Relocating to another place is such a rollercoaster in so many respects, but three of the primary focuses/stresses I have experienced since arriving on the sweet shores of Sydney 6 weeks ago are:
- Finding accommodation
- Finding a job
- Finding m8s
All have been such a journey upto now, that it only makes sense to do a post on each.
Upon arrival in Sydney, my friend Milly & I had booked an Air BnB for 2 weeks whilst we searched for flat shares, respectively. As Air BnB’s go, the one we had booked was pretty dire and we not-so-affectionately nicknamed it ‘the hovel’. From rusty shower handles falling off and rogue strangers knocking on our door in the night, to the space being stuffed with the owners’ dusty belongings, this studio left a lot be desired… not to mention the fact that you could get BAKED off the ganja fumes being circulated around the building by our stoner neighbours… I certainly found myself taking deep inhales in the stairwell after a stressful day to experience the sweet release. Whilst I agree to some extent that it’s all part of the journey, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I found watching on as deranged homeless people with no shoes on and talking to themselves, enter the same building as us, somewhat unnerving. Suffice to say, it was NAT ideal. As a result, we were keen to find our respective flatshares, and find em fast. & so, the hunt began!
Whilst Milly viewed just one place in cool Surry Hills & signed on the dotted line… I viewed 12.
From rooms with no doors, to rooms where I couldn’t see the floor due to mess, to inappropriate could-be roommates… viewing the different flatshares available was truly an experience in itself.
I can safely say after the journey to find accommodation, that I have been both catfished and flatfished this summer. But, the crème de la crème, absolute worst of the bunch would have to be an apartment I turned up to where a man in his late 40s answered the door… he had a thick gold chain around his neck, was sniffing ferociously with large saucer pupils (yes it was midday) which were intermittently exposed when he peered over his industrial sized black sunglasses and proceeded to ask me if I ‘liked to party’, whilst situating himself around 2cm from my face. Something told me he was the kind of fella that might be making unwanted visits to my boudoir in the night. I also couldn’t help but think about how me old madre, who gifted my sisters & I each with rape alarms when we went travelling, would have a heart attack if she discovered my new roomie. When I politely declined the room, I received a text from him later asking if I wanted ‘to hang out as friends 😉’ – NO. THANX. M8.
Anyway, after various declines for flats I didn’t want and various knock backs for the ones I did… I eventually found a lovely house based in the upmarket area of Double Bay… nicknamed ‘double pay’ due to the fact it’s the most expensive suburb. I know what ya thinkin, tres punchy for an unemployed gyal… & you’re right – but what can I say? I am the brat my Madre made me. Just kidding (kind of) – in all seriousness, I think I’ve really lucked out with a sweet deal.
It is spacious, sunny and 5 minutes’ walk to the beach. As for my roommates, I am sharing with Krystle & Blythe; two lovely ladies in their mid 30s, who are into all things yoga, meditation and veganism. It feels very Sydney to be living with them.
So, once Milly & I had secured our new abodes, we had but 6 days left of our hovel sentence. At this point, the toilet had now been leaking for days. Following numerous complaints to Ben (our Air BnB host) with no response, he eventually succumbed to my pleas and decided to ‘take a look’ for himself as opposed to sending a plumber. Following 20 minutes of fumbling around, Ben managed to leave us in an even worse scenario than before (if that’s possible), in which the floor was now completely flooded, the toilet wouldn’t flush & the shower wouldn’t stop running. As I’m sure you can imagine, living on top of one another in this pit whilst searching tirelessly for work and accommodation, was starting to wear down my patience. As such, and whilst poor unknowing Milly was out buying bedding for her new place… I upped the sass and told our host the hovel was uninhabitable…Which seemed to hit a pressure point for old Benny boy and lead to him demanding we leave immediately. WOOPSYDAISY 😳 looks like I maaaaaybe went too far… I had really cut off my nose to spite my visage on this one – with 2 days on the clock before we could move into our new places, I had now sealed mine and Milly’s homeless fate… We were stuck in a position where we weren’t yet ready to go, but I also felt unprepared to beg bastard Ben to stay in his abomination of an Air BnB. Lucky for us, 2 of our lovely friends who have also recently moved here kindly agreed to put us up for the evening. THANK. THE. LAWD.
SO! It has been only upwards since our humble hovel beginnings and I am loving living in this new sanctuary of a pad. Having always lived with my best girlfriends, it feels rather odd to be living with strangers, but also kind of liberating to feel that I have found this place and I am renting a room off my own back – no m8s r8s or ‘mummy help’. Having said that, my previous flatmates have always been very much on the same wavelength as me… whereas I now find myself hiding my eggshells like it’s some kind of sick offense to my vegan comrades and querying whether the mangey seagull feather in the bathroom can be binned, or if it’s some sort of spiritual meditation tool. Something also tells me that they are both teetotal… which I most certainly am not. Notably, following a rather fun Friday evening which resulted in me stumbling in in the early hours sporting my classic red-wine-witch-mouth, Krystle offered to perform Reiki on me the next morning… I couldn’t help but feel that she thought my soul needed cleansing… & maybe she’s right! But for now, I think I’ll focus on the flow of the pinot noir as opposed to the “life force energy”.
Next challenge: EMPLOYMENT.