The morning after the debacle in the notary’s office, I spent some time thinking about whether I wanted to proceed. I still loved my apartment, and staying here when my lease comes up for renewal in June was still an option. However, all the reasons that prompted me to look for a house were still valid, although I was still determined to move only if I found a property I liked as well or better than this apartment. What with one thing and another, I had seen a lot of properties over the previous two and a half years. With the exception of the house John and I lived in, I hadn’t seen anything – house or apartment – I liked as well as this house. Each of them usually had only some of the features I wanted. This house has almost all of them.
I thought about what I love about this apartment. I spend a lot of time on my computer at my desk right in front of the window, looking at the park and the view.
That morning the sun was streaming in these big windows and I realized that light and openness are what I really need.
I also realized that in effect, that house is really the house version of this apartment.
It has all the advantages of this place, plus more, like privacy and living closer to Centro. And without the disadvantages of all the stairs to reach the living areas.
Even stairs to get out to and back from the garden in this apartment.
Mostly, living in someone else’s house, with the someone else right downstairs, is not ideal. My landlord had another outside party last night. It went on til 3:30. At least this time the karaoke was minimal.
When John and I were struggling students, we lived in a lot of shit apartments in someone else’s house, either upstairs or in their basements. I’m done with conciliating and putting up with the landlord’s ownership and co-habitation and noise and annoying arrogance.
The only thing set against all that was the concern about the owners of the house I wanted and what kind of landlords they would be. The question I asked myself that morning was, what could I do to protect myself; to insulate myself so that my dependency on the owners to do anything other than accept my rent every month, was as minimal as I could make it.
The answer I came up with, was to insist on a house inspection, and that any deficiencies be rectified before the lease started. That way, I would at least be starting out with a house in good condition, as far as that could be determined.
I pulled out my previous leases, and started re-drafting the lease that had been presented to me.
I kept as much of the language as I reasonably could, as I presumed this was the lease the owners were happy with. I qualified the clause that said I was accepting the house in excellent condition by a proviso that this was subject to an inspection of the house, and the remedying of all agreed upon deficiencies. The list of repairs was to be attached to the lease. The two months deposit they wanted would be split, with half on signing the lease and the other half when the repairs were done.
Carla made the excellent suggestion that we add a stipulation that the repairs be done by May 10th, five days before the lease was supposed to begin. This was all in Spanish and took forever.
I sent it to her, and she passed it on to the owners. I had serious doubts that they would agree. Late that day, to my surprise, Carla told me that they accepted my amendments.
The next morning the house was advertised for rent in Gringo Post. Blindsided again.
Furious, I contacted Carla and asked if this was some kind of negotiating ploy. I told her I wanted my deposit back. I was done.
Fast forward the tape. Back and forth with Carla who said the ad had been put in by another agent without their knowledge. I cried bullshit, as it was their name in the ad. They were very sorry for the confusion. They wanted to sign the lease. Again and again I stressed that it was the lease I sent over or nothing.
Finally, yes, they would sign that lease.
I relented. Carla said she would pick me up at 10:00 and we’d go sign the lease. No more surprises, I repeatedly stressed. Yup, for sure, we were all on the same page now.
I got into Carla’s car. She pulled out some papers, handed them to me and said “Surprise”.
In my hands was another lease. Clearly not the one I had drafted. She started the car and I told her to stop. I was getting out. Everyone needed to understand that I meant what I said.
Carla: “We can go and discuss it.”
Heather: “No.”
Carla: “They told me this lease was drafted by the best lawyer in Ecuador.”
Heather: “No.
Carla: “They told me it has the clauses about the inspection.”
Heather: “No.
I told Carla that the most I was prepared to do was to read this lease. But not in the car. I was so steaming mad at that point, I was within a hair of ripping it up and telling everyone concerned to go and [expletives deleted].
Poor Carla was left to go to the notary and explain to the family that I was saying nothing but ‘no’. I asked her to tell them I was not going to be pressured and their ambush tactics were not going to work.
Then, I went back into my apartment and read through the lease. For starters, the date was wrong – it was dated June 8th.
Carla told me that the owners had told her that this lease was more or less the same as the one I had drafted. It was not. There was no provision at all to inspect the house and no provision to split the deposit before I inspected and after the repairs were done. It said they could terminate the lease for legal reasons but there was nothing saying that I could do the same, which was another thing I had changed in the original lease.
I told Carla that they could sign my lease or return my $750.
Carla: “I’ll pick you up and we can go talk to them.”
Heather: “No.”
Carla: “Here’s picture of the family – look, they’re all here waiting.”
Heather: “I don’t care.”
Carla: “They will sign the lease.”
Heather: “Send me a photo of my lease with the appropriate signature on it, or tell them to return my money.”
Carla: “Here is the Final Contract. They want to sign in front of you.”
Heather: “I really hope you sent me this by mistake. It is exactly the same contract you sent me earlier this morning, down to the wrong date of June 8. The same one I said I would not sign. I don’t know how to make myself any more clear. They sign the contract I sent you last night, or I’m out.”
Carla: “I will create a WhatsApp group with them.”
Heather: “Do not include me. I am not discussing this further. If my version of the contract is not signed by 2:00 today, please tell them to return my deposit money by the end of the day tomorrow. I’ll send you my banking info at 2:01.”
Carla: “I will pick you up so we can talk with the owner and she will return your deposit.”
Heather: “I don’t want to talk to the owner. I’d be grateful if you will accept the return of the deposit and I will take you out for dinner and you can tell me all about it and give it back to me.”
Carla: “They won’t give the money to me.”
Heather: “Okay, I’ll send you my bank info and they can deposit it there, just as I deposited the $750 to theirs.”
Carla: “They are insisting on giving cash. Please Heather [emoji of praying hands]”
Poor Carla. By that point she was probably re-thinking her choice of profession.
I relented and said okay, I would go. But only because I didn’t want to cause Carla any more stress. I was still adamant that I wasn’t talking to them.
And that’s enough for today, although it’s not the end of my dealings with these folks. Oh no, my friends, there’s more, much, much more.
Meanwhile, here is another house I went to see shortly after this debacle, while these hijinks were still going on.
It is across the river from where I live now, deep in an upscale almost purely residential part of Gringolandia.
The outside was cute. But, as you will see later, there was a price to be paid inside for that sloping chalet style roof. And note how narrow the upper balcony is.
I liked the owner. I liked that it had some interesting architecture.
I liked the fact that it had a master suite on the ground floor so I could age in place.
I liked that it was very bright. I liked the garden.
But that was about all I liked.
All that orangey, shiny pine. The shiny white tiles. The dated kitchen.
The tiny bedrooms upstairs, made even smaller by the sloping roofline.
Not sure you could get out of bed without hitting your head, regardless of where you put the bed. The inside space, especially upstairs, was dictated by the sloping roof of the chalet/barn style exterior. The triumph of design over function.
The two guest bedrooms were identical. One wall was steeply sloped. One was the glass door to the patio. One had cupboards. And one was broken up by the door. Terrible design, I don’t care how cute the outside it.
The two full bathrooms (one shared by the guest rooms; one in the master suite) were nice. I don’t remember seeing a powder room.
There was a second building across the lawn from the house.
It was clearly meant to be the maid’s domain, but since I don’t have a maid, it would mean lugging the laundry down the stairs, through the house and outside both coming and going.
The list price was $850. A hundred more than the house I was trying so hard to get, and even further from the tram and grocery stores. Carla said it was because of the location. Gringos gonna Gringolandia I guess. She also said that if the house I wanted, partially because of the location, was in this area, it would be renting for a thousand dollars.
Sigh.
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