France-tastic

After finally finding a bank willing to give me the honour of an account with them (I was knocked back by the first three banks I approached!), I've been finding out over the last year that banking in France is quite a different thing to what I was used to.

First of all, the banks here expect to have a personal relationship with you. This leads to the questions "Who is your personal advisor?" and "Do you have an appointment with him?" every time you want to do any old routine thing at the bank. The counter staff are more like receptionists, directing the client to the relevant office to sit down and discuss your situation with an advisor whose name you are expected to remember.

Another question I was faced with during my first bank meeting: "Quel type de chèquier desirez-vous, Mademoiselle?" What type of cheque book did I want? Umm, none? The type I think even my parents stopped using back in the late eighties? Just how old do you think I am? My refusal to take a cheque book was met with surprise and a shrug of the shoulders. Little did I know then, that the shrug meant, in Advanced Gallic Body Language, "Whatever, Missy, you'll be back begging for your chequebook soon enough." And she was right.

In a country where the idea of checking your account balance over the internet is still considered suspicious, and internet transfers met with disbelief, cheques still rule. Not only are they still a perfectly acceptable method of payment in shops, but just try paying rent or just about anything by distance without one. I couldn't open an ING savings account until I gave in. The only option for paying AXA for our insurance was by cheque. Alex owed one of his work colleagues €20 and he didn't want cash: "Just give me a cheque, it'll be easier."

Maybe this love of non-cash transactions comes from a fear of generating ever-increasing mountains of useless one and two cent coins?


Alex's mountain-in-the-making!