HOUSE HUNTING
The rental contract on the house where we were staying was about to expire and, as I was tired of not being able to step out on to the terrace to comb the dog without a host of children appearing as if by magic chorusing “Madame Marie, Madame Marie” and picking my way through the debris each time I climbed the stairs and a variety of other minor but annoying inconveniencies, we decided to try and find something else. Damascus is full of empty houses for rent because many owners rent their houses in the centre and live elsewhere, the most popular move at the moment being up to the Dumar Project where house prices are relatively reasonable. Most houses are only for rent to foreign tenants, because owners would have no guarantee of being able to remove Syrians if they were to move in. Foreign tenants also provide a certain kind of security as they are usually attached to embassies, international organizations or multinational companies like Shell. Another factor which prompted our search for another house was that I thought it might be more convenient to be nearer the centre of town rather than on the outskirts.
The first agent showed us four houses. The last two were quite unsuitable, one being soulless with vast dark carved furniture and the other with a “dead “ kind of atmosphere. The first house we saw, which also had a small, newly planted garden, was ideally situated just off Malki Street and it was brand new. However, it was not furnished and Robert did not want to commit himself to something without seeing what it was going to be like when we moved in, and the owners were not prepared to furnish the place until they had the contract signed. It was also rather small, so, although the owners were very keen to have us rent it, we decided not to go ahead. The second house was also central and Robert liked it straight away because it had a large sitting room with new furnishings, a piano and music system. The owner was a dynamic lady and quite unusual, because she had an artist painting a mural on the wall in the hallway which, for Damascus standards, was quite daring as it depicted mermaids. Although the rest of the house was rather rundown by comparison, we decided to try for that one. However, they wanted too much rent and a commitment for a full year which we could not give them as Robert’s contract expires at the end of May. After much toing and froing with fairly high hopes of reaching an agreement at one stage, negotiations broke down and we gave up that idea.
Enter another agent. This one showed us houses in the Mezzeh district where we were already living. The first was roomy and full of light with a big garden, but they wanted too much rent and were going to remove some of the furniture, so we had no idea of what would be left. The next was a gem of a house, though a bit over-furnished, but the owners who were emigrating to the US decided that they would prefer to sell rather than rent.
Back to the first agent who showed us more houses in Malki and Abou Roumaneh: one was expensively but tastelessly furnished and ended up looking like a casino and the others were just no better than the place where we were already.
A visit to Mr. Mozeh who had given me his copy of the Qran when I arrived did not provide anything better. Most of the houses we saw were dark and over-furnished. Then he showed me an apartment on the top floor above the Danish and Swedish embassies. It was not very big and was poorly furnished but at the rent we were being allowed to pay he was prepared to refurnish it throughout and get lots of plants for the huge terrace. Robert went to see it several times but on each occasion something went wrong: the Danish tenants were in or the key got misplaced or something, so, in the end he decided that this was obviously not meant to be.
At the eleventh hour Bassel came up with another two houses and we set off at 10p.m. one Friday night to view them. We only saw the first, however, because we liked it very much. It was spacious and full of light and furnished with simple furniture. The contract was signed and we moved in a few days later.
Although it is noisier in some ways because it is on the main road, we feel that the time we still have to spend here can be more enjoyable in this house than in the other one, because there is room to move and the entrance is nicer and better kept.
August 29 1998
Showing posts with label househunting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label househunting. Show all posts
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
DUBIOUS ENCOUNTERS
DUBIOUS ENCOUNTERS OF A FORTUITOUS KIND
The last week or two the weather has been very hot with temperatures well into the 40s C. and night-time temperatures always in the high twenties or low thirties. This meant that our dog walking schedule had to be modified and the evening walk was postponed until almost nightfall to make sure that poor Simon’s feet were not scalded on the blistering pavements.
Last Friday, we had barely turned out of our street than we were greeted by a man exclaiming how beautiful Simon was and asking his name. When I told him, he said “In English that is a woman’s name.” “No”.
“Yes”.
“Sorry, you must be making a mistake. Simone is a French name for a woman but in English Simon is a man’s name”.
“You are from Scotland?”, he asked Robert.
“No, I’m from Spain.”
“Then she is from Scotland”
“That’s right.” How he knew that I don’t know, but he did.
“Scottish people are very kind and gentle”.
“Kind and hospitable, yes, but not so gentle. They had to be tough to survive.”
“Scotland used to rule England, you know”, he proclaimed proudly. A potted history lesson ensued to explain how the Scottish and English crowns were united.
“Please come into my house for a chat.”
“Sorry, we have to take our dog for a walk.”
“Just for a minute,” he pleaded. ” We can sit in the garden.” So as not to appear rude and ungrateful we followed him into a nearby house which turned out to be where a white West Highland terrier, which had thrived on barking at us every evening, had lived until a few weeks ago.
When we commented on the previous “owner” - or rather his dog - our host regaled us with stories of how the German husband, but particularly his Yugoslav wife, had dearly loved Syria. The conversation then turned to culturally mixed marriages and there were many tales of true love among his friends who had undertaken such marriages. Robert asked him if he was intending to rent his house which was well maintained and had a nice garden with fruit trees (we were eating pears from one of the trees) and a large swimming-pool.
