I Didn’t Move to Greece for a Job. EFKA Gave Me One Anyway

Some people climb mountains. We climbed Greek bureaucracy and lived to tell the tale.

Eighteen long months.
That’s how long it took to transform ourselves from “two people trying to settle in Greece” to “two people who have somehow survived the full Greek bureaucratic marathon.”

Where exactly did we arrive?
Somewhere between the summit of bureaucratic Olympus and a plastic chair in a government hallway that has permanently imprinted itself on my spine.

We now feel… almost like legitimate Greek citizen (me), Greek resident (my NY wife).
Here is what it took to get here, siga siga, of course.

Moving My Tax Domicile (Because Time Travel Matters in Greece)

I left Greece 30 years ago without moving my tax domicile to the US. Mistake #1.

Had I not fixed this, Greece could wake up one morning and say:

“Excuse me, dear citizen, you haven’t filed taxes for 30 years. On your worldwide income. Please pay now.”

So yes, while moving back to Greece, I had to first move my tax residency to the US. And then back to Greece.
It doesn’t make sense, welcome to Greece.

And then came the famous (or infamous IRS Form 6166, which Greece requires as proof that you were tax-resident in the US for every year you claim.
One form per year.
Each one must be translated.
Each one certified.
Naturally.

What I didn’t know is that the IRS has also fully embraced the Siga Siga philosophy.
It took them seven months to send the forms after multiple requests and respective payments.
Seven months.
Even Zeus moves faster.

As we have been tax residents in the US for many years this unlocked the golden ticket: the ability to file for the famous 5B law, allowing us to pay 7% tax on our US pensions instead of falling into the 25–45% brackets for regular residents.

Opening a Bank Account (A Greek Escape Room Experience)

Sounds simple?
Yes. And absolutely not.

Since my tax residency was in transition, I could only open an account as Foreign Greek (“Έλληνας Εξωτερικού”). Lovely title. Horrific process.

The bank needed:

• Greek cellphone
• Greek cellphone bill
• AFM (ΑΦΜ)
• US utility bills
• US passport
• SSN card
• Proof of US residency
• Pay stubs (we’re retired, but ok!)
• “Whatever else the ypiresía may spontaneously require today”

Adding my wife to the account took five extra months.

Besides the entire battery of documents, the bank’s “review board” also demanded:

Proof of where she worked in 2011.

Why?
No one knows.
Not even the bank.

Let’s just say… we improvised.
Shhhhh!!

Driver Licenses, Boat Licenses, and Other Olympic Events

My Greek driver’s license was expired, so I renewed it.

• In Greece, you can drive with a US license…
• Until the day you suddenly can’t.

Renewing my Greek license allowed me to keep my US one (critical for travel and closing US property matters).

My wife is still driving on her US license because if she wanted to swap it to a Greek license she would need to give up her US license.
Shhhh (again)!!

I even renewed my boat license. Not because I needed it, but because at this point, why not? While the real paperwork was marinating, I became a certified Captain. Makes my fish mogul happy as this is how he likes to call me.

Residency for My Wife (The Battle of the Certificates)

To get her Greek residency as the spouse of a Greek citizen, we needed:

• A gazillion documents
• Marriage certificate from the Special Registry (“Ειδικό Ληξιαρχείο”)
• NOT the Florida apostilled certificate (the one we used to update our family record at the Greek Consulate in Tampa)
• NOT the Greek family record
• Definitely not anything we actually had

It took multiple attempts until we understood what the Migration Office truly meant.

The 5B Letter Saga (A Quest Worthy of Homer)

To qualify for the 7% tax regime, we needed proof from the US that we are retirees receiving benefits.

We thought:
Easy! Go to SSA, print the letter.

Hahaha. No.

The tax office needed:

• A typed
• Hand-signed
• Original letter
• From an authorized US Embassy employee

Mine arrived after weeks.
My wife’s never arrived.
Three requests. Still nothing.

The Embassy blamed ELTA.
ELTA blamed fate.
Fate blamed that my wife is a foreigner (“kseni”).

Solution: Drive to the US Embassy in Athens and pick it up ourselves.

Then came the apostille issue:

• You cannot apostille a US Embassy document in Greece.
• Apostille only in Washington DC.
• No courier because the address is a PO Box.
• Flying to DC was… considered.

At long last, I found a service that apostilled electronically.
Cost: $495.
Cheaper than airfare and fewer headaches.

