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.

3 Comments:

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.

L

25.8.05  
Blogger JB said...

Closer to $7...

25.8.05  
Anonymous S 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

31.8.05  

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