With Banking, Third Time’s A Charm. (We Hope?)

Ever think you could just walk into a bank and open a bank account?  Well, dear sir or madame, think again.  We bounced between three banks yesterday asking them to please let us give them our money.  Some don’t serve foreigners, some will only with about a dozen unique documents (including your employment contract, certificate of some sort, a small trinket of hair from your first born child, you get the picture), and others - like the one we finally found on our third try - will in fact agree to accept your application based on your passport, proof of residency in your home country, and pay stub of employment (what if you are unemployed? I dare not ask).  

You may ask why we didn’t research which bank to use before showing up and waiting 45 minutes to 1.5 hours in line at each of them with a terrorizing toddler.  And the answer is this: apparently each bank’s practice when it comes to serving non-resident foreigners like myself varies not only by specific branch and location, but also the specific bank teller you get when you arrive!  We literally had American friends here tell us, when we announced our intention to find a bank the following day (yesterday)…”look, we have a guy in Valencia at ‘X’ bank who agreed to open it for us based on our passports alone and our agreement to set up unending recurring transfers of ‘X’ amount from our US accounts each month…we can get you his contact for when you’re there next week.  You’ll need him.”  At the time I was confused but, 24 hours later, I’m asking for the guy’s info.  After all, we’re headed to Valencia and banco numero 3 here in Malaga only accepted our application…we aren’t yet approved!

*I share all this to say: life in sunny Spain isn’t all about beaches and tapas and delicious seafood.  (Though, let’s be honest, there’s lots of that.)  As the celebrities say, we do, um, regular people stuff too.     

**OK you do, though, remember quite acutely that you’re in sunny Spain and not the US (at least not the Washington, DC version of it!) when - despite the massive line awaiting a bank teller - she (one of only three present) gets up, announces she’s off to eat breakfast and will not be helping anyone else right now, and nobody so much as grumbles.  (Keep in mind, it was 10 am and the bank opened at 8:30.  Maybe she just really needed that cafe con leche (which she, unlike me, knows how to properly order.  See previous blog post on coffee.)