Then translation.
First translator rejected.
Merged documents rejected.
Plan B saved us.

Total timeline: 8 months.
Approval granted. Big win.

The AMKA* Nightmare

*Greek acronym for Social Security Registration Number, a unique 11-digit number required for all work and insurance-related transactions in Greece.

I got my AMKA in relatively quick order.
My wife? Absolutely not.

Her name appeared differently on various documents:

• Karen Davis
• Karen S Davis
• Karen Sue Davis
• Ντειβς
• Ντειβις

Every version caused a different office to say:
“No, this is not correct.”

We fixed spelling, records, and alignment across systems.

Then came the “of” (“του?”) issue. Nothing is legitimate in Greece unless you can show the names of your parents. So Karen S Davis of ? and ?

The clerk at EFKA kept repeating the word “του???” like a broken record because her NY birth certificate did not list her parents’ names.

Ulster County said:

“You’ve got the short form. Only your parents can request the long form… unless you show up in person.”

“My parents are deceased and I live in Kalamata,” my wife answered.

“Well… that’s a problem.”

No shit, Sherlock.
Welcome to paperwork logic, American edition.

They wouldn’t mail it to Greece unless we sent them a US-pre-stamped envelope.
No, her sister could not drop one off.
“But I cannot find US stamps in Kalamata,” my wife tried to reason.

Long-distance shrug: That’s not my problem…

After a ridiculous chain of events worthy of its own Netflix limited series, we finally got the long form.
Her AMKA was issued, still inactive, naturally, but hey… in Greece that counts as progress.

My Health Coverage: The EFKA Stair-Climbing Marathon

As a Greek citizen under 5B, I can pay 8.5% of my pension and join the national health system.

Applied: February 14, 2025.
Valentine’s Day. Romantic. (Same as my first divorce date).

Months passed with no update.

My EFKA routine turned into a gym membership:

• 2nd floor
• 3rd floor
• 4th floor
• Back to 2nd floor
• Then to 3rd floor
• Repeat
• Repeat again
• And again

At some point:

“Your folder is with the Director. At… her house.”

She had actually taken my file home as non-critical (my application to pay into the system was optional). Not because she loved it, but because there was physically no room left in her office. Folders were everywhere; desk, chairs, sofa, and, in true Greek fashion, even a supermarket cart.

Eventually she printed a new copy, signed it, and hand-delivered it (sort of).

Back to the 3rd floor. Payment time for contributions.
I had to pay retroactively for months when I wasn’t covered. 9 in total!!!
Empathy received but payment required! No exceptions.

To activate coverage:

• Pay on line
• Go to the 2nd floor.
• Nope, cannot see payment
• 3rd floor. Refresh screens
• Go down
• Go up again
• End up on the wrong floor due to dizziness
• Try again

Finally: I am covered.

My Wife’s Path to Coverage

Her solution?

Open a company and pay contributions.

Thus: Siga Siga Life was born.

Her AMKA is now active.
Coverage expected by February 2026, if the Greek gods are in a good mood.

We Have Arrived (Sort of)

Not geographically, we were already in Kalamata.

But emotionally, mentally, bureaucratically?

Yes.

We arrived at a new stage of Greek life:

The stage where nothing is easy, everything is possible, and every victory is celebrated with a freddo cappuccino.

We climbed bureaucratic Olympus.
We negotiated with the gods.
We kissed Zeus on both cheeks.
We defeated the “ypiresía”1
And we survived.

Tomorrow? Another EFKA appointment. But this time… for my wife. Ok, just kidding. Our appointment is not for tomorrow it’s for next week.

Siga Siga.

P.S.1 Next week I pick up my brand-new Greek passport. The old one expired last month, which I discovered at the airport while trying to leave Greece for New York. Nothing like a little adrenaline to spice up an international trip.

P.S.2 My wife just received an email, out of nowhere, informing her that next week she must appear at the Migration Office for biometrics. If she doesn’t show up, her application will be canceled.
Minor plot twist: her application was filed on September 19th, 2024.
Yes, apparently the Greek state woke up 13 months later and said, “Now. Today. Bring the fingerprints.”

If you made it all the way to the end of this bureaucratic odyssey, congratulations, you now qualify for a honorary Greek residency stamp. I can’t issue it, of course, but I can offer you something easier: hit subscribe and come along for the next round of Greek chaos, comedy, and caffeinated survival.

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