Preparing myelf for a disappointment... or between glorious self justification and the purgatory of homelessness

Today, we finally found a flat... or maybe we didn't. It seems that the fates intend to keep us swinging between glorious self-justification and the purgatory of homelessness for a time longer...

Maria was contacted today by sms, a rare response to our long running ad on the internet, about a flat that was available in the centre of the oberstadt. Not only was it a 2 room kitchen bathroom with balcony in such a location as to raise eyebrows, but from their method of contacting us we could safely assume that this was a private deal... without the kind of competition that we have found so... inconvenient.

Being a hardened old Wohnung-nik of three months service, I could not be moved by these details and read her email of our imminent viewing with forced detachment, focussing instead on the three lessons that I still had to plan... but it looked good and I did allow myself a brief recon. of the apartment block on the way back up the road from work, learning thus that it was indeed a location worthy of fantasies of self-justification.

Maria and I met outside the flat at 1 pm and went for the viewing and, from the moment they opened the door, it went exceedingly well. If we can be said to have a secret weapon as a couple, something so heart-warmingly charming that even the most stoney faced German has to yield, it must be Maria when confronted with a particularly cute young puppy... and this couple had a really, really cute young husky pup type thing with a full-on tilting head and waggling gait.

From thence on, as we intermittently broke off our viewing to pet and coo over this plasmataki (I feel the Greek word best here), things went well, so well in fact that we were offered the apartment there and then... and we took it.

Walking out into the sunshine again, it felt almost too normal, as if nothing had really happened, as if our nightmare was not yet over...

On parting from Maria I headed homeward for to waste my vacant afternoon sleeping, dreaming and reading. As for Maria, she headed back to work where she would receive confirmation from the landlord. It was somewhere in the middle of ceiling gazing whilst contemplating the fate of Chris McCandless that I got a terse sms from Maria stating only that you should "Read your email". The message I read as follows:

Fuck it! The owner wants to meet us and she is not giving the appartment until 15th of April for some reason. It was too easy to be true. And I've already cancelled Max, that house is gone. Hope she will like us.

I hope so too...

And who is Max?

Max is the owner of a cute little sunny apartment in the Sudviertel which we had good chance of getting if it weren't for the fact that we told him definitively that we were no longer interested in it on account of finding this other one.

FXXX !!!

I take that back... competition is no longer welcome

So a week on and we are still looking for a flat. Maria viewed two at the beginning of the week but was unimpressed with the fact that they "looked like apartment blocks in Athens". I for one wouldn't mind living in an apartment block in Athens... but therein lies another story. At the moment, these two will suffice.

Wednesday and during dinner with a visting American guest, Maria mentions that she had been called during the day by an old lady who had seen our ad in the local paper and that she was offering us a 3 room flat in the oberstatd for 45o euros. More than this, we had an appointment the next day to view a flat in the river side area of Weidenhausen. All this, you must understand, was told to me over candlelight in a lively student bistro with much food, drink and high spirits to set the tone. We both agreed that we had turned a corner and would find something soon.

Morning brought the first viewing: a 2 room river-side flat, 1 floor up, in a old timbered building facing a central courtyard. Despite the timbered exterior, the flat was modern in appearance with a real cosy feel. I wanted it immediately.

But when the time came to talk business the owner revealed that he had already promised the flat to someone else. But if, for some reason, the other interested party should fail to sign the papers (if his hand fell off for example) he would definitely give us a call. (??!!)

Now I can see his side: he wanted to cover his back. But what about us? To drag someone away from their work and show them round a flat that they want only to tell them that they can most probably never have it seems a little off. Perhaps we wouldn't have minded so much if it weren't for the fact that we had made the appointment some days before. If he knew he had others coming to see the flat, why break our hearts by giving it already?

Bu that is not all: from the description of the landlord, we strongly suspect that the successful tenant is none other than he who beat us to the oberstadt flat.

That would make sense in world which, at the moment, seems divest of justice.

Then there was the old lady... with the old flat.

To be fair, she was very nice... in fact, she reminded me of my grandmother... but the problem was her flat was very old too... as was everything in it... and it smelled like a hospital...

