A Nightmare in Nice: Our Worst Rental Experience
This week’s blog post is set in the lovely seaside city of Nice, France. A destination known for its azure Mediterranean water, beach-front promenade, and vibrant architecture. Unfortunately, that’s not what this post is about—sorry to disappoint.
Our posts from Europe lately have focused on all the wonderful things to do, so today we’re mixing it up. Yes, guys it’s time for another installment of mishaps and misadventures on the road with Tom and Liana. Or perhaps I should say on the rails and the cobblestones? That more accurately describes our transport surface lately.
Arrival at the Rental
Today’s terrifying tale takes place in a large historic apartment building which appears from the outside, very much like all the other large old buildings around the city. Little did we know what was hidden within (cue eerie foreshadowing music).
The story begins quite uneventfully with a wait. Our day however, began with an 8-hour journey by regional bus, then shuttle bus, then city bus. The latter on which I only narrowly avoided falling on a baby in a stroller and a nun—simultaneously.
We waited outside said apartment building for 30 minutes before the rental owner’s friend arrived to check us in. It was during this wait that my creepy radar started pinging. In that time no less than 6 people arrived at the building, scanned the resident lists on both doors, entered, and came back out again in under 5 minutes. Likely I’m over paranoid, but I couldn’t help pondering what type of business was being conducted in our soon to be home for 6 nights.
When the rental owner’s friend finally arrived we had a surprise. We were expecting a woman named Anita and instead a man name Jean greeted us. Turns out he was Anita’s husband and while pleasant enough, he was in a very big hurry. He quickly ushered us into the building, down a hallway to the apartment, handed us the keys, and said “au revoir.”
First Impressions
After setting down our potential baby and nun crushing backpacks, we surveyed our surroundings. The rental aptartment was about twice the size of Stan the Tan Van with a small kitchen, table, two folding chairs, and a futon. There was one window, but it was covered by immobile shutters making for a dark interior. The bed was in a loft above the futon accessed by what’s more of an affixed ladder than stairs. All-in-all first appearances weren’t too different than what we’d expected from the rental listing, with one main difference: the space was a far cry from clean.
There was not only a layer of dust and grime on everything, but a whole lotta hair (that didn’t come out of our heads) lying around. In the loft we discovered dust bunnies made of hair on the floor next to the mattress along with drops of spilled…something. Everything in the kitchen had to be cleaned before we used it, including the dish drying rack which was moldy.
The bathroom held even more surprises. First there was the smell—like a forest of mildew growing. Then there’s the position of the toilet in relation to the wall. In order to sit on the toilet seat (which you can bet I cleaned first), one must position their body sideways. Tom calls it riding side saddle. Finally, after an unpleasant step with my socks on, I discovered that the Astro Turf (that’s right folks, Astro Turf) in the bathroom was wet. It remained wet for the duration of our stay. In fact, the humidity was so high in the apartment that every item of cloth felt perpetually damp.
Things Get Worse
During our hasty arrival I’d been hit by a pungent unpleasant smell in the hall, but once inside the apartment the scent wasn’t so bad, just rather stale and stuffy. The next day things got worse. When we left the apartment, the smell in the hallway was stronger than the day before. It was like a mix of putrid onions and garlic—sharp but slightly sweet in a nauseating way.
When we arrived back at the apartment later that day, Tom noticed something down the hall and went to investigate. Low and behold, he discovered the source of the offending smell—garbage dumpsters right down the hall from our apartment. Well, at least the smell was no longer a mystery.
A day or two later, we saw a wrapper of some sort and a banana peel on the floor down the hall. That’s when we found this a heaping pile of garbage spilling out of a cupboard onto the floor. Again, this is only about 20 feet from our apartment door.
We also noticed this sign next to the garbage bins.
This is when it became difficult to sleep at night. I’d wake, thinking I felt something scuttering over me, expecting to see beady little eyes staring out of the darkness. In the mornings, we’d do digit checks to make sure none of our fingers or toes were gnawed off in the wee hours. Okay, now maybe I’m exaggerating a bit for dramatic effect.
If you’ve been following our travels for a while you may know that this isn’t our first run-in with the rodent world. Regardless, this place goes down in the books as the worst rental we’ve had (I hope I don’t end up eating my words here).
Ratatouille
In the end, we stuck it out though. Why? You might ask. Did we accidentally ingest the rat poison and lose our minds? Are we just so lazy, that we didn’t want to find another place to stay? Are we so cheap that we didn’t want to risk losing the money we paid? Well, the answers to the last two questions might be yes.
The reality is we weighed the pros and cons of moving places. Since we’d spent a few nights here, it seemed likely we’d be out the money we pre-paid for our entire stay. Also, we knew that moving places would mean sacrificing time that we planned to spend seeing the area. Plus, at this point lodging options in our price range were scarce.
We figured that other people live here and they’re presumably still alive—unless that stench isn’t just rotting garbage (sorry, did I cross the morbid line here?). We survived a few nights already, we could handle a few more. And we did…with the help of a few scented candles and spending as little time at the apartment as possible.
The Truth About Travel
The reason I’m sharing this goes beyond just (hopefully) amusing you with another “look at the shit Tom and Liana got themselves into” story, or merely going on a rant. Okay, maybe I did want to go on a rant. Regardless, I’m also sharing this because I want to be honest about what this experience is like. What it’s like to move locations every few days, what’s it’s like to not have a conventional home, and what it’s like to be a constant visitor—never knowing what to expect.
I see so many posts, ads, and videos everyday where travel is touted as this glamorous, elite lifestyle. I’m just as guilty as the next gal or guy of posting mostly positive things online. However, I think it’s important to be honest about the not so good parts as well. To show the whole, sometimes stinky, moldy, rat infested story.
This reminds me of one of the lessons that travel has taught me—everything in life is a trade-off and it’s all about balance. Travel isn’t always the stuff that postcards are made of. Sometimes you look around wondering just how you got yourself into this mess (like a literal pile of garbage kind of mess).
The truth is that travel will test you in ways you never expected, but it will also teach you things you never imagined. Next time you see a picture of a tanned traveler holding their hat while gazing at the mountains and sea, remember that they just might be sleeping with one eye open. And burning scented candles to cover a mysterious stench.
Have you ever had a bad rental experience? What did you do?
