Flat-ulence and O-poo-lence

I think I promised I would fill you in on my flat fiasco. So:

When I came to Barcelona I found a flat reasonably quickly, through my dad´s friend. The rent was reasonable, and even though quite far outside the centre, it was just on the metro and handy enough. Everything was fine until my boyfriend came over. Then the trouble started.

One day I received a phone call telling me that I would have to pay double rent if my boyfriend was staying. I had asked before he came to see would everything be okay, and had offered to pay the bills. No mention was made at the time of extra rent. So naturally I refused on the basis that I was still only using one room (with a single bed for Christ´s sake) and politely said I would move out at the end of the month. Not five minutes later dpassed afore I received a call, where I was shouted at and told to leave the flat the following morning at 1.30. When I asked why, I was told I had not paid any rent or deposit and the place was like a "casa de puta" or a whore-house. That´s a pretty strong thing for them to say. I was shocked, but stood my ground pointing out that I had paid. Eventually the man on the phone admitted I had paid rent and deposit and reluctantly agreed I could stay til the end of July. I made a point of adding that I would not leave until I had my deposit back either.

Well, I was a bit rattled by the entire episode, and this so-called-friend of my father phoned me a few times to make sure I was properly shaken. By the time I reached home I was anxious to see how much of a mess the place had been in cos we had left in a hurry that morning. On opening the door it was clear that they had searched through the entire house. Not only that, but all our bags and clothes too, and they had made no effort to hide it. It took us a while to realise that they had also taken money. Aside from the mess they left in our room, the kitchen had 3 dirty plates in the sink and a few empty cups on the table. Not my idea of a Casa de Puta. Feeling scared of what they might do, I went to the police and reported it(or rather tried to-that´s another story).

Several days later, we were sitting in having a drink and playing music. I was not properly dressed because it was my day off and I´d just gotten up. Then, without any warning, the landlady barged in with her daughter in tow and a new flatmate from Morocco for us. I felt very embarrassed, not least because it occurred to me that he might find it offensive to see a half-dressed woman in his new sitting-room. But in fairness to him, he managed, and the next day moved in.

We got on very well with him from the start despite my nakedness and the language barrier (he´d no english and we´d little spanish), and the mess he made of the bathroom, and we shared meals with him and his friends and discussed all manner of things. But the end of the month was drawing near and so we organised to go stay in a friend´s flat while she stayed with her boyfriend for August. She needed the money and we needed a flat so it worked out perfectly. In anycase, on my last day I cleaned up and then took the keys with me.

Unsurprisingly, I received several manic calls from the landlord asking why I had brought the keys (to make sure I got my deposit back of course) and asking where I was going. I couldn´t really understand him that well as he was very excited, so my friend offered to speak with him. He proceeded to warn her against us, and said that we had left the place in a mess, not paid, and that the new flatmate complained about us because we were so dirty that he refused to eat in the house. My friend, thank god, told him where to go, and explained that she trusted us. She arranged with him a time that we would meet to get the deposit back.

But I was a bit hurt by our flatmate´s complaints against us. Surely if he had any problems with us he could have told us. Then it dawned on me that the landlord might be lying. Sure enough, at the house the next day the landlord was again nowhere to be seen, and our flatmate was nice and chatty. Eventually the landlady appeared, daughter in tow again, and did a minute scrutiny of the entire house. Our flatmate ran after her repeating "The whole place it clean. Everything is clean". Now we knew the landlord was being a bastard. Reluctantly she admitted it was all clean, and said she had to go to the bank. But first she tried to insist that we needed to pay extra for my boyfriend. I was so angry I couldn´t trust myself to talk, and just stared/glared. Luckily, my boyfriend made it clear politely that we would not leave without the measly deposit. She left. Five minutes later her friendly 11-year-old daughter returned with the money. On leaving the flat we noticed the landlady skulking round the corner by the bushes with her sunglasses on in the rain in case we saw her. She knew full-well that she was in the wrong.

We are now living in the city centre in a small flat with witches upstairs and more shops than you could shake a wallet at, 20 minutes walk from my work, on the mainline to my boyfriend´s work, and completely on our own. It´s great, but I will have to start flat-hunting again soon unfortunately.