Saturday, April 01, 2006
Apartment Hunting Boot Camp
House hunting back in the States is cushy business. You stroll into a realtor’s office, tell them what you’re looking for, and then you sit back, relax, and let the nice realtor take care of all those boring little details, such as picking out houses that could potentially be your home for the next 20 years. With a list of candidate properties in hand, the flawlessly groomed realtor shows up at your present residence in a large American luxury car and opens the passenger door for you.
You sink into the soft, genuine leather seats and check out suburban scenery as you are chauffeured from one property to another, a private tour awaiting you at each stop. The realtor chats amiably about each property, talking up the good points and hoping for a sale. It’s a bit of lavish treatment that you come to remember fondly when you finally do buy a place and realize you don’t have a lot of money left over to do anything else but stay at home.
When we moved to Sweden, we lived for the first few years in different apartments “second hand,” that is, we rented from renters who were absent for a while, basically living like nomads in other people’s apartments with furniture, appliances, and utensils that were not our own. This arrangement grew tiresome, and I asked my husband, KA, if he knew of a realtor that we could contact. He explained that it didn’t work that way here—we’d have to find places on the Internet to go see on our own.
“You’ve been searching the Internet for hours. Haven’t you found anything yet?” I asked on a Wednesday evening.
“Yeah, of course! Finding something isn’t the problem. It’s coming up with a strategy for how to make it from one viewing to the next to get maximum. . .viewage,” he said. “Don’t worry—I’ll have it figured out by this Saturday.”
I was all for maximum “viewage,” so I left him to his task, even though he seemed a tad stressed. What was all this noise about “strategy?” Wouldn’t each apartment be open for viewing all day, like in the States?
On Friday evening, KA was leaning over the coffee table with a map of Stockholm spread out before him. Tiny colored stickers dotted an area of Södermalm. He had been at this now for two evenings straight and sported red, puffy eyes to prove it.
“OK. Listen up. I think I’ve got a plan of attack,” he said. “We’re going to cover this quadrant here,” he said, drawing an imaginary circle on the map with his pen.
“But you said last night there was something interesting over here,” I said, pointing to a street several blocks from where he had outlined.
“Nix that, it’s outside of the perimeter, and besides there’s another viewing going on here,” he said, tapping his pen on another street nearby. “That place is too expensive for us, but those folks will surely go from that viewing to the one you want to go to that’s outside of the zone.
“So?”
“So, those people will flank us, overrun our position, and we won’t have time to get to the other viewings!. It’s just too risky. In order to secure the whole area, we need to stay on target and keep to the time plan.”
We could get flanked? Our position could be overrun? What on earth was he talking about? He was clearly taking this planning thing too seriously. He had never even been in the military, and suddenly he was sounding like General Patton. We were supposed to be looking for apartments, not planning an assault on Baghdad. He tapped his pen on the map to regain my attention, and proceeded to explain the time schedule.
“We leave our place at 12:00 sharp, take the subway to Medborgarplatsen, and then…,”
And then, we were to march from viewing to viewing at approximately 15 minute intervals. Fifteen minutes? We were supposed to pick out a place to live after seeing it for 15 minutes or less?
Noticing my surprise, KA said, “You did know, didn’t you, that each viewing lasts only thirty minutes each?”
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
“In that case, I’ll prepare enough provisions so we won’t have to take a break. Make sure you wear shoes you can get in an out of quickly so we don’t get delayed with laces and such as we run in and out of each place, and…could you hand me the dictionary, please?”
“What for?”
“I want to look up the words for “mold,” “leak,” and “broken” in Swedish. We can use them when we look under sinks and stuff. Maybe it will scare off other potential buyers if they think we see something they don’t.”
“Oooh, that’s my girl! Now you’re talking!”
“Hey, this ain’t gonna be no wimpy sightseeing day. This is war!”
You sink into the soft, genuine leather seats and check out suburban scenery as you are chauffeured from one property to another, a private tour awaiting you at each stop. The realtor chats amiably about each property, talking up the good points and hoping for a sale. It’s a bit of lavish treatment that you come to remember fondly when you finally do buy a place and realize you don’t have a lot of money left over to do anything else but stay at home.
When we moved to Sweden, we lived for the first few years in different apartments “second hand,” that is, we rented from renters who were absent for a while, basically living like nomads in other people’s apartments with furniture, appliances, and utensils that were not our own. This arrangement grew tiresome, and I asked my husband, KA, if he knew of a realtor that we could contact. He explained that it didn’t work that way here—we’d have to find places on the Internet to go see on our own.
“You’ve been searching the Internet for hours. Haven’t you found anything yet?” I asked on a Wednesday evening.
“Yeah, of course! Finding something isn’t the problem. It’s coming up with a strategy for how to make it from one viewing to the next to get maximum. . .viewage,” he said. “Don’t worry—I’ll have it figured out by this Saturday.”
I was all for maximum “viewage,” so I left him to his task, even though he seemed a tad stressed. What was all this noise about “strategy?” Wouldn’t each apartment be open for viewing all day, like in the States?
On Friday evening, KA was leaning over the coffee table with a map of Stockholm spread out before him. Tiny colored stickers dotted an area of Södermalm. He had been at this now for two evenings straight and sported red, puffy eyes to prove it.
“OK. Listen up. I think I’ve got a plan of attack,” he said. “We’re going to cover this quadrant here,” he said, drawing an imaginary circle on the map with his pen.
“But you said last night there was something interesting over here,” I said, pointing to a street several blocks from where he had outlined.
“Nix that, it’s outside of the perimeter, and besides there’s another viewing going on here,” he said, tapping his pen on another street nearby. “That place is too expensive for us, but those folks will surely go from that viewing to the one you want to go to that’s outside of the zone.
“So?”
“So, those people will flank us, overrun our position, and we won’t have time to get to the other viewings!. It’s just too risky. In order to secure the whole area, we need to stay on target and keep to the time plan.”
We could get flanked? Our position could be overrun? What on earth was he talking about? He was clearly taking this planning thing too seriously. He had never even been in the military, and suddenly he was sounding like General Patton. We were supposed to be looking for apartments, not planning an assault on Baghdad. He tapped his pen on the map to regain my attention, and proceeded to explain the time schedule.
“We leave our place at 12:00 sharp, take the subway to Medborgarplatsen, and then…,”
And then, we were to march from viewing to viewing at approximately 15 minute intervals. Fifteen minutes? We were supposed to pick out a place to live after seeing it for 15 minutes or less?
Noticing my surprise, KA said, “You did know, didn’t you, that each viewing lasts only thirty minutes each?”
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
“In that case, I’ll prepare enough provisions so we won’t have to take a break. Make sure you wear shoes you can get in an out of quickly so we don’t get delayed with laces and such as we run in and out of each place, and…could you hand me the dictionary, please?”
“What for?”
“I want to look up the words for “mold,” “leak,” and “broken” in Swedish. We can use them when we look under sinks and stuff. Maybe it will scare off other potential buyers if they think we see something they don’t.”
“Oooh, that’s my girl! Now you’re talking!”
“Hey, this ain’t gonna be no wimpy sightseeing day. This is war!”
# posted by Karen @ 11:51 PM 
