Real Estate Advice From Yours Truly

I was never supposed to be here. I was originally supposed to intern at the European Central Bank in Frankfurt, Germany. This was my first choice. But at the last minute—two weeks before I left for Belgium and after finding an apartment in Frankfurt— the Bank canceled all internships there and so I was allocated to CEPS instead. This meant spending the summer in Brussels instead of Frankfurt. Though I was filled with rage for a day (I feel sorry for the hapless Future Shop employee who fell victim to my wrath in the aftermath of my finding out), I became resigned to my fate. At least this way I would be with the Brussels interns (numbering about 15) and would get housing help from the tour administration as they had promised.

A week into the tour and said administration announced this “help” consisted of gathering us into a room and informing us that housing was our responsibility and that should we have any difficulty to check the Internet, email the institutions we were to work at and good luck. Then we left for Luxembourg, Germany, and France two days later. Gee, thanks a lot.

I, being the proactive superstar I am, had been emailing potential landlords on craigslist a week before the aforementioned intern information meeting. I had some responses but each demanded a deposit be before I would receive keys in the mail. Why in the mail, you ask? Well because these landlords were in Africa doing missionary work, or in Georgia (the US state) working for months or some such international locale and unable to show me their places. But send the deposit, and they promised I’d get the keys (one even promised God would keep the deposit safe). Being smarter than I looked, I refused. But while I had street smarts, I had no apartment, and street smarts won’t keep you warm when you’re actually on the streets.

So I exploited my human resources. Cassandra’s parents live in Europe and they sent emails to their friends, family and contacts inquiring about available accommodations. The results were slow and dismal—we were offered rooms in various homes and locations for differing periods and were almost always separated. For my part, I hounded people who went on the tour last year. They pointed me to websites and ads and gave me email addresses. While we went on a bit of a hiatus for a week (our biggest tool—the Internet—was in a poor state in Germany and France), we came back to Brussels terrified we’d live in boxes. So Thursday was a flurry of emails and further Internet scouring.

Finally, last weekend was spent looking for apartments. After exhausting our Internet resources—we emailed, called or messaged every apartment/housing site in Belgium—we decided to hit the pavement. Literally. People had told me the best way to find a place was to simply go to a neighborhood and walk around. To my North American ears, this sounded ridiculous. But oh it worked. Friday we walked for five hours looking housing. In the process, I developed a new game I’m confident will sweep the nation.

It is best played with two or more players and requires use of a residential street. Each player takes their position on opposite ends of the street. Then they look into the windows of houses on the opposite street they are on (it’s easier on the neck that way) for signs that read “a louer” (to rent en française). The person with the most sightings wins.

I know it sounds ridiculous but it’s amazing how efficient this is. Cassandra and I played this game twice (Friday and Saturday), though we didn’t get into the swing of things until Saturday (where I ended an hour and a half session with a win 11 to 9). Whenever we saw “a louer,” we’d go over and read the ad. If it met our elementary standards (have at 2 bedrooms or 1 very big bedroom and was furnished) we called the number—sometimes we called when none of those were met.

And I’m happy to announce, that after much searching and stressing, we have finally found a suitable apartment. It only took two weeks and a few lemons (while looking at one place, we asked a police officer if we should live in the admittedly sketchy looking neighborhood, to which she replied, “No, not at all!”), but we got one. It’s close enough to work that I can walk, in a safe neighborhood, has a big bathroom, a washer and dryer, a balcony and a big closet.

We move in Thursday. Provided that the Australian who lives there is out by then…