We weren't running low on money, per se, but I was becoming worried about what would happen if we went on like this, spending like tourists (but not living like them). We were definitely spending more than your average locals on metro tickets and phone minutes with all our work. I plopped down into our now-familiar "home" metro stop, saying out loud with exasperation, "I just want to visit a museum!"
Our first appointment was in Delicias, a pretty far ways out from the city center. We arrived early for our appointment, which was good, considering we had to walk about half a mile downhill to reach the apartment in question. Once outside, I called the owner. "You're there now? Diez y media? No, I said seis y media." Convinced the error was intentional so she could give the apartment to someone else, we moved uphill and onward.
Our next appointment wasn't until 12, but we were happy to have extra time. We had decided that our best bet would be if we were the first person to see an apartment, we could act fast and seal the deal before our competition. And Aurora did call this morning, to inform us someone else had given the señal and to wish us luck in our search.
We walked out of Gran Vía metro along Fuencarral, where the apartment was located, spying evidence of last night's revelry in the recently sprayed road and the groggy faces of the passers-by. The building where we ended up was right across the street from a trendy clothing store blasting out house music as though it had been doing so all night long.
While I was a little concerned about the neighborhood's noise levels, I thought the building looked very upstanding for the 420€ they were asking. A little older, a little shabby, a hostel on the second floor, and the offices of "Chocolate" (not sure what kind of business that is) on the third. Our apartment was supposed to be on the fourth floor, so even though we were very early, we sneaked up to take peak. It looked like the right place.
A. and I discussed our tactical approach to convincing the guy we wanted in the place. I made him call again to make sure I had gotten the address right. I asked him how bad it would have to be for him not to say yes. "At this point, anything's fine," he said.
Sure enough, the property manager Anselmo came by at five-till and we followed him up the stairs. He walked through one door and then unlocked another and we were standing in what we thought would be our new home. Small, yes. Quaint was what we were thinking. Only a hotplate, no stove. Only a mini-futon with a mattress flimsier even than what we used to have, if you can imagine. But it was quiet, no street noise from its interior placement. And it was only 420€ a month.
"We'll take it," we told him. The mousy man listened patiently as we explained our situation and told us he didn't think our financial documentation should be any problem at all. He just told us to make a copy of all the pertinent papers and bring them along with the señal. Now, what was a senal? It was bringing a part of the deposit money, say 200€, and letting that serve as a sign you were ready to commit to a contract.
We told him we were ready, to just let us get the señal ready. He said he would continue to show the apartment. That struck us as odd, but perhaps it was a directive from the landlady. I made sure it was clear: we are planning to sign the contract with you, so save this for us. "Certainly," he said. "I'll call you around mediodía." Odd, it was already midday or noon.
We left and made our copies straightaway. At the same time, I checked my e-mail and found a curious reply to a generic query I had sent to an idealista.com listing. I can't be sure whether it was for real or a sort of wired money scam, with all its terrible punctuation/grammar, but either way I got a real kick out of it. Who really talks about going on "a Crusade" to West Africa, anyways? Well, the good reverend did. I especially like question number 10 on his tenant application: "What is your religion? Are you born again?"
We went to a spacious basement apartment at 2 p.m. in the Barrio Salamanca, which was notable because it was very much within our reach financially at 499€ and in every other way beyond our reach. The landlord required the renter to already own property in Spain, which squarely ruled us out. Oh, and then there was an older woman who tried to butt in front of us (we had arrived second in line to see the place) arguing she had been waiting there since 11:30, but had left to get some lunch. How do you say "Oh no you didn't!" in Spanish?
We planned to go to another appointment at 5. A. reminded me that we had nothing sure yet with Mr. Gran Vía. Now, the appointment was to see a studio located nearby to where we were staying, in Noviciado. It was a wonder we even found it to begin with, since A. had only left a message about the ad a few days ago, and the son had called back when he was back from vacation to see if we were still interested.
We showed up in front of number 12, but a woman came out and showed us to 19. "You're here for the piso?" she asked. "My son put down 16 by accident in the ad instead of 19. Follow me." Who knows how we'd gotten 12 in our heads. Luisa showed us into a smaller building to a ground-floor studio with blue and white tiling. But she was hardly focused on the surroundings there, asking us if her son had mentioned an habitación she was renting that she knew would be just perfect for us.
