We seem to have been drowning in paperwork over the past week. There are the forms to apply for a Swiss card (for Andy), the forms to apply for a French card (for both of us), the forms to apply for Green Plates (which exempt our car from French tax), the application for a CERN car parking pass... Then there's applying for a bank account, which you can't do unless you have proof of residence, but proof of residence is usually provided by a utility bill - but you can't pay for any utilities until you have a bank account set up... We also need to set up a phone line and internet connection at the house, and get our new French mobile phones, but we need a French account open in order to do these too. It seems to have been an endless spiral of signatures and printouts, but today we emerged victorious.
We had an appointment at the bank at 9am this morning. A bank where you have to press a buzzer to be let in and - curiously - to be let out. It all looked rather official, so we turned up promptly and looking reasonably smart, ready to meet our 'bank manager'. In the UK there's this antiquated habit where people talk about needing to see their 'bank manager' to secure a loan, or to get advice on changing their mortgage - when really what they mean is that they need to visit their local branch and speak to whoever happens to be working that day. Very few people, as far as I can tell, have had any kind of personal relationship with an individual 'bank manager' since the 1960s. Not so in France.
We were greeted by a very smiley lady called Annabelle, whose wall was bedecked with pictures drawn by her children, and who talked us through the ins and outs of opening an account, lamenting as she did so the fact that 'the Francais, they love paper... so much paper'. She wasn't wrong. The printer kept spewing out printout after printout, which we had to initial, sign, check, sign again... As we continued dealing with the ever-increasing mountain of paperwork, Annabelle would occasionally divert to exclaim: 'Oh! You must go to Yvoire! It's very beautiful, on the lake and you can eat fresh... how you say... perche? Perch, yes.' Then she would look back at the computer screen and continue entering our passport details before remembering to add: 'But only go there in the summer. In the winter you must go to Les Rousses. Let me show you pictures of Les Rousses...' And up comes a new tab on Internet Explorer and she turns her screen towards us to show pictures of a very beautiful looking mountainside village. 'The food here is excellent, and the views are beautiful. Lyon is also nice... Do you know Lyon? Lyon is only 2 hours drive, maximum, it is famous for its food...' We emerged an hour later with her saying: 'Here is my email address. You can email at any time if you have any questions. Either about the bank account or if you just want to know which restaurants to try...'
Another win for the Buckleys. We chose this particular bank simply because they offer the option of having two accounts in one: one that uses Swiss Francs and another in Euros. The problem with living right on the border of two countries with different currencies is that you have to carry two sets of cash around and if you pay for something in France on a Swiss card, you incur a charge - just the same as if you use your UK card abroad. With this bank, we can have separate cards for each account, so that if we're in Switzerland we pay in Francs, and if we're in France we pay in Euros. It also turned out that we had, by happy chance, joined the French equivalent of the Co-op bank, so we walked out very happy customers and marched onwards the Orange shop ready to shuffle another load of paperwork in the name of a new telelphone line.
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