Hello again, faithful readers. I’m back in Tbilisi after a month of R&R at home. The biggest changes as we
start the second year of this contract are the downsizing of the team from 12
to three and the new living arrangements.
I am now living in a one bedroom, one bath apartment in the Vake (vah-kay) neighborhood, one of the more
elite sections of town. I’ve added some
pictures of the place at the end of this posting.
What was fascinating was the process you have to go
through here in Georgia to rent an apartment.
Apartment buildings are not owned by a single entity here. Instead, each apartment is individually
owned. The big problem with that is,
since no one “owns” the outside of the apartment, no one takes care of it. In the past, and I’m talking about in the old
Soviet days, the state owned the whole building so they took care of the
outside. Not anymore. In most cases, literally no one owns the
building itself; therefore, the exterior of the building is ignored. Parking lots are not maintained, the building
shell is never painted, graffiti is allowed to bloom on any flat surface of the
building, cracks in the steps and sidewalks are someone else’s problem, and the
elevator and interior lighting maintenance is left to the kind ministrations of
an apartment owner who is simply too tired of stumbling over cracked stairs
with no light.
So here we are, being shown apartments to rent. As you drive into the parking lot of 68
Irakli Abashidze Street, you’re greeted by a handful of stray dogs and cats rummaging
around the dumpster, the parking lot is full of weeds and trash, and the
building itself is multicolored with graffiti (who is Salome
anyway, and does her mother know what she does in the alley?). You walk into a darkened hallway after being
cautioned by the apartment owner to watch your step, especially where there are
steps missing. The hallway is dark and smells strongly of cigarette smoke, stale beer and urine (I have
immediate flashbacks to the Beta fraternity house in college where I lived for
two years). The elevator doesn’t work so
we have to walk up four floors of steps in the gloom to apartment #23. My trepidation is high already and I’m not
too eager to see what the apartment looks like after seeing the rest of the
building.
Surprisingly, I walk into a well-lit, bright, semi-clean apartment. It’s furnished with all the amenities, a hard
wood floor, plenty of windows (albeit lousy views – directly into the
neighboring apartment buildings), and fairly new furniture. I express my surprise and satisfaction with
the apartment – my first big mistake.
After inspecting all four rooms, I tell Niko, our interpreter and in-country
logistics manager, that it’s the best place we’ve seen so far – my second
mistake. Niko and my soon-to-be
landlady, Olya -- who speaks pretty good English and fluent Russian, begin negotiating the price of the apartment. Listed initially at $600 a month (for some
strange reason, all major purchases in this country are done in dollars, not
Lari, the local currency. If you want to
buy a used car, for instance, you negotiate, and eventually pay, in dollars –
not Lari, not Euros, and especially not Rubles.
It’s a bit weird, but typically Georgian.), at my first statement the
price went up to $1000 a month and at my second statement to $1200. Now comes the theater part of the
negotiations – my favorite part. Niko
throws his hands in the air and asks why the landlady thinks he’s stupid. The landlady counters by asking why we’re trying
to steal money from her grandchildren.
Niko responds by telling the landlady she’s a terrible Georgian for
trying to take advantage of the childlike Americans who don’t know any better (he
means me). Olya fires back with the
statement that she’s doing us a favor – she doesn’t have to rent to Americans
at all since there are at least 17 people who will rent the apartment today. Niko tells her to go ahead and call them then
since he’s not paying a dime over the listed price of $600 a month. Olya argues that single Americans only want
to rent apartments so they can hold parties, bring in single Georgian girls,
and take drugs (how come I never get invited to those apartments?). Niko’s answer to this is to simply point at
me and say, “Look at him. Single Georgian
girls in the apartment? Really?” That wins the argument. I’m not sure if I should be happy that we
won, or insulted about how we won, but anyway, I have the apartment at the newly negotiated
price of $700 a month plus utilities and a two-month rent deposit for possible
damages (despite my looks, she’s still not sure I won’t find some desperate
Georgian woman somewhere). I move in the
next day.
It really is a nice apartment. It’s quiet, convenient, abuts Vake Park (the
Central Park of Tbilisi), and the neighborhood has everything I need – corner markets
for staples and groceries; excellent produce stands (yes, Debbie, I’m trying to
eat more vegetables); a dry cleaner; tons of cafes, restaurants, and clubs; and
the main street of Chavchavadze Blvd. is only three blocks away. It is not, however, the cleanest apartment
you’ve ever seen. Olya, who lived in the
apartment for several years before deciding it was time to retire to Spain with
her son, is not the most thorough of house cleaners. I had to hire one of the women who worked for
us in the Alamo to come and clean the place after I moved in. I thought it would take about a half day to
get the place spic and span. It took two
days of hard labor and about $100 worth of cleaning supplies to pass
inspection. But it’s home, at least for
the next eleven months.
And, of course, you’re all invited to the house warming
party. You’ll have to bring your own
Georgian girls, though.
Thanks for reading.
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