Chelsea, Chelsea…

 25 apartments, 2-and-a-half days, seven brokers and AT LEAST five different Manhattan districts later, the hunt is over. As of September 1^st, Nads and I will be residing at the appropriately named London Terrace. And very nice it is too. We settled on the Chelsea district more by luck than judgment. I have already had several questions raised over my real motivations for moving there. I can assure you it was merely based on apartment quality.

So the broker experience while eye-opening wasn’t the horror show of slick con-artists that I expected. Here were our big take-aways:

• 60% of Manhattan brokers don’t know where they’re going: Whether it’s wandering in circles round the West Village, ending up on an express train to Harlem when we were aiming for the Upper West Side or missing at least 2 appointments because the Spanish girl showing us was clueless…our brokers senses of direction were appalling (in that last case she even tried to show us pictures on her digital camera as a ‘tour’ of the property she didn’t have keys for).
• Brokers tend to hear what they want to hear: Here is a sample conversation: 
  • Us:         “We want to live Upper West, West Village or Chelsea”
  • Broker: “He (pointing at me) doesn’t want to live in those places”
  • Us:         “Why?”
  • Broker: “Because he can’t get to work”
  • Us:         “Yes we can, so that’s where we’d like to look”
  • Broker: (no longer listening) “So we’re going to show you a place in midtown…”
• Everything looks the same: It’s true, with the exception of maybe four apartments, everything was identical (like this). Polished wooden floors, small kitchens slightly off main room, noisy air conditioners, plain vanilla buildings. Word to the wise – see something you like that isn’t like this, then sign for it.
• A little attention goes a long way: The broker we went with was a very nice Irish girl who showed us what we asked for and LISTENED. Nowhere too noisy…stuck to the areas we wanted…and stayed within our price range. It’s amazing the amount who didn’t.
• Don’t believe the hype: A quick search on Craigslist and the hyperbole is there for all to see. “WOW!”… “Unbelievable price!”…”Off the hook!” etc. I’m all in favor of creative sales techniques, but please…

I’ve figured out that since 2006 I’ve lived in six different properties in four different cities. I think New York needs to be the last stop for a while.

You’re gonna need a bigger boat (…and better SatNav)

So I have a small but not unhealthy obsession with films. While not generating the pangs of excitement I get when seeing anything upwards of a D-list celebrity, seeing where they were filmed comes a close second. I remember making major detours on the Great Ocean Road in Australia to see where Patrick Swayze took his terminal surf in Point Break. Only last week I made a point of riding up and down the escalators in Grand Central Station where Al Pacino conducted his climactic gunfight in Carlito’s Way. Staying a mere 35 minutes off Martha’s Vineyard on our New England vacation, it seemed rude to not pay the real life Amity Island a visit.

Jaws is widely regarded as one of the greatest thrillers/horror films of all time and easily sneaks into my top 5. Nadia took some convincing that this trip to the Vineyard wasn’t going to just be a tour of famous Jaws locations. Of course, it was, just with ample chunks of sunbathing, drinking and eating thrown in. The picture above is of the bridge to the pond which the big shark sails under to attack some guy in a boat. At least we thought it was. We spent a good 2 hrs floating down the channel and basking in the sun until we cycled another 20 minutes down the road and found the ACTUAL pond. Looking at it again, even with the magic of cinema, it’d be a stretch to fit a 25ft mechanical great white under that bridge (also bearing in mind I could touch the bottom). Still we got there in the end. We also wandered round the centre of Amity (aka Edgartown) and found the car ferry across to chappanquick – oh, you’re bored? OK. Final point – they make virtually NO REFERENCE to Jaws anywhere. Not in promotional merchandise; not when you’re talking to the nice lady hiring out the bikes; and not when you’re wandering round the shops of Oak Bluffs or Edgartown. Apparently they are more proud of their whaling history (who’d have thunk it). I was hoping to leave with at least a “You’re gonna need a bigger boat” T-shirt but to no avail. Perhaps I’ll need to make my own. (side note: the only vague mentions were a sandwich called “Jaws” on the Island Queen ferry and an “Amity Island” plaque in a gift shop. Still, we managed to get a shark bottle opener so came away happy).

So in short, we had a great week in New England for our “pre-apartment-hunt” vacation. Nads talks far more lucidly about our exploits here. Highlights were whalewatching and the colorful folk of Provincetown, Naucet beach and of course the Vineyard. I also enjoyed the fact that I rediscovered roundabouts (as in car-roundabouts or ‘rotary’s’ as the Americans call them)…the only place in the US that I’ve found them and a major reminder of why this place is called New England (apart from a – the weather and b – the town names…Plymouth…Falmouth…Chatham etc.)

The vacation ended abruptly as drama unfolded on the way back to Boston today – I learned the iPhone was no replacement for a Garmin Sat Nav. A sub-2 hr journey took us 3+ and resulted in us missing our connecting train to New York. Despite frayed tempers we managed to exchange our tickets and are currently winging our way to Penn Station. Note to self – sometimes a good old paper map is the best solution. I also managed to get us lost on Martha’s Vineyard, again, the less said about that the better.

Tomorrow our apartment hunting starts in earnest. Have to say I am filled with dread. We have set aside 4 days for looking and emailed a boatload of brokers. I’m slightly concerned with the desperate pleas coming back screaming “please choose me as your broker” or the fawning “thankyou for selecting me”. I haven’t selected you for anything – I asked you to show me an apartment. Flathunting was much simpler in San Francisco – all you have to do is respond to a Craigslist ad and hey presto. Anyway, time will tell if they’re as shady and pushy as they seem.