She went on about how she had a nice big habitación in a shared apartment with a brand-new queen-sized bed. She told us all utilities, unlimited local calls from the landline, and an ADSL internet connection were included in the price: 500€ for both. We told her we were interested, yes, and could we see it later?
She said yes, promising to call us as soon as she was done showing the studio. She gave us directions and we were off. We felt good riding the metro along the green line to Marqués Vadillo. Once there, I called up Anselmo, having not heard from him as promised. "It's J and A, and we have the señal ready." "Oh, you're the American, right? Well, there's someone else interested in the place. I'll call you for sure tonight or tomorrow."
I tried to remind him we had been first and we already had made an agreement, but I knew it was useless. He wouldn't be calling us at all. He would defer to Spaniard applicants if for no other reason than that he couldn't trust us foreigner/student/married people. The prejudice made my blood boil as we walked along the road to the apartment building.
I was in no mood to like the neighborhood we were now examining. "It's OK," I muttered. "But pretty far away from city center, you know. And the metro's not that close. And I really, really am averse to sharing a bathroom. If I have to share a bathroom, I don't think we can live here."We sat outside by a small playground, observing the high-rise apartment buildings, hotel, highway, and a gathering raincloud. It sprinkled a little, and soon enough, Luisa came. I realized then that the little old lady who I had mistaken for a tenant at the Noviciado studio was actually Luisa's mother. I admired that she was not only coming out with us, but she was also making the extra effort required to bring her aging albeit expert-parchís-playing mother.
Before we even went in, Luisa was going above and beyond her duties. We asked if there was a bus to the Atocha train station. Yes, but why did we want to go there, when there was a direct bus to Getafe right by our house? She trekked out to the stop to show us. We soon realized the good location this was for us: a 15-minute bus ride to Getafe, and a 15-minute ride to Plaza Mayor, with the bus stop literarally right outside our building.
Inside the apartment, I started feeling tingly in spite of myself. The apartment was quite spacious, with wood floors and furn
iture that reminded me of my stay with a Spanish family in Alcalá during my study abroad.
Our bedroom had plenty of closet space behind four full-length mirrored doors (see picture) and although no view to speak of, an exterior-facing window. And the bed (bought in January) was a delicious Tempur-Pedic mattress.
Yes, we would have to share the kitchen (see picture), the laundry room/patio, the living room (see picture), and even the bathroom (see picture) with two other people. But it didn't seem that bad in comparison to the helpless homeless situation we were in (and at any rate I knew people would be waiting for me to leave the bathroom far more than I would be waiting on them). I felt calm acceptance come to me, and I swallowed my pride. A. and I looked at each other and we knew. This would be "home."The truth is, Luisa is just the exact kind of human being you hope to encounter when in a new country. She asks us constantly if we feel comfortable and how she can help out. She works across the river teaching special ed. at a school, and has already given me tips for navigating the Spanish school system.
When it came time for us to sign a contract, she didn't ask to see proof of my scholarship, our bank statements, anything we had needed to show to others. She told us, "I trust people." I asked if she wanted the rent on the first of each month. "Yeah, whenever you can make it." Really maja.
We paid her the deposit right then and there and made plans to return the next day with our belongings and her with our key. A. and I took the bus back to Plaza Mayor and as we walked about the bustling city, we felt for the first time real relief. Exhausted as we were, I couldn't handle the mental stress involved in ordering tapas, so we settled for a dinner of cheap and easy Döner Kebap.
We learned a lot of things about the Spanish piso seeking experience based on our four days spent scouring the city. One, if it's a good place, it will be snapped up like hotcakes. Two, being first in line won't give you any advantage if the landlord/property manager is intent on discriminating. Three, there are some really awful, deceitful people and some really, generous helpful people out there.
We fell into a good place by sheer luck. And for as long as it felt to us, success after only four days is encouraging when taken in context.
Here's my wrap-up of costs related to our search:
- Food: 92€
- Phone: 99€
- Hostal: 120€
- Segundamano classified papers: 10.80€
- Cybercafé time: 6€
- Metro and train tickets: 61€
- Baggage check: 73€
- New cell phone charger when we realized ours were in the baggage check: 20€
- Deposit: 500€
- Having a place to call your own in Madrid: priceless
No comments:
Post a Comment