... and it felt more like a tombstone in a graveyard that a charming timbered flat in the lively Marburg oberstadt.

Which is why I wouldn't mind living in Athens at all.

Flathunting in Marburg is a thankless task

So we decided about a month or so ago, in a flurry of hope and expectation, to move out of our shoe-box of an apartment... blissfully unaware of the nightmare that was about to unfold.

Being a student town, Marburg has A LOT of competition for apartments. In fact, it would be no exaggeration to say that a flat can be advertised and gone all within a matter of a few hours. So you gotta move fast if you want to get the opportunity even for a viewing.

Also, it seems that many landlords actively favour a student tennant, for reasons perhaps of the reduced rates that they might have to pay. So straight from the off, a fair number of decent places are unavailable to hard working tax payers like ourselves.

As if this weren't bad enough, it would seem that the student population have a system whereby they can preclude the possibility that anyone bar another student can move into a soon to be vacated flat. The devilry works like this:

1. Student couple want to move out
2. Student couple contact landlord who asks them to advertise the flat, attract a fistful of potential tenants and inform him of their intimate private details (professions, back account details, bra sizes, immunizations pending, etc.)
3. Student couple do as he says thus raising the hope of innocent lambs such as ourselves that they might just be able 'get the cute little house with the apple tree on the corner for their very own'
4. Student couple invite said lambs to their place and earnestly extol the virtues of the plumbing in great German detail whist assuring them also that they would get on very well with the landlord.
5. Student couple wave goodbye to lambs who now face an agonising week long wait where they dare not hope for fear that they will be disappointed... but what if...
6. Student couple close door and heartily recommend a student buddy of theirs as next tenant... as was their plan since before they decided to move out.

In short, the student population of this town has something of a monopoly on the housing situation, but fortunately there is the odd place that favours professional couples... it's just that the landlords here, paradoxically I would conjecture, wish to have one of your vital organs on ice as a deposit.

Enter Herr Miser... (the name has been changed to protect him from the shame that he would otherwise endure).

It was the first flat we saw, a turret tucked up on an old tiled sandstone building surrounded by a rose garden in an impossibly cute position on the corner of two Oberstadt alleyways. Temporarily agog at its niceness (and proximity to our current place; we can see it from the window) and naive at this apartment hunting business, we tripped in to chat with the current tenant all stupid grins and ignorant hope.

Our first disappointment soon brought us back down to earth: the owner, we were informed, wished at least a 2 year lease, which for a couple of foreigners bound to work for the moment in a small German town on variable salaries was not ideal. So we hesitated, held out for a less than 2 year lease, asked the current tenant to suggest this to the owner, and left... only to return ten minutes later with the news that we liked the flat so much that we would accept the two year minimum lease after all.

Maria had a good feeling about it from the off, and was even on the point of bringing me round when we received the news that we should write a letter to the owner, a fella by the name of Miser, in order that the parties should 'get to know each other'.

This caused a little stress on our part as it handicapped our chances by reason of the sole emphasis on the written word as medium of contact: neither of us are native speakers of a language renowned for its (unnecessary) complexity. Also, their were question marks too over the appropriacy of this request: none of our German friends had heard of such a procedure; but write it we did...

... not that it made a blind bit of difference. The very next day after we mailed it, Maria got a phone call from the current tenant informing her that Miser had made a spontaneous visit to Marburg and would appreciate the opportunity of meeting with all interested parties at the flat in question.

Maria was thrown. For her, it was a matter of pride, and this character appeared to be taking the piss. She got in touch with me to ask what we should do. As it turned out, I couldn't attend as I had an evening lesson, but I also thought that Maria should give him the benefit of the doubt and head along to the flat to meet up. Besides, she was more than capable of giving him a hefty tongue thrashing should he reveal himself to be... the arrogant c*** that he actually was.

So go she did, and indeed she came back with a positive feeling: the other interested parties didn't really amount to much and perhaps, just maybe...

He was to let us know by the end of the week.

