I was thinking about what else to write about Cyprus when the topic presented itself—we had to open a bank account for my daughter.
When I first came to Cyprus, everything was new to me. I didn’t know any Greek at all, but the similarity of the alphabets allowed me to at least try reading Greek signs. I remember the very first word I noticed was “Τράπεζα,” which I kept seeing everywhere. It’s pronounced exactly like the Russian word “трапеза” (meaning “meal”), but in Greek, it means “bank.” And since banks are everywhere in Cyprus, the word was hard to miss.
The first time I had to open an account, the company I worked for helped me. That’s a common practice in Cypriot companies that bring in employees from other countries. Back then, the process was pretty quick—everything was prepared for me, and all I had to do was sign where they pointed. Then it was straight to work, with my salary deposited into the account on the last working day of each month.
Later, when I had to handle various bank-related matters on my own, I began to learn the intricacies of the process firsthand.
In Minsk, I was used to banks being open longer than standard working hours, so it was usually possible to stop by after work to handle things (although you might encounter a queue since many people can’t visit during work hours). If needed, there were even “on-duty” branches open on Saturdays—one was right next to my house, which was incredibly convenient.
When you travel to another country, you tend to expect similar service rules. After all, people are the same everywhere, and banking services are generally similar. How wrong I was! First, banks in Cyprus don’t work on weekends. Because weekends are sacred! If you need to resolve something, do it on a weekday—that’s your problem. Everyone is equal, and everyone deserves days off (except coffee shops, which are open almost all the time). But the situation is even more peculiar. Even on weekdays, banks don’t operate full working hours. If you need something, you’d better make it before lunch; after that, tough luck—the bank will be closed for you. In reality, they say banks continue to work for a while but not with clients. So, visiting a bank becomes a carefully planned event, not a quick “I’ll drop by for 10 minutes.”
Not only do you have just the first half of the day, but you also need to be prepared for even relatively simple procedures to take much longer than expected. If you need to withdraw money or get a statement, that’s manageable—the operator might handle it in five minutes. (Though you could stand in line for half an hour, but that’s not always the case, and it can happen in Minsk too.)
What I didn’t expect at all were the challenges of opening an account. In Minsk, opening an account or ordering a bank card takes me about five minutes. You sit down with a bank employee, explain what you need, provide your passport, and five minutes later, you leave with an account number or instructions on when to pick up the card.
I must confess that during my first trip to a Cypriot bank, I also expected it to take 5–10 minutes. To be safe, I scheduled half an hour for the entire process. Ha! What a fool! You can’t just open an account in five minutes! Now I know that opening an account, even without accounting for a potential queue, takes around 40–60 minutes. No, I’m not exaggerating. Spending an hour is perfectly realistic. Just think about it—if a bank employee spends all five hours (the time banks serve clients) opening accounts, they can only manage 5–7 accounts a day. Incredible productivity! Okay, I can’t speak for all banks, but the following details are specific to the branches I’ve personally dealt with.
The employees themselves are quite friendly and accommodating. It’s pleasant to interact with them. But the procedures are incredibly slow.
Honestly, I still don’t understand what takes 40 minutes when opening an account. Most of the time, you’re just sitting there, waiting while the employee types something on their computer, checks things with colleagues, or runs back and forth. Over that time, they give you about 4–5 pages to sign.
If you’re a local, you only need a passport (or ID card) and proof of residence. The latter is an interesting detail. In Belarus, we still have the concept of “registration” (essentially a permanent address), so your official address is always listed in your passport. In Cyprus, as in many other normal countries, there’s no such thing. However, the bank still needs to know your address. Typically, they require a utility bill as proof—anything tied to physical services provided to your residence. These bills include your name and address. What counts as “physical services”? Landline telephone, electricity, or water supply—things tied to a specific property. Mobile phone bills don’t count, as they don’t tie you to a location. The tricky part is that some landlords don’t want to transfer utility accounts to tenants (to save money), which can make proof of address a headache for some.
If you’re not a Cypriot, you can’t simply open an account. In addition to your passport/ID and residency documents (pink slip or yellow slip), you must also provide a copy of your employment contract. Without this, they won’t open an account for you.
Once you’ve provided all the necessary documents, sit back and wait 30–50 minutes (depending on how fast the employee is). Don’t forget to tell them two key things (as they might not ask, which I’ve experienced):
- If you need not just an account but also a bank card, it’s important to mention this. Otherwise, they might just open the account and leave it up to you to figure out how to withdraw money from it—not their problem. Additionally, clarify how the card will be delivered to you. Cards are typically sealed in an envelope, and by default, that envelope will wait for you at the bank branch. Alternatively, they can send it to you via regular mail. Since banks operate in their own peculiar way (as you may recall), picking up the card from the branch can become quite an adventure if you didn’t specify upfront that you want it delivered to your mailbox.
- If you’re “extra smart” and want to use your account online, you also need to specifically request it. On several occasions, they didn’t ask me about this. And it’s not called “Internet Banking” but rather “Web Banking” (don’t confuse the two!). The service is free, but be prepared to add another 5–10 minutes to the process. They’ll need to issue you a separate digital identifier (login) and a one-time password for access. For security reasons, this one-time password comes in a sealed envelope (similar to how PIN codes are often issued). The envelopes are kept in a separate location, and fetching one involves a process: each envelope has a unique identification number that must be recorded in a special ledger (not kidding, a real “big book” for tracking envelopes). Hence the extra 5–10 minutes.
If you miss any of these points, you might end up with an unpleasant surprise and an extra unplanned trip to the bank.
This is why even a relatively simple operation like opening an account turns into a significant task that needs to be planned and squeezed into your workday schedule.
Finally, let me share another peculiarity about modern account access. I won’t dwell on the fact that I used to find the internet banking systems of Belarusian banks somewhat inconvenient—until I saw the equivalents from Cypriot banks. Belarusian systems instantly felt cutting-edge in comparison. It’s great that in the seven years I’ve lived on the island, many things have improved, though under the hood, many banks still have their quirks. For example, some banks can’t show you a detailed account statement until a transaction is fully processed. This means you’ll never know your real-time account balance if you actively use it and don’t manually track your expenses—the bank simply won’t account for pending transactions.
Thankfully, in recent years, many banks have introduced quite user-friendly mobile apps. However, the process of connecting these apps can sometimes be very convoluted. For instance, when I switched phones, the app refused to work on the new device without reauthorization. And reauthorization wasn’t as simple as entering a password. It turned out I had to call the bank’s support service and ask them to activate the app on my new phone (at least I didn’t have to visit the bank—that’s progress!). During the call, I had to provide my identification details (passport, ID, ARC, depending on my status), residential address, phone number, the branch where I opened my account, and the last digits of any of my bank cards (what would they ask if I didn’t have any cards yet?). Only then would they activate the app—assuming it was during working hours and the support team answered promptly.
And that’s how modern banking works in one of the EU countries. 😉 Once you get used to it, though, it doesn’t trigger the same emotions as the first time, when you asked for a quick 10-minute break and ended up stuck for an hour or more.
On the other hand, it’s warm outside, and there’s an orange tree nearby—what’s the rush?
