Opening a Bank Account in Luxembourg

Donneschdeg, 8 Oktouber.

When you're a Korean-born American Fulbrighter who wants to open a Luxembourgish student bank account, what can go wrong? Answer: everything.

But let's back up. As an unofficial step in my ongoing quest for Luxembourgish residency, I needed to open a Luxembourgish bank account. This is not an actual legal requirement for residency, but rather makes it possible for Fulbright Belgium to transfer my grant stipend every month. In theory, opening a bank account in Luxembourg is hardly a complicated process. There are entire websites full of lists of Luxembourgish banks: see Banking in Luxembourg from Expatica or Banks & Banking from AngloInfo. (Not to mention the fact that Luxembourg basically has more banks than it does people.) Although I put off going to the bank until finishing the rest of my paperwork and attending Fulbright Orientation, I had to get around to it eventually.

Why yes,  I am in need of independence! And, more importantly, money.

So a few weeks ago, I gathered any and all relevant documents that I could think of and headed to the bank. Faced with a rather overwhelming number of choices, I decided to go with the Banque Générale du Luxembourg (BGL). Since 2009, BGL has been part of BNP Paribas, one of the largest banks in the world with ATMs on every corner of Luxembourg, Belgium, and France. All I had to do was walk in and ask for a student checking account!

Except that -- of course -- it wasn't that simple. As you've probably figured out, there's no easy way to define my status in this country. To the people processing my residence permit application, I'm an international student enrolled at the University of Luxembourg. (They don't have a visa option for "Americans teaching Luxembourg but getting paid by an American organization located in Belgium" ... go figure.) To the people I meet in Luxembourg, I'm a (very youthful) English teacher. Even to my housemates, I'm a sort of student/teacher hybrid here on an academic exchange. It's really only my supervising teachers and Fulbright connections who know the truth and fully understand the program. As you can imagine, the prospect of explaining this situation to a bank employee was more than a little daunting. Ultimately, I decided on what I hoped was a simple and relatively accurate explanation: "I am an American enrolled at the University of Luxembourg and I need a Luxembourgish bank account in order to receive my stipend from the United States."

Sounds good, right? Right. Except that I used the word bourse -- scholarship. And apparently in Luxembourg, all scholarships are processed through a certain organization that provides certain paperwork and, of course, I had none of that.

The Medical Exam -- The Quest for Luxembourgish Residency, Pt. 3

Mëttwoch, 16 September.

When it rains, it pours. I mean this both literally (as it is currently raining cats and dogs outside my residence window) and as a figurative reference to my ongoing registration process. Oh. My. Lord.

After yesterday's exciting visit to the CMS for my tuberculosis test, I imagined that the next step -- the medical exam -- was going to be tricky. At first, I was pleasantly surprised. Sure, it took a rainy walk to the train station and two train rides to get to the doctor I'd found online. And sure, I was starving and almost entirely soaked (despite my umbrella) by the time I arrived. But the receptionist was friendly, the town of Bertrange was cute, and the medical exam itself was over in fifteen minutes. (Literally, it took longer to walk to and from the Bertrange-Strassen train station than it did for the whole exam.)

See? Cute town, nice doctor's office ... it's all too good to be true!

In case you're as curious about the medical exam as I was before today ... the doctor asked me a few questions -- did I have any diseases? had I been hospitalized? was I taking any medication? -- before taking my height and weight. She then checked my throat, ears, lungs, blood pressure, and (rather rain-soaked) feet.

And then came the kicker. "Do you have your vaccination card?" the doctor asked. I looked at her like I'd never heard English spoken before. Vaccination card? I didn't have a vaccination card! Had I misread the list of important documents? Was there an email I had missed? (Turns out, no. I've scoured the internet and the whole vaccination thing is just a completely random fun surprise.) Luckily, the doctor assured me, she could complete the information if I just emailed her the dates of my vaccinations. Which -- thanks to some particularly thorough medical clearance paperwork for the U.S. State Department -- I already had in my email inbox!

And then came the (second) kicker. An email from the doctor in response to my listed vaccinations, politely informing me that I was missing a polio vaccine booster. Yes, POLIO. As in the disease that I was vaccinated against at age six and hadn't really thought about since because it has been eradicated in all but like three of the world's countries. But apparently in Europe, adults typically receive additional polio boosters ... or maybe they just make their non-EU visitors receive them! Either way, it wasn't the end of the world; I figured I'd make another appointment with the doctor for later this week. And besides, when it comes to crippling diseases, better safe than sorry -- right?

And then came -- you guessed it -- the (third) kicker. According to the website through which I'd booked my first appointment, my doctor didn't have any available appointments until OCTOBER FIFTH. As in almost three full weeks from now and wayyy past the day I'd hoped to finish my paperwork. (Reminder: the titre de sejour can take 1-3 months to process and you can't leave the country until you have it.)

NOT GOOD NEWS.

I panicked. Like "used my phone to call the doctor's office at $1/minute" level of panic. And luckily, the crazily overpriced phone call was worth it -- I was able to talk to my doctor and arrange another appointment for tomorrow morning. (Phew.) In conclusion: it took a little while, but I am still getting the vaccine. I can still turn in my paperwork. All is well in the Grand Duchy.

Lessons learned from this adventure?

• If you're moving to Europe, make sure you're up to date on your vaccinations (and then some). Don't forget copies of any important medical documents and if you don't have an international vaccine card, consider getting one from your doctor. (More information here.)
• Texting and internet access are great, but life is a LOT easier if you can make phone calls.
• If you come to Luxembourg, bring a BIG umbrella.

