On house hunting: pt 1

Goofing off

Despite my attempt to have a house arranged before arriving on Clove Island, my plans fell through and I had to do some house hunting after arrival. While looking for a house I stayed with a couple of dear islander friends. They also helped me in the house hunt. Here are the steps I went through in looking for personal accommodations:

1)      Spread the word. This I started before leaving the U.S., sending messages to a few friends that I would be looking for a house and to let me know what they know of. After arriving on Clove I told most people I ran into (acquaintances and friends) that I was looking for a house, and I gave them a few parameters: 1) water needs to come from the pipes, 2) it can’t be a huge western-style house, 3) the neighborhood needs to be friendly.

2)      Look at all the houses. People started coming out of the woodwork, showing up at my host family’s house to talk with me and take me to houses, picking me up on the street to come see their family’s extra abode, and calling to schedule showings. Here’s a sampling of houses that were easily disqualified:

The Disco House. The entire house was tiled in flashy black and white—floors, walls, and ceilings. The doors and inside windows were mirrored glass, making the entire place shine. And the real eliminating quality? No outside windows. None.

My latest roommate

    The Bachelor Suite. Forget about needing a place for guests to sit or a kitchen to cook in, this house consisted of a room that barely fit a double bed and a bathroom. Pass.

    The Disconnected House. No, not disconnected in that you walk outside to access the rest of the house, that wouldn’t be a big deal. But as soon as I stepped in the door of the house the cell signal disappeared. And yes, I tested this several times. There were a few other issues with the house, like the fact that the back of it wasn’t actually finished, but the lack of cell reception was the clincher.

    3)      Start negotiations for the house I want. I went and talked with the landlord. He was very agreeable, but we could only negotiate so low on the rent. He agreed to talk with the owner (who lives in France) and see if the owner would be okay with a slightly lower rate.

    4)      Wait. Call. Wait. I waited for the landlord to get back to me, but he didn’t. I called, he said he would call me back, then he didn’t. So I went to his house. As I said before, he was quite agreeable, but his wife wasn’t. I’m pretty sure that she didn’t notice I was using the mother tongue language to talk with her husband, and she went off in a rant about how he needed to get more money from me and I should have to beautify the house. Fortunately I had an islander friend with me to help in the discussion, so I just followed his lead on responding (I didn’t respond). We walked away discussing what to do if the wife ruined things for me.

A kid I hadn't seen since he was born.

        

    And then I waited some more. When it seemed   like the landlord was going to flake out, I  started again at square one with house hunting, looking at a couple more places over the weekend. I was getting discouraged, but stopped to pray with a couple of friends…

      

And the landlord called! We had a deal and I   could move in the following day.

Next up, moving woes… also known as “there’s a mouse in my oven!”