A little place I looked at on Sunday afternoon was still available when I rang my contact today. Thank God, I was considering how living under a palm leaf on the beach might go. It was literally the ONLY option other than housesitting*or a room in Hotel Turismo, which at $550 USD a month was at the absolute limit of what I could afford for rent. Places go *really* quickly here. I rang about two on Saturday, after getting told about them on Saturday morning, only to discover they’d already been taken. Argh!
This little place is $225 / month, so it’s cheaper than my current house ($500 / month, but with a housemate, $250). The family are reputedly ‘lovely’ according to my other malae friends who live in the complex (the family live in a big house out the front and there are three or four little guest houses out the back; perhaps they used to be servants’ quarters? Who knows), and certainly they have been nice enough the two times I dropped by. They also offered to discount my rent a bit if I leave them my airconditioner when I go back to Australia, which I certainly didn’t expect. They don’t mind if I want to move my own furniture in (it’s not that I’m attached to it – it’s all absolute shit – it’s just that I’m used to it) and they don’t mind if I want to store the excess furniture in their shed until I can give it away.
I’m sure they are just *normal* people, but anyone who doesn’t glare at me this week seems like the friendliest person ever. Guess my social interaction radar is still a bit sensitive!
The place itself consists of one big bedroom, an Indonesian bathroom (so it’s another four months of washing myself with cold water with a dipper and tub: oh well, I’m tough), a little antechamber to the bathroom, a balcony, and a little separate hut for my kitchen (all the little separate rooms get their own kitchens).
It’s not that my current neighbours could really force me out before I had a place to go; I just don’t want to be in the Barbie Mutant Nightmare House a second longer than I have to be, now. I feel panicky whenever I have to go home. It’s a shame, because it’s a nice house in a nice area. I just can’t handle being around people who hate me and have no interest in understanding me.
- I totally appreciate that people were being helpful, but I’m only here for four more months; housesitting for a month or two means I will have to house-sit for the next four months. I lost count of how many offers I was given to house-sit for a month, I got that many.