Un Peu de la Langue = Le Carte Bleu

I don’t speak French. I mean, I can get by… but barely. People twist their faces when I talk, trying to put together my words. But then they compliment my accent and tell me I speak well.

I was thrilled the customs people understood me. I was even more excited when I called Alberte – who doesn’t speak a word of French – and she understood my directions. (Although it was far from easy: there was something in there about boullibaise, but I’m not sure what… We may have been invited for dinner? And it took four tries for me to understand she was asking about the sheets, but I got it. Eventually.) I was even more ecstatic when her husband Z, who speaks even less English than Alberte, had a long conversation with me and we were both talking about the same things. I think.

But nothing could have prepared me for today.

My grandparents were kind enough to give me a check in euros for my birthday. I brought my gift to the bank whose logo was branded on the check and asked them to “Change it to money” (I’m not sure how to ask to cash checks here). They told me I need to open an account in order to do so. (Everything is harder here. And slower.)

I needed an account anyway. I’m sick of going grocery shopping and the cashier demands my passport because I don’t have a French credit card. I’m sick of being without internet, as I need the all-powerful carte bleu in order to sign up. Plus, I’m eager to be more French.

The problem was that this bank was BNP. Previously I opened an account at LCL, as the banker there speaks perfect English, whereas no one at BNP has another language. But having had such successful French conversations over the past few days, I was feeling cocky. I figured I could open it in French.

And I did.

It wasn’t always pretty. There was a lot of pointing and grunting, a lot of things I didn’t understand, and a lot of things I’m hoping I understood. I know two things: 1) The carte bleu will come in the mail. (Yea!!!) 2) I need proof of residency. Last time I faced this dilemma, I had to have my French cousins fax a letter to the bank explaining that I was living in Ramatuelle with their permission. It was easier then, as my banker spoke English and explained the instructions clearly. This time, the banker was telling me what I needed, and I panicked. “What?” So I just showed him the check from my grandparents and pleaded, “Please, sir, I just want the money.”

“Oh,” he said, taking the check. “Because your grandparents are customers of BNP, they just need to sign this.”

That I can understand.

“Ok, ok, I’ll come back tomorrow with it.”

The man shrugged. “When you want.” Ok, sometimes I love the slowness of this place.

And the card will arrive within the next few days. (I’m super excited.)