PS. Want to know the absolute craziest thing about this whole day? On my way back from the doctor's office, I decided to take the bus instead of the train back to Luxembourg City. As I was standing at the bus stop, I suddenly realized that everything around me felt strangely ... familiar. Molly and I wound up (accidentally) at this station back in 2013, when we got slightly sidetracked on our route from Luxembourg City to Brussels. Isn't that hilarious?!

Le Test Tuberculinique -- The Quest for Luxembourgish Residency, Pt. 2

Dënschdeg, 15 September.

Have you ever had a tuberculosis test? I have. In fact, I've had two. (Thank you, Fairfax County Public Schools.) They're pretty simple, as far as tests for Terrible Horrible Awful diseases go: you get pricked in the arm and come back a few days later to triumphantly display your lack of disease. Voila. Well -- as my smarting forearm and SERIOUS case of the giggles can attest -- it's not exactly the same in Luxembourg.

In Luxembourg, foreigners seeking a titre de séjour, or residence permit, must submit to both a medical exam and a tuberculosis test. In order to get tested for tuberculosis, I had to go to the local Centre Médico-Social, correctly navigate the tongue twister of a phrase "un test tuberculinique," and present both my autorisation de séjour temporaire and 20 euros. There was, just like last time, a perhaps unnecessary amount of photocopying and stamping. But before being taken back for the familiar arm-pricking, I was led into a small room for my chest X-ray.

That's right. A CHEST X-RAY.

According to WebMD (the fount of all medical knowledge), chest X-rays are usually administered if the patient has either 1) a positive skin test, 2) physical symptoms of active tuberculosis, or 3) an unclear skin test. I asked the technician in charge and apparently Luxembourg does not subscribe to this philosophy ... so in for the X-ray I went!

The whole process was relatively painless, if a bit awkward. (If you want to spare any uncomfortable intimacy with your X-ray technician, I'd recommend bringing along a tank top or light t-shirt. Whoops.) And after the unexpected foray into the exciting world of radiology, the tuberculosis skin test itself was remarkably unremarkable. Given my particular distaste for needles, I was pretty proud of how well I handled the shot -- no tears!! -- and of how easily I was able to chat with the doctor about my experiences so far in Luxembourg. As she looked at my forms and realized I was from the United States, she echoed a sentiment I've already heard expressed a few too many times over the past couple days: "Vous parlez français? Mais vous êtes américaine!"

For most of the people in this multilingual society, the stereotypical American speaks English -- and only English. Everyone who has mentioned this to me -- from professors to students to the staff at the CMS -- has been incredible nice about it: because they don't expect it, they're pleasantly surprised when I'm able to respond in French or muddle along in German and so far, they have all been more than happy to repeat or explain. However, it is a little bit disappointing to realize how low their expectations are. Given this less-than-stellar image of the United States, I'm beginning to understand the true importance of programs like Fulbright whose goals are to foster positive international and intercultural communication.

In conclusion: once I go back to verify my test results on Friday, step two in the quest for Luxembourgish residency will be complete! Up next? A visit to a Luxembourgish doctor in Bertrange, a trip to the post office for a money transfer that will surely be an adventure in itself, and -- the pinnacle of the whole quest -- a visit to the Ministre des Affaires Etrangères et Européennes himself. Stay tuned for more updates! ;)

"I HAVE ARRIVED!" -- The Quest for Luxembourgish Residency, Pt. 1

Méindeg, 14 September.

Moien! Today I made the first official step in obtaining Luxembourgish residency. (Well, apart from the whole "packing my bags and flying to Luxembourg" part.) I made my déclaration d'arrivée, or declaration of arrival, at the Hôtel de Ville!

Contrary to popular belief, the déclaration d'arrivée consists of more than just standing on the steps of the town hall and declaring, "I HAVE ARRIVED." It's an important -- though admittedly virtually painless -- process that must be completed within three business days of your arrival in the country. In order to make my déclaration d'arrivée, I had to show up to the Hôtel de Ville with four important documents:

1. my passport
2. my autorisation de séjour temporaire, which was mailed to me over the summer (and for which, I had to provide a copy of my passport, of my acceptance to the university, and of my criminal history -- talk about thorough!!)
3. my contrat de bail, or housing contract
4. the proof of my enrollment in the University of Luxembourg

Naturally, I only had three of the four.

So back to the house I went. And back to the Hôtel de Ville I triumphantly marched, contrat de bail in hand (as well as literally every other piece of paper I'd received, just in case).

I sat quietly -- still a little embarrassed about having forgotten the correct documents -- while the government official photocopied and stapled and stamped until the pile of papers on the desk had multiplied by three. In exchange for my documents (and a six euro fee), I received a certificat de résidence, or residence certificate, and a receipt of my arrival in Esch-sur-Alzette.

Lest you think that the quest for residency could be resolved in a day, let me assure you that this was but step one of a multi-step process in order to acquire an elusive -- but all too necessary -- titre de séjour. Next up? A tuberculosis test at the local Centre Médico-Social, a medical exam from a (hopefully English-speaking) Luxembourgish physician, and a trip to the Ministre des Affaires Etrangères et Européennes to hand in all my paperwork. Because the paperwork itself can take up to three months to be processed, it's best to get all this done as soon as possible. My goal is to turn everything in by Friday ... stay tuned for the results!

But for now, Äddi!

This post is part of a series. Click here to read more!