Life lesson number 1- Landlords are universally greedy

October 16, 2016
The last time in which I blogged, things were looking up- I’d found a new place, my Spanish was improving and I was getting back into the swing of the Iberian lifestyle. Fast forward three weeks, and whilst my life has been tilted on it’s axis, I’m happier than ever. The biggest lesson that I have learnt in these past few weeks is that no matter where in the world you go, land lords are, on the whole, greedy, thieving bastards. 

The first problem began to surface when I left Ourense in June, for the summer. My flat last year was all I could’ve wished for and more; my double room had an ensuite and walk in wardrobe whilst the kitchen had an american fridge freezer complete with an ice and water dispenser (I’m easy to please, I know). Our landlady, despite having adapted the mañana mañana attitude as her life mantra (she took my broken toilet seat in the October of 2015 and returned it at the end of February 2016..) was an amiable woman. That was, of course, until I, the final occupier of the flat, had left and she decided to take our whole deposit. Within ten minutes of me boarding the plane home, she’d sent us WhatsApp messages, saying she’d conducted an inspection and the outcome was that we’d have to purchase her a new washing machine, table and even new windows. She even requested more money. The worst part of it was that I was supposed to be renting the flat this year. After threatening her with legal action, she finally relented and refunded us half of our deposits. She then proceeded told me that I couldn’t have the flat upon my return, as if it was’t fucking obvious already.

Under the impression that I’d be spending the following year in the flat, I’d left many of my belongings there; things that wouldn’t have been so easy to transfer home, such as kitchenware and home furnishings. Desperate for some sort of kitchen equipment so I could cook the food I’d previously bought, I enquired about picking up my belongings,  When she finally allowed me to collect them from the flat, she’d suspiciously moved it all into one room and claimed that was all that remained. It does’t take a genius to work out that she was hiding many things. hoping that I would’t remember. Not me, fool, not me... I spent a good while looking for my bed sheets whilst she insisted she’d never seen them- until I noticed she was using them on her bed. Having sent me packing with half of my possessions, it took a further two attempts and what felt like 508974905 read WhatsApp messages until I finally managed to reclaim all of my goods. Finally, she was out of my life for good.

My next problem reared it’s ugly head just when I thought everything was going well; upon viewing my new flat, the Landlord had promised me that I’d be living with Spanish students from the nearby university. Fast forward a week, and you can imagine my surprise when I arrived home late one night to find a 55 year old cleaner in the neighbouring bedroom. Dressed in a house coat and holding a mop, you can understand why I presumed she was the cleaner. The following day, another vacant room was occupied by 36 year-old Lourdes and on weekends, her seven year old daughter. Yes, he had lied through his front teeth. And why wouldn’t he? I had been so desperate to find a new home and have some sort of stability that I probably would’ve believed most things.

Now it isn’t that I didn’t like my new flat mates, nor was I ageist- it was more that we didn’t have much in common. They weren’t the type of women who I could go to the cinema with, or dance until six o’clock with at the weekend. In fact, we barely saw each other and when we did, we didn’t act like flat mates; we all had our own cleaning supplies, keys to our bedrooms and own kitchen equipment. Having been the first to move in, I found it extremely bizarre when they refused my offer of sharing- after all, we all needed washing up liquid, and I’d already bought some…  It felt more like a women’s hostel than a home. I began to dread going home, fearing the awkward conversations and the evenings confined to my room, wifi-less and bored to tears.

Reader, I do hope you’ve noticed that I’ve been talking in the past tense because here is my big news- I now have my own flat. A whole apartment all to myself. I feel like Bridget Jones (big pants and all). Perhaps you’re thinking that I was hasty in my decision to move so quickly, but the truth is, I could’t bear to spend a year of my life living with women who took their toilet paper back to their rooms after using the bathroom. Having been offered a second job this year, I decided to cut my losses and become an independent girl. I've been in my apartment for a week now and I feel like an adult;  I spent Saturday night cleaning the flat instead of partying, I've made my guest bedroom look pretty and I own an Airwick air freshener. If Mum's not proud of me now, I don't know if she ever will be. 

So my month in numbers goes as follows-
Room mates-3
Landlord problems-93489382
Apartments with wifi- 0

Fingers crossed for a smoother second month.

Update- my landlord of the care home told me he'd refund me my whole deposit then only gave me 60€ back. Tosser. I'm glad I threw away the lampshade that he keeps messaging me about. 
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