If you had told me a year ago that I (yes, only my name is on the contract) would be signing a "good faith" agreement with a landlord I just met in Merida, Mexico, the week before Thanksgiving, I would have thought you were off your rocker. Nevertheless, that is precisely what happened last week. Long story attempted to be short:
Like the good risk-averse gringos we are, we took the advice of people in Ryan's program to look for and reserve Airbnbs during our months here. We serendipitously booked our first place for three months with sweet host Genny and had planned to get a better lay of the land before we reserved anywhere else. We tried to extend our time there, but Genny had folks reserved for the holidays. C'est la vie.
So, after spending time on Google Maps and walking the neighborhood near the kids' school, we were excited about landing a reservation with the things on our wishlist (walkable to school, two bedrooms, an equipped kitchen) that we deemed necessary and some bonuses - a shared pool! We even conceded on a washer, knowing we could try the nearby laundromat.
Well, last Sunday, we packed up all our stuff, which has somehow spawned considerably since our arrival, and got it all to the "new" place. To put it mildly - it was a dump. From the outside, it looked fine, pretty even. But inside, it had an omnipresent film of uncertainty and the smell of old curry (which is not a typical spice here, so who knows). The pictures misrepresented the space; only the linens seemed to have had any cleaning attention, and after giving it a night, we started searching for a change of scenery quickly.
Now that we have been in our most recent new place for a little over a week, it is hard to believe how things fell into place. In a nutshell, after lots of WhatsApp messages, leaning on Ryan's connections for legal support, and trying to trust our gut, we are thankful to now be in a very comfortable, clean, and less-expensive place in a neighborhood called Campestre. It is a little longer walk to school, and the kids have to share a bed, but it is right down the street from a bakery, and the landlady lives next door. We know that there is no perfect place, but in what has been described as "the Wild West" of rentals and contracts, we are feeling pretty darn blessed to call this place home for the next few months.
Despite the happy ending, the whole ordeal humbled me. In my twenties, I lived in some pretty ratty, shared places where landlords were, looking back, clearly taking advantage of my naivete and youth. Ryan and I also spent eight months living in what can best be described as long-term jungle cabin camping in Nicaragua. Rats and creepy crawly bugs were commonplace. So, I've had my fair share of less-than-posh places.
Admittedly, I've prided myself on "roughing it" in the past. I don't want to be thought of as a princess entrenched in suburban environments, with all the pictures matching the furniture and filled with white-fence expectations. I don't want to concede that I am someone who can't be uncomfortable and "cool" at the same time. Well, as I approach my latter 30s, I'm no longer that "just act cool and you'll be cool" hippy wannabe I was. I accept it - I'm a middle-aged mom who doesn't need luxury but does need clean, comfortable, and preferably predictable. So, I will make some momma-bear-like changes when I see a cockroach in my living space and being charged tourist prices for a slimy, dirty pool.
For those like-minded justice seekers, know that we are in the process of negotiating a refund with Airbnb 🤓. In the meantime, we look forward to the ebb and flow of "normal" before the holidays.
We didn't just play the moving game. We also watched a Pok Ta' Pok game/performance last weekend. See the video below!
Thanks for reading!!
I thought Pok Ta' Pok was a Korean dish!