Friction and fruitless foraging in flat-finding frenzy

So we are now settled into our very own 3 bedroom apartment just off Fouad Street, near the university and a quiet, slightly overgrown park in the centre of Alexandria. The process for finding a flat in this country is a bizarre one. There are no estate agencies per say- simply brokers ("simsar") and doormen ("bawab"). One has only to find a suitable area, approach the nearest bawab and inquire as to the availability of flats in the building. Within 10 minutes you can be inside an empty flat with the contract drawn up, handing over a wad of cash to a hairy but happy landlord. The key to finding the perfect flat is more or less this- be lucky. As is the Egyptian way, it helps to ask anyone and everyone you know and meet for leads on nice apartments, until somebody calls you randomly with an opportunity to have a viewing. Given the cultural disparity, the following factors also need to be considered:

• location (near a mosque/ school/ embassy/ gas station or mechanic- hot spot for creepy men)
• neighbours (super orthodox/nosy/noisy/creepy/foreign- can make for more relaxed bawabs)
• landlord (not crazy/relaxed about visitors of the same/opposite sex/egyptian/non-egyptian)
• rent (egyptian price/tourist price)

And so your life will become a mad opportunist scramble for a few weeks until you manage to find something which ticks all four boxes. A few beauteous apartments slipped through the net for failing to fulfill but one of the necessary criteria. One flat in particular still haunts my memories, its full wall of windows overlooking the harbour and western kitchen with bar attached floats obnoxiously through my head from time to time. Lamentably, the landlady was a psycho bitch.

We were blessed eventually with a comfortably sized flat in a prime location with a flexible landlord and accommodating bawab. The bawab is more or less the egyptian equivalent of a bouncer, for aparments and businesses across the country. They spend their days sitting watching the world pass by, socialising with passing citizens and other bawabs. They are responsible for the cleanliness of the foyer and rubbish disposal for the entirety of the apartments in their building. All we have to do is dump our bin bags outside of the door, and within a couple of hours those nifty garbage elves have removed everything. We have two bawabs, one old, one young (which is quite unusual from what I've seen) and we're supposed to tip them/ bring them slices of cake/chocolates every so often- something which as of yet we have failed to do, save in Eid al Adha last week when Anais, my flatmate, tipped them some change, as is customary during this time. They deserve at least a bit of cash, to compensate them for their tolerance of what can only be described as sometimes bizarre behaviour...last night we snuck past him in full costume to go to a belated halloween party- perplexed, I think, is the word he would have been looking for had he wished to express his reaction...

So all is well for us in the real estate realm once again, hamdulilah. 

There is never a dull moment in this country.

The bawab outside of our institute. A merry fellow.

Back on the grid!

My sincerest apologies for the lack of commitment to this here blog...I could very well make my excuses (stressful flat hunting/culture shock/sporadic internet connections cough cough) but I shan't. I shall just simply carry on, and try to adequately fill you in from where I left off. More posts to come...