Apartment hunting

Apartment hunting consisted of asking people we knew if they had open rooms, looking at flyers on the American University of Beirut’s campus and asking the woman who works with foreign students if she knew of anything new. (Jules had an e-mail from her with a few numbers from months ago.)

The two flyers for two-bedroom apartments hanging up were in English. The woman who answered the first number I called didn’t speak it, however. The numbers Jules had led to apartments that were already filled, one-bedrooms or no answers. The woman at school pointed us in the direction of an old widower who was renting out half of her large apartment.

We headed there but couldn’t find it. We ended up in a beautiful six-story apartment building inhabited, we were told, by one family. They did not share a last name with the woman we were trying to find. Jules called her (and later we would find out she heard the phone ring but opted not to answer), but no one answered.

Next we tried a building someone heard there were new apartments for rent. There were indeed. The place we saw was stunning. Everything was brand new including the flat-screen TV. We couldn’t afford it. But before the guy showing us around had us call the building’s manager to talk about the price, he took us up one floor to the pool on the roof. So out of our price range it wasn’t funny. Jules’s conversation with the manager lasted about 40 seconds.

The next day, with a hand-drawn map that included no words, two streets and a quarter-circle that I think represented an awning, we found the old woman. She was warm, funny and liked to hold your arm. The sectioned-off part of her apartment for rent was two bedrooms connected by a hallway. There was a bathroom off of the hallway. She called the hallway the kitchenette because it had shelves with dishes, pots and pans, and a microwave. She said she had an extra hotplate if we wanted so we could cook an egg.

Later, and a bit discouraged, we met with the guy who posted the other flyer on campus. He said he’d pick us up and drive us to the place. We agreed to meet in front of a restaurant. I called when we got there, and he said he saw us. (A few seconds and a few half-turns later, I saw him too.)

We ran over to his car, cutting diagonally through an intersection, to find he’d dinged a parked car. He quickly consulted with the car’s owner about the invisible “damage,” and we were on our way.

“It would have been faster to walk,” he said a few times. Traffic didn’t inch forward. It shot forward as people slammed on the gas to fill the few feet in front of them only to come to a complete stop again.

The place looked great. It was spacious if a bit empty. His descriptions of the work he’ll do before we move in on the 20th were peppered with “of course.” He opened the fridge to find the last tenants (who left a few days prior) left a few half-drank bottles of water, orange juice and absinthe. I almost asked him to leave that one in there.

Heartened, we headed off to cook dinner and get ready for poker night at my temporary home.