“Well, maybe. Are you looking for a house?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact we are. How much would you want for it?”
“Oh, I don’t want anything.”
“Well, you won’t let anyone live in it for free, so how much rent would you be asking - if you are going to rent it that is?”
“You are both very kindly and I would not want to take anything from you. Look around it. I think we should talk friendship first and then maybe we can come around to money.”
“We would like to have an idea of how much the rent would be”, said I, “because the project fixes a budget for rents and, if your house is outside the budget, then there’s no point in us even looking at it.”
“Oh, please look around”
At this point Robert got up and went to have a look around and I stayed outside with Simon. The conversation continued along the same lines as before.
“I was married.”
“So you’re divorced now?”
“Yes, I have a daughter - 18 years old.”
“Really!”
“You didn’t think I could have a daughter that age?”
“Not really.”
“She is beautiful.”
“Do you see her often?”
“No, my brother goes to see her. She lives with her mother.”
“Where?”
“In California. My wife was American, but of foreign descent a long time back.”
“Well, in America they’re all of foreign descent except the native Indians.”
”We are good friends my wife and I.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“I give my daughter everything she wants. It’s very important because daughters are always close to their fathers. I see that everywhere. Daughters are always close to their fathers”. After a pause he said,
“You are a very good wife.”
That’s right, she is”, said Robert who had just reappeared in the nick of time.
“He’s divorced.” I hastened to shed some light on the newly emerged circumstances.
“We are very lucky. A man can have four wives. It’s a very good idea. Why not? If God gives a man the gift of being rich and he can make four women happy, then why not?”
“Well, it depends a lot on how the wives feel about it and if they get on well together”, said I, trying not to get too deeply involved in this potential quagmire. Robert, however, who had no such scruples said,
“Frankly, I think it’s the height of selfishness. Does anyone think to ask the first wife what she thinks about having to share with another one, two or three wives? Why should it only be your desires as a man which dictate the situation? In any case, to make a marriage work it has to be like a partnership and, if you are divorced, then you obviously failed in making that partnership work with one wife so how can you hope to make it work with three or four?”.
“Oh no, not failed. We are very good friends”
“Well, you may be very good friends but as a marriage it failed. Take this plate of pears and let’s imagine its a company. You and I are very good friends and decide to set up a company selling pears - fresh, tinned, glacéd - any way you like. Sales turn out to be bad and the company makes no money so we decide to wind it up. We’re still great friends, but as a company we failed. It’s the same thing.”
“Well, companies are more than just sales. You know Amway? In that company everyone is a friend and when you call up with your order there’s always a word of encouragement. It’s like a family.”
“So you work with Amway? “
“I used to”
“Do you bring Amway products into Syria? How do you do it?”
“The same way Kentucky Fried Chicken came into ......”
At this point a wheezy, hysterical laugh began and the tubby little man with his short legs began to clutch his chest at heart level. “Kentucky Fried Chicken .... ha, ha ha .....”
This was far enough. “Thank you so much for inviting us, but I think we should leave now and take the dog for a walk.” We stood up. He did too.
“Please stay a little longer.”
“Sorry, we can’t.”
“You have a wonderful wife!”
You’re right”, said Robert, as I turned tail and climbed the steps as fast as dignity and seemliness would allow.
* * *
The following morning as I took Simon out on his midday walk, we had just reached the top of the road when once again we bumped into our little crazy neighbour.
“I’ve found a perfect house for you. You must remain in the neighbourhood. I have friends in Shell and there is a house opposite theirs which would be perfect for you. It doesn’t have a pool but it is beautiful. Maybe it’s a little bit expensive but ...”
“That’s very kind of you. I’ll tell my husband when he comes home.”
“You will remember to keep my commission for me?!”
“Your commission?”
“Yes, my commission is that you find me a wife...”
Some months later as we were out walking the dog in the evening, our neighbour approached in the company of a male friend. We exchanged the usual commonplace greetings and Robert pointed to my sister Eileen who had come to spend a holiday and said, “Please meet my second wife.” The poor man’s eyes opened so wide they stood out on stalks as he stared at us in amazement! Did he feel he had won a new convert to Islam?
August 16 1998
The last week or two the weather has been very hot with temperatures well into the 40s C. and night-time temperatures always in the high twenties or low thirties. This meant that our dog walking schedule had to be modified and the evening walk was postponed until almost nightfall to make sure that poor Simon’s feet were not scalded on the blistering pavements.
Last Friday, we had barely turned out of our street than we were greeted by a man exclaiming how beautiful Simon was and asking his name. When I told him, he said “In English that is a woman’s name.” “No”.
“Yes”.
“Sorry, you must be making a mistake. Simone is a French name for a woman but in English Simon is a man’s name”.
“You are from Scotland?”, he asked Robert.
“No, I’m from Spain.”
“Then she is from Scotland”
“That’s right.” How he knew that I don’t know, but he did.
“Scottish people are very kind and gentle”.
