Heavily Numbered Accounts

Once you have an apartment, you can apply for a residence permit. Once you've applied for a residence permit, you can apply for a bank account. And, once you have a bank account, you can finally pay the rent and deposit on your apartment, sign up for renters' insurance, fire insurance, and health insurance, get internet access, etc. Having an honest-to-god Swiss bank account means that you are finally established as more than a transient visitor to the country. Also, it means that you have a Swiss bank account, which makes you just a little bit more like James Bond.

It was thus with great excitement that I went to the Post Office a couple weeks ago to open an account. The Post Office? Where else! For a country with such a reputation for banking, there sure aren't a lot of banks in Lausanne. Actually, I think there are lots of banks; there just aren't a lot of banks for the hoi polloi. You basically have your choice between PostFinance, UBS (which is currently hemorrhaging money and facing serious legal problems), BCV (Banque Cantonale Vaudoise), and a handful of others. Based on the recommendation of Swiss Patrick, I went with PostFinance. They have a lot of locations, they charge relatively few fees for normal transactions, and they have good "eFinance" options. Since I don't plan on actually having any money, the low interest rates they offer are no big deal.

It only took me about 10 minutes with a teller to set up an account, and I wasn't even required to put an initial deposit in the account. Of course, in order to verify my address (and my legal residence in the country) the teller told me to expect my card and some brief account information to arrive by post in the next few days. That was Monday.

Friday, I received 5 separate pieces of mail from PostFinance. One was a small package, and another was a registered letter that required me to pick it up at the Post Office. Here's a picture of all the information that was required to start my account:

Fig. 1: Most of the paperwork needed to open an account.

What, you ask, is that thing in the middle that looks like a Little Professor? That, my friends, is my very own super secret e-finance confirmation code password generator (un lecteur). Much like using a Little Orphan Annie Decoder ring, every time I go online I have to insert my bank card, type the "challenge" number that appears on the screen, then enter the code that the lecteur spits out. Thus, checking my account balance (0 CHF) requires 6 steps, 4 secret numbers, and a battery-powered accessory.

Fig. 2: Hi-Tech security in action.

Also, I was sent a folder full of the equivalent of deposit slips, already filled out. They don't have checks in this country. Instead, you get a special piece of paper from the bank, fill it out with the amount you want to pay, the person's name and account number, then you sign it and wait in line at the bank to give it to the teller. In fairness, eBanking has eliminated a lot of the paperwork, but it's still funny to hear a Swiss person try to explain how this system is not only different but better than using a checkbook (something so primative that only Americans and French people do it).

All in all, the level of security is impressive, but not quite what I was hoping for. No whispered passwords, no matching keys that have to be turned simultaneously, no account numbers tattooed on your body, and no hope of mystery and intrigue. I guess if James Bond wants to get money out of his Swiss account, he'd better bring his lecteur with him on the road. Fortunately, a pocket-sized lecteur is available at no charge for those who travel frequently. Maybe I should get one of those.

Tonight, I travel to Lyon to meet up with Loren, Jess, Dan "Monzy" Aminzade and Jen "Ms. Monzy" Aminzade. So, next update: Pictures of Lyon, pictures of the gang, and a copy of the inevitable police blotter entry.