The Bank

Opening a bank account in France is quite an experience.  Pretty much all business transactions, like bills, are paid by bank transfer in France.  In the US, a bank transfer (a.k.a. a wire transfer) is uncommon and expensive.  Here it is free and it is like paying your bills online with a credit card.  Hardly anyone takes a credit card here because it costs them money.  In any case, we needed to open a bank account to have checks and to make bank transfers to pay our bills.

In talking to another American, we had found out that it is a major pain to transfer your account from one branch to another if you move to a different part of town.  Her advice was to open the account where we would be living, not where we were living temporarily to avoid that whole fiasco.  Since we needed the account before we had found a new apartment, we decided to open the account at a branch near Elizabeth’s school.  We figured it would be a convenient location because we’d be there twice a day anyway.

On Monday (two weeks ago), I researched the best bank and called them to make sure they were open so we could open a bank account.  The phone number from their website didn’t have a person at the other end, just a service that cost money to call.  The hours were posted on the web, so we decided to go directly in person.  On Tuesday, we took the metro to the 15^th arrondissement to the BNP Paribas bank branch, a few blocks from Elizabeth’s school.  We went in and asked to open an account and were told that we needed an appointment to do that and the next available appointment wasn’t until the following day.  So, we went back home and took the metro back in on Wednesday. 

For our appointment, we went back to the manager’s office, showed him all of our documents (passports, marriage license, rental contract for proof of residence, and even Elizabeth’s birth certificate when asked).  After he judged us skeptically for about 10 minutes, eyeing us for our different names and our move to Paris, he finally told us that we couldn’t open an account in a different arrondissement from where we lived.  He said the bank would never approve it.  He added that, once we opened the account at our neighborhood branch, we would, of course, be free to use the ATMs and electronic banking on the web anywhere in France.  He was nice enough to offer to find the branch closest to our apartment and I asked him if he could help us call them to make an appointment because the phone number on the web didn’t work.  He looked up a direct phone number for me to call for an appointment.

On Thursday, I called and made an appointment at our local branch for Friday.  On Friday, we went in all over again.  Luckily, the woman there was extremely nice.  It took us an hour and a half to go through the bureaucracy of opening an account and we ran into one snag along the way.  Our rental contract was not good enough proof of residence.  Neither was our cell phone bill.  She wanted a utility bill or a bill for a fixed phone.  None of that is in our name, so we couldn’t offer it.  Then she asked about our rental insurance.  I said we had none and quickly was informed that it is mandatory in France to have renter’s insurance.  Oh, well.  The manager overlooked our infraction and said that she had another option.  She could send me a certified letter that I would have to sign for to prove that I lived at the address on the rental contract.  (We also had to write a letter to her there saying that John lived with me.)  We were all happy to have found a solution.  We left the office with all of our account paperwork filled out but without a working bank account.  She said she’d call us when the certified mail was received back to her.

The challenge with receiving a certified letter is that we don’t have a mailbox or an address on our door.  All of our mail is delivered to the concierge who then hand delivers it to us.  Therefore, I raced back home from the bank and talked to the concierge about the certified mail.  I told her that she couldn’t sign it and that I needed to so we could prove that we lived here.  She got it and said she’d bring the mail carrier over when it came.

This was Friday, so I had to wait till Monday for the possibility of the certified letter.  I waited around all day and it never came.  On Tuesday, I waited around all day and it never came.  The concierge even seemed confused that it hadn’t come yet.  On Wednesday we had appointments and had to go out.  Thursday morning, it finally came.  The concierge and the mail carrier showed up at my dining room window (door) and I signed the paperwork.  I opened the package that came with it, hoping it would be checks or something, but it consisted of two brochures for the bank.  I laughed at the ruse for sending me a certified letter.  I wonder how much longer I will have to wait to have an operational bank account.