“Kind and hospitable, yes, but not so gentle. They had to be tough to survive.”
“Scotland used to rule England, you know”, he proclaimed proudly. A potted history lesson ensued to explain how the Scottish and English crowns were united.
“Please come into my house for a chat.”
“Sorry, we have to take our dog for a walk.”
“Just for a minute,” he pleaded. ” We can sit in the garden.” So as not to appear rude and ungrateful we followed him into a nearby house which turned out to be where a white West Highland terrier, which had thrived on barking at us every evening, had lived until a few weeks ago.
When we commented on the previous “owner” - or rather his dog - our host regaled us with stories of how the German husband, but particularly his Yugoslav wife, had dearly loved Syria. The conversation then turned to culturally mixed marriages and there were many tales of true love among his friends who had undertaken such marriages. Robert asked him if he was intending to rent his house which was well maintained and had a nice garden with fruit trees (we were eating pears from one of the trees) and a large swimming-pool.
“Well, maybe. Are you looking for a house?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact we are. How much would you want for it?”
“Oh, I don’t want anything.”
“Well, you won’t let anyone live in it for free, so how much rent would you be asking - if you are going to rent it that is?”
“You are both very kindly and I would not want to take anything from you. Look around it. I think we should talk friendship first and then maybe we can come around to money.”
“We would like to have an idea of how much the rent would be”, said I, “because the project fixes a budget for rents and, if your house is outside the budget, then there’s no point in us even looking at it.”
“Oh, please look around”
At this point Robert got up and went to have a look around and I stayed outside with Simon. The conversation continued along the same lines as before.
“I was married.”
“So you’re divorced now?”
“Yes, I have a daughter - 18 years old.”
“Really!”
“You didn’t think I could have a daughter that age?”
“Not really.”
“She is beautiful.”
“Do you see her often?”
“No, my brother goes to see her. She lives with her mother.”
“Where?”
“In California. My wife was American, but of foreign descent a long time back.”
“Well, in America they’re all of foreign descent except the native Indians.”
”We are good friends my wife and I.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“I give my daughter everything she wants. It’s very important because daughters are always close to their fathers. I see that everywhere. Daughters are always close to their fathers”. After a pause he said,
“You are a very good wife.”
That’s right, she is”, said Robert who had just reappeared in the nick of time.
“He’s divorced.” I hastened to shed some light on the newly emerged circumstances.
“We are very lucky. A man can have four wives. It’s a very good idea. Why not? If God gives a man the gift of being rich and he can make four women happy, then why not?”
“Well, it depends a lot on how the wives feel about it and if they get on well together”, said I, trying not to get too deeply involved in this potential quagmire. Robert, however, who had no such scruples said,
“Frankly, I think it’s the height of selfishness. Does anyone think to ask the first wife what she thinks about having to share with another one, two or three wives? Why should it only be your desires as a man which dictate the situation? In any case, to make a marriage work it has to be like a partnership and, if you are divorced, then you obviously failed in making that partnership work with one wife so how can you hope to make it work with three or four?”.
“Oh no, not failed. We are very good friends”
“Well, you may be very good friends but as a marriage it failed. Take this plate of pears and let’s imagine its a company. You and I are very good friends and decide to set up a company selling pears - fresh, tinned, glacéd - any way you like. Sales turn out to be bad and the company makes no money so we decide to wind it up. We’re still great friends, but as a company we failed. It’s the same thing.”
“Well, companies are more than just sales. You know Amway? In that company everyone is a friend and when you call up with your order there’s always a word of encouragement. It’s like a family.”
“So you work with Amway? “
“I used to”
“Do you bring Amway products into Syria? How do you do it?”
“The same way Kentucky Fried Chicken came into ......”
At this point a wheezy, hysterical laugh began and the tubby little man with his short legs began to clutch his chest at heart level. “Kentucky Fried Chicken .... ha, ha ha .....”
This was far enough. “Thank you so much for inviting us, but I think we should leave now and take the dog for a walk.” We stood up. He did too.
“Please stay a little longer.”
“Sorry, we can’t.”
“You have a wonderful wife!”
You’re right”, said Robert, as I turned tail and climbed the steps as fast as dignity and seemliness would allow.
* * *
The following morning as I took Simon out on his midday walk, we had just reached the top of the road when once again we bumped into our little crazy neighbour.
“I’ve found a perfect house for you. You must remain in the neighbourhood. I have friends in Shell and there is a house opposite theirs which would be perfect for you. It doesn’t have a pool but it is beautiful. Maybe it’s a little bit expensive but ...”
“That’s very kind of you. I’ll tell my husband when he comes home.”
“You will remember to keep my commission for me?!”
“Your commission?”
“Yes, my commission is that you find me a wife...”
Some months later as we were out walking the dog in the evening, our neighbour approached in the company of a male friend. We exchanged the usual commonplace greetings and Robert pointed to my sister Eileen who had come to spend a holiday and said, “Please meet my second wife.” The poor man’s eyes opened so wide they stood out on stalks as he stared at us in amazement! Did he feel he had won a new convert to Islam?
August 16 1998
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