The week past with an occasional 'what if' moment... but mostly I tried not to let myself get carried away. It was difficult though, and soon it came to the point where I just wanted to know one way or the other. After all, we had other places to see and to have this decision that we could not influence about where we might live for the next 2 years hanging over our heads was, to say the least, unsettling. Maria in particular had made up her mind that 'Herr Scheise' was playing silly buggers. She wouldn't live in his flat even if he paid her.

The 2 weeks passed with no news, not even when we re-contacted the current tenant and she regretfully announced that she had heard nothing. Then finally, on Monday afternoon of the next week, when we had alternately fretted and hoped ourselves worn for more than 2 weeks, when we were so poisoned against him and his fucking flat that it didn't matter a damn anyway, the shameless one phoned to let us down gently.

It was a low, low moment; not, in the end, because we didn't get it, but because of the journey from sugar coated hope for dream home to the grim reality of being played by a c***.

But there may just be some justice in this world...

... yesterday we went to look at a non-descript place down by the Elisabeth Church and who did we meet but one of the interested parties for the flat. In fact, it was the successful new tenant as we found out; but he wasn't happy. It seems Herr Scheise wants all but one of his vital organs on ice as a deposit before handing over the keys. It has, he said, become a matter of pride. He was once again on the look out for a flat.

Even the prospect of increased competition cannot make up for the satisfaction of knowing that someone bad has got their comeuppance.

How to go on holiday ... or Alonissos Travelogue Part 1

In April of 2007, Germany experienced a remarkable heatwave. From the middle of the month on, temperatures soared into the high twenties and for a period of 6 weeks, we didn't see a drop of rain.

It was around about this time, sitting by a lake, watching my wife swimming and sipping on a frappe, that my thoughts turned to Greece and my pending summer vacation. Where would I pass my five golden weeks in Elladha? I already knew that I would have to spend most of it by myself as my wife was feeling the squeeze after three years study on her Phd. She just couldn't afford the luxury of five weeks off -- and I couldn't imagine spending any part of my summer vacation in hot, sunny but landlocked Marburg.

So it had to be somewhere like the small, atmospheric, friendly islands with good camping opportunities that I had hopped around before I met Maria: something like Donoussa, Amorgos, Koufonissi, Anafi, Gavdos, Tilos, Kimolos, Karpathos, Lipsoi, Fournoi...

... that was the problem. I had pretty much exhausted the possibilities in this area, sometimes more than once. Or had I?

I had pondered the Sporades before, but had never visited the island chain. Like many aficionados of the islands, I used to land at Eleftheros Venizelos and get the first bus to Piraeus... with the result that I had hopped only in the Cyclades, the Dodecanese and some of the Northern Aegean islands. Moreover, those times that I did consider the group, I recall being put off by disparaging guide book reviews of the touristic horrors of Skiathos, the inaccessibility of Skyros or the infamous earthquake struck, vineyard ravaged and un-Greek Alonissos... Nevertheless, I was intrigued and, knowing how wrong guide books can get it, I turned to the internet for a second opinion...

...And that is how I met Dave and Gerry. There were many internet sites about the island of Alonissos but theirs excelled where it really mattered: it is informative, user friendly, entertaining, comprehensive and so obviously written from the perspective of a couple who have a great fondness for the island. See for yourself:

http://www.ivicourt.com/

I had to get in touch.

A couple of days after I sent them my congratulations on the quality of their site, together with a query re the campsites on the island, I received a friendly, informative and comprehensive reply together with a invitation to meet up with them should I find myself on the island during the summer.

Now this initial contact had a quite magical effect on me. All this research about where to go for my summer vacation boiled down to one thing: I wanted to experience being on the island before I got there. One instinctively knows when something is right and this applies particularly to island hopping. Sometimes, you fall in love with an objectively unremarkable place the minute you step off the ferry. Atmosphere and the idiosyncrasies of subjective experience go a long way to colour one's experience of a place. So it was that on receiving this friendly reply, I had stepped off the boat and knew that it was to be Alonissos, 2007.

