Looking for a flat in València, an odyssey

A home search full of stumbling blocks: frustrations and lessons on the road to finding the ideal home in Valencia.

This text is atypical for several reasons. The main one is that we did not write it. A little over a year ago, we sold Teresa R.'s house (it is a pseudonym, you will soon find out why) and it was a very satisfactory sale for all involved. So much so, that the professional relationship is now personal and as we always say in Monapart they are #fansnoclientes, our beloved #monaparters.

There is life beyond real estate service. At Monapart we take such great care of our customers that they are #fansnoclients, our beloved #monaparters.

After selling, Teresa wanted to buy another house. Monapart is not a buyer's agency, but it is an agency that takes care of its friends, so, even if it was in the background, we stood by her side to accompany her on this new journey. And we saw things with her that you wouldn't believe... That's why we offered her to tell us in first person about it. the odyssey of looking for a flat in València. Here goes:

"Saramago said: "We are the memory we have and the responsibility we assume, without memory we do not exist and without responsibility we may not deserve to exist". So clear and forceful; as always when the writer opened his mouth, literally or through his pen.

You think so too: "To resort to Saramago for an article that talks about the sale and purchase of flats, well, that's a bit of an exaggeration".. Well, maybe so, but what can I say, I define my principles first, I am not given to misinterpretations, and then if you wish, on the basis of what I am going to tell you, you can conclude whether I have gone too far or not.

I have been looking for a house for a year. I'll spare you the details that have led me to this decision, although I'm telling you that there would also be reason to resort to another Saramago quote, but anyway, let's get to the point: I've been looking to buy a house for a year. "And in a year you haven't found anything?" "Impossible."you might think. That's probably true. I'm quite picky and yes, it's possible that some of the dozens and dozens I've seen could have matched what I'm initially looking for. But no, I haven't found my house. I won't go into those details either. So what the hell am I going to go into? In the odyssey of this year trying to find a house, a medium-sized, medium-priced property, for a middle-class person, if the middle class even exists?

This is where my story begins, in this search, and with what and with whom I have encountered along the way, while I, deluded as I was, clung to Saramago, to the memory and to the responsibility of a sector as necessary as it is delirious, as delicate as it is extreme: real estate.

I want a house. Not a cotton T-shirt, not a kilo of tomatoes. A house can't be returned with the ticket after a fortnight.

I want a house. Not a cotton T-shirt, not a kilo of tomatoes. You can't return a house with the ticket after a fortnight. When the money you have is the result of tremendous effort, you don't want to make a mistake, and that means asking for time to look at it properly, to take out the calculator again and again, to think about job stability, the present and the future, etc., etc., etc., etc. You don't want to rush, and you don't want to cheat along the way.

You don't want to hear on a first visit: "There is already an interested person who is going to bring me a token this afternoon, if you want, there is a cashier there", ni "if you can't point it out to me today, I'll let you know that there will be a third visit later, including an architect"., nor "You have to tell me your details, especially where you live now, otherwise I can't show you the house"., nor "We ask you for your data because of the data protection law". To everything, I always give the same answer: perdóonnn?

You don't want to be forced to go to a head office after a visit to a house that you really like, supposedly to sign a visit report and end up sitting in front of a saleswoman - with an Antonio Ozores-style speed of speech - compulsively showing you another twenty houses and talking to you about financing. "But, madam, I was coming for the house I just saw.

You don't want to be called fifteen times by the same estate agent, from fifteen different phones, with fifteen different voices, asking you exactly what you are looking for: the neighbourhood, the height, the number of rooms. "I have already seen a house with you, you know what I want, you have my details". Maybe every time out of the fifteen times they have called me, they write them down on a worn post-it note that flies with the air coming through their window. I have a friend who makes great databases. The sixteenth time I will recommend him to you.

You don't want to go and see a house that they can't tell you exactly where it is. "It's about data protection, ma'am".I am told. "Yeah, but I've seen about seven of them on streets that I DON'T want to live on, you know?

You don't want two kids waiting for you in any doorway of the houses you're going to see in ugly uniforms, spouting macroeconomic spiel that Krugman should take note of.

You don't want to go and see a house that they can't tell you exactly where it is. "It's about data protection, ma'am."

You want to arrive for a visit and not find an anxious salesperson, glued to the phone, who will give you a fleeting tour of the flat because the next and the next and the next visit is waiting. Some of those visits will be yours, others from four or five other estate agents with whom you will be competing in a fierce battle. You can imagine who the brawl will splash, can't you?

You want to see real, honest real estate ads. If the house is a ninth floor and the lift reaches the eighth floor, I want to know; if the terrace belongs to the community and its private use is not approved, I want to know; I want to know that it is interior, that it has no light, that it has a layout like the Minotaur's labyrinth or a corridor like the runway at Barajas, that the building has been shored up or that it has aluminosis. So, the information, as well as truthful and stuff like that. One of those things.

You want photos of homes that match what you are going to see. I have seen flats that in reality were the forge of Mordor and in the advertisements looked like Preysler's house. That is to say: I want it to be true when it is said that it has been refurbished, and when it is written that it is habitable, it should be true.

And you want the prices to be reasonable, you don't feel like you're paying six quid for a soda that's worth 30 cents.

Memory. I have a black notebook, by way of catharsis, in which I write down EVERY DAY - yes, you heard that right: EVERY DAY - all the estate agents that I come across, much to my regret, and who mistreat the trust of buyers or sellers. You see them coming, with that charlatan air of the profiteers. Many have been born in the heat of this new incipient boom, with little or no experience; others have experience, I believe, but contribute to the image of offering a poor quality service, without nobility, without integrity, without responsibility, with a deplorable treatment of the client. These estate agents may have the best of properties. I don't give a damn. I won't buy from them.

Responsibility. We are responsible for what we do at every moment. In everything. Also in how we do our work, in how we treat our customers, in the product we offer them, in the advice they ask us for.

We come from a very tough economic period. We forget too soon. Let us be responsible. As Saramago said: "Memory and responsibility.

This is the testimony of a Valencian monaparter who recounts the odyssey she went through looking for a flat in Valencia. And it begins with a quote from José Saramago: "We are the memory we have and the responsibility we assume". Exaggerated? Come in, read it and draw your own conclusions.