ability and integrity of the presiding government to make decisions on my behalf. It's an alien concept for anyone from South Africa, but I need to have faith. So, I choose to trust that the Renewable Energy Bill will keep the lights on, that the newly amended Immigration Law is fair, and that 4 cm is enough for Little Miss Sunshine.
This will leave me with the freedom to worry about other things, like how to organise an off shore account in Jersey and where to go on a honeymoon.
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