A list of things that I find important... and what I actually have

A list of things that I find important:

1. The touch of the sun upon my skin.
2. A certain quality of daylight that makes the colours of the world vibrate.
3. The sensual proximity of the sea.
4. Stimulating friends.
5. Simple wholesome fayre: goats cheese, fresh tomatoes, oregano, whole wheat paximadhia, olives and barelled wine.
6. Maria.

Six should do it. And of the above? What do I have? Well, let me post here something I wrote from around about this time last year. Trust me, nothing has changed: as I look out the window here at work I see rain... and it has been raining for about as long as I can remember.

... I´m sitting in the office at work once more, once more alone, once more bejacketed, once more rubbing my cold fingers and nose and every so often reaching over to the radiator for warmth. It is cold. And what´s more, it is very, very wet. The sky is grey and it feels like it has been raining steadily forever. I cannot believe that I used to walk around outside wearing a swimming costume... and that that was only l0 days ago.

On Friday after work Maria came to pick me up from the school. Whilst walking to a bistro through the pissing rain we decided to go to an industrial park the following morning to pick up some shelves, a mirror and maybe a washing machine.

The next day we woke late and shagged away the morning. So it was that we reached the bus stop - through slanting rain and wind - at 2 o´clock.

On arriving at the bus stop, Maria decided to be hungry and, as we had 20 minutes to spare before the bus, we went in search of Käsestangen (whatever).

On reaching the bakery, it decided to be closed, so we walked for a further ten minutes into town because she wanted a specific kind of Kasestange from a specific fucking bakery. Needless to say that although we got the pastry, we missed the bus.

It was, she assured me, OK. We would take the bus from the other bus stop and make it just the same. We waited under the rain at this bus stop for half an hour before it transpired that in reality, no such busses as the ones we required had ever passed this way nor indeed were planning to do so in the near future. We walked desultorily back through slanting smir to our first bus stop.

When we got to the industrial park, it was even more dark; the rain a little more persistent. We found the warehouse in the bleakest zone imaginable and the mirrors and shelves it contained. But, we thought, we might find something better and cheaper at the recycling centre that we had visited once, briefly, two and a half years ago. We left the shop, centre bound.

Some time later, as we emerged from the relative shelter of an arboreal tunnel which we had found through lack of knowledge about where the fuck we were going, it started to rain heavily. I mean it pelted it down. I mean there was donner and blitzen. I mean
the rain was horizontal. I mean it was a fucking monsoon.

As we sheltered in the doorway of Hansel and Gretel´s hardware store (closed) wondering where the fuck we were and in which direction civilisation might decide to be found, we realised that this was not a hardware store at all but the recycling centre. Hurray! we thought, unbowed by nature´s torments, then, sortly
after: Shite! It had closed down and moved next to my school. This last we knew because we read the sign: "Grand Opening at new premises on Gisselberger Strasse 33, Sat. 7th of September." (naturally, I have translated, but note the date.)

Once more we walked once more through the rain once more desultorily this time back to the grimmest zone of the industrial park. On arriving simply drenched to the skin we bought the said items and emerged out into... more rain.

She took the mirror, I, a large twenty kilogram pack of wood that had the potential to be shelves. We walked to the bus stop through slanting rain.

On arriving at the bus stop, the busses decided not to run after 4:30. It was a quarter to five at this point and though I remained as cheerful as one can be when one is carrying a twenty kilogram block of wood through an industrial estate with wet clothes, I was
becoming a little weary. We walked to another bus stop, only ten minutes away, through slanting rain.

We eventually got home at 6, lay down our things, took off our clothes and sank into the bed. I was bloody knackered and just wanted to sleep. However, unfortunately I had somewhat shortsightedly offered to cook Maria a tortilla when her brolly committed suicide in the monsoon. As I now learned, she had, at the time, fantasised a tortilla with a specific kind of cheese from a specific shop down in the unterstadt. The rain continued. Maria pulled the duvet up around her ears. I pulled on my squelching
shoes and went out once more into slanting rain.

I do not have sun. In fact, I do not even have sky at the moment. Just grey. It is cold and I miss my paximadhia. But I have Maria and all is well.

Like I said, nothing much has changed.