miðvikudagur, ágúst 24, 2005

london calling

I've had the good fortune of inhabiting an amazing apartment for the past year. It's an 8-minute walk from downtown and a 4-minute walk from the sea. It's the whole floor of a beautiful house from the 1920s. It's got a brand new kitchen, and wood floors, and a dope-dad bathroom with insane European shower-temp-control technology. Oh yeah, washer/dryer, dishwasher, the works. And to top it off, it comes with the eminently desirable 101 postal code, something not to be sneezed at in image-conscious Iceland. Or in image-conscious JB-land, for that matter.

One small problem here in Solla-Solew (where we never have troubles, at least very few) is that, aside from the Key-Slapping Slippard, I don't actually own this dream apartment. The place has real owners (lovely people, in fact) and as much as I try to forget about them, it appears they are coming back from London to take the place back over at the end of Zepptember. Which means that E and I need a new place to move into starting in Rocktober, classic rock month names notwithstanding.

Now I wasn't really worried about this bidness until today. There's a sweet Icelandic listing service that posts new places daily. Just today one came on, also in the 1-0-1, great location, cute balcony, couple o' built-in cats, sounded perfect. The ad said to call after 6. But things don't often happen at a blistering pace in The Land, so I called at 8. Gone. Flown off the shelf. 4 people had been there already. The potential tenants were brawling amongst themselves over first-children rights. I couldn't help but remember the old OAK-SPIN Legend of Craigie Circle from the go-go Cambridge 1990s.

Now there do appear to be plenty of places available, but mostly out in the Reykjavík-sticks. Postcode 112 og svoleiðis. And places not even part of Reykjavík: postcode 203 Kópavogur. But I've been living on Iceland's answer to Beacon Hill. And now I am contemplating a move to Medford. Or worse than that, Bedford.

So, lesson learned: Hit the phones, jackass. Oh yeah, if any of you legion of loyal Icelandic readers have any ideas (that don't include "why don't you buy?!?") put 'em on the wire.


Anonymous Nafnlaus said...

You should become the "commissioner" of your local poo' and live/work out of there.
Med/Bed/Chelms/ford ain't all bad, except, I guess, when gas is $6 a gallon.


Blogger JB said...

Closer to $7...

Anonymous Nafnlaus said...

OH NO! Never cave in, stick to your dream! Live in 101, you'll so regret it if you find yourself moving to the suburbs. No walking down town anymore, no Back Bay/Beacon Hill feel to your Iceland living. No Saturday morning coffee, seriously people will forget you out there in the boonies.
101, that's what I say....!
Word of mouth is a powerful thing in Iceland, word of mouth.
Visualize it and you'll have it, remember the best place is yet to come. Optimism is key here


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