Red tape

Red tape

Money

As our six month "backpacking" tour of New Zealand came to an end, we sold the car and flew to Norway as planned. We were to stay with my girlfriend's family, so we had no immediate money worries (thank god). But I wanted to retrieve the money from my NZ account, so I could be independent and buy food etc as and when I wanted to. 

Off to the bank.

My girlfriend came with me to translate. I didn't want a credit card, overdraft or anything like that. Just somewhere I could transfer my money from NZ and UK. A kid's bank account would have been fine at this stage.

We were asked one question. "Does he have a D-number". No, was the answer. We've just got here. I couldn't open an account of any kind without this number. Something that all Norwegian citizens are given at birth and as such my girlfriend had no idea what we had to do to get one. We were sent to the kommune (a tax/registry office). Off we went.

Kommune

My gf had to go there anyway. Norway likes to keep tabs on where everyone is and since she was returning to Norway after seven years away, she had to complete a form to say she was back. She asked about my D-number. 
"Does he have a job?"
"Not yet, we only arrived this week".
"No job, no need for a D-number" 
Of course we tried to explain that I have funds if only I can have an account to transfer it to.
"Nope. Get a job, otherwise you're still considered a tourist. No D-number".
Fine. Ok. How about registering?
"You have to do that with the local police". He scribbled a web address on a bit of paper and sent us off. 

Politet

Successfully navigating through this website, I booked an appointment to go and see the 'local' police station. Despite the fact we live in Førde, a fairly big town (by Norwegian standards) with it's own police station, we have to go to a different town of similar size and population an hour's drive away, Florø. As we don't have a car, I had to rope in my gf's parents into taking me. No cash for the bus.

I got to the police station in Florø and presented my passport as expected and asked about the D-number. 

"Do you have a job?"

"No, I just got here"

"You can't get a D-number without a job"

Again, I explained that I had enough money to see us through for quite a while and I was being sponsored by my gf's family, if only I can have the D-number to open a bank account.

"Nope. You need a job.......or......you can register as a job seeker at the NAV office in Førde" (NAV = unemployment/benefits etc office).

Struggling to hide my frustration, I conceded.

"Ok." I said. "So you want to register me as living in Norway then? What happens next? What do I need to fill in"

"We don't need to register you until you have a job and a D-number"

A completely wasted journey then.

She was staring at my (UK) passport for about 5 minutes. Then she told me that she hadn't seen one like this before and she had some concerns about it's authenticity and she was going to be keeping it for a while.

Of course, when you're in a situation like this, no amount of frustration or protesting will resolve anything. 

I did point out that I had just literally traveled the world on this passport and surely she had a computer system or something she could use to satisfy her concerns. No.

She would have to wait for a "passport expert" to come a study it and that I could make another two hour round trip to retrieve it again.

Blood pressure was rising at this point. After a little more discussion about this, it turned out that the "passport expert" worked in Førde police station. Yes that's right. The town from which we had come. (!)

I asked if maybe the expert could take my passport home with him to Førde police station after studying it so I wouldn't have to come all the way back again. She agreed.

We left.

NAV

After having my passport confiscated, I couldn't make any more inroads into setting up my life until it was returned to me. But it did eventually. The passport expert had eventually approved it and I was able to pick it up from my local police station.

Off to NAV.

"Hi. I want to register as a job-seeker and apply for a D-number"

"Do you have a job?"

"Errr, no. That's why I want to register as a job seeker"

"Do you have a D-number" 

[are you fu**ing kidding me?]

"No. I don't. That's why i'm here"

"You can't register as a job seeker without a D-number"

Just as I was about to lose my mind completely, she produced a form to apply for a D-number. 

We're getting somewhere!

I filled it in and they sent it off for me. I will be delivered by post within two weeks.

I guess I could call this a success.

NAV II

Three weeks had past and nothing had arrived in the post. I went in to the office and asked about the lack of letter and can they just tell me what my number is?

She asked for my passport. 

I didn't have it. 

They were closing in 20 minutes. I didn't have time to get it.

I would have to come back next week as it was Friday.

Ok, that one was my fault.

NAV III

Ok. Back at NAV hopefully for the last time. I presented my passport and asked for my D-number.

"What is your D-number?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm here"

"You have to send off for it, here, I'll give you a form"

"No, no, no. Perhaps I'm not explaining myself clearly. I've already sent off for it. I'm here to collect it"

"It should have come in the post"

"Yes, I realise it should have. But it hasn't. Do you have it?"

"No, it would have been sent to your house"

<<sigh>>

"Can you please just tell me what the number is please?"

After a little conference with her colleague  and an examination of my passport, she handed me post-it note with a number written on it.

I was my D-number. It felt amazing.

That might be hard for you to understand as it's just a number, but it's what that number means.

You can't do anything in Norway without it.

I was finally considered to be more than just a free-loading tourist.

I was a job seeker living in Norway.

Not a brilliant distinction, but a distinction non the less.

Money II

Smugly presenting my D-number I was quickly signed up with the bank. I was only entitled to a visa electron card. I couldn't use it abroad or online and service charges were hefty, but it didn't matter. I was one step closer to becoming a self-sufficient man again.