Tomorrow morning, I will be looking at the umpteeth apartment I’ve seen in my three-week search.
In this past week alone, I’ve seen seven apartments. This number does not include the ones where the appointment was canceled because someone else was chosen, or in one case the real estate lady kept me waiting for 45 minutes, and didn’t bother to even show up or return my calls (Fuck you, Frau Aker).
On Monday, I saw one in Eller, a quiet, more green part of Dusseldorf. Unfortunately, this was also located so far away from any stores or public transit that, if I lived there, it would be a major trek just to go grocery shopping.
On Tuesday, we saw one close to there but closer to civilization. The lady seemed thrilled at the prospect of renting to me, yet will not answer any of my follow up calls or emails. Grr.
On Wednesday, we saw a tiny but adorable place in Rath, which was the first neighborhood I lived in when I moved to Dusseldorf. This place reminded me of one of those really well-planned tiny houses. I sent in the application, and I’m crossing my fingers for a good outcome.
Thursday, we saw one, also in Rath, that I really liked, but the guy told me the very next day that he went with someone else. The listing was removed before I had the idea to make this post, so sadly, no pictures.
Yesterday, I saw three, count’em, THREE apartments, all in Rath. The first was…not good. The bathroom door had a see-through window. The balcony was so small I considered demanding an apology from the guy for even listing it as a feature. The hallway smelled like urine and B.O.
Next was a lovely old house, owned by a man who has had the place in his family for 100 years. The floors were impeccable and real wood, which isn’t common here. It had high ceilings and a huge kitchen. Sadly, the pictures were removed and the ad was deactivated before I wrote this post. However, the cons to this place were significant.
First, the guy wanted that I purchase a kitchen – that he would pay for and he had to approve – after which he would raise the rent for the privilege of using it. Whenever I moved out I would leave it behind. As a former professional chef, I told him that I wanted to buy my own to take with me if I left, as I am rough on kitchens. There was some weird drama with that.
Second, more weird drama, the balcony was out of commission – meaning, there were huge construction dowels planted on the floor of the balcony which held up the one above it, and all of the apartments in the building had these. He explained that, *sometime* in the future, he was going to have the existing balconies taken out and have new, larger ones put in. Now, I’ve lived in Germany long enough to know that these types of renovations can take up to two to three YEARS. Meaning, for that time, I would, A.) Have a balcony I really couldn’t use even though it was included in my rent, B.) Have construction workers constantly outside my bedroom and kitchen windows and possibly traipsing through my home, and C.) Have to look at fucking scaffolding all the time.
In short, I liken this apartment to dating a supermodel – impossibly gorgeous, great to show off to your friends, but way too high maintenance for me. When he wrote to me today to tell me that he went with someone else, I couldn’t help but feel like I dodged a bullet.
The last one I saw yesterday, like the previous one, was inside a gorgeous old house. The floors were not wood, but the entrance had ornate stained glass, and the entire place had high ceilings, old-fashioned carvings and moldings. It was on the small side, but bigger than my apartment now and far more lovely.
The only picture I have is from the outside, as the listing was taken down before it was shown to me, but it was as pretty inside as it looked from the outside – a rarity in Germany.
I really hope I get this one.
If not, I have three more that I’m seeing tomorrow, and two more on Thursday.
Fingers crossed that I find a home before December 1st.