Die Wohnung

Following on from last week’s post, here’s part two of the story of my Berlin adventures, and the unfortunate consequences of a particular purchase:

In 2007, three years after our first visit, we were certain that Berlin was the place for us.  In March of that year we decided to look into the possibility of buying our own flat.  We contacted an agent and made arrangements to see a number of properties.  We are not wealthy and had no savings but prices were low and we calculated that there was probably enough equity in our house to be able to raise the funds required.  I nurtured a dream of having my own little place in the city, of arriving on a late evening flight and not having to check in to a rented apartment, or indeed check out at an inconvenient hour, of having my ‘hausschuhe’ waiting for me and wine chilling in the fridge, of being able to leave things behind when the necessity of complying with airline hand luggage restrictions meant that we couldn’t carry everything.  In short, of having our own little Berlin haven.  But it was more than that.  As we had decided that, at some point we would make a permanent move to Berlin, it would mean that we would have a place to live in.

We flew out to Berlin and on our second morning, an agent picked us up and drove us to see a few apartments that met our budget, mainly studios on the fringes of the Eastern neighbourhoods.  We found a tiny, unrenovated studio in an Altbau in Chodowieckistraβe.  I liked the fact that it was unrenovated as it meant that we could put our own stamp on it.  I wanted to keep as much of the flat’s ‘character’ as I could rather than fitting it out with the inevitable Ikea kitchen and sterile looking bathroom.  It also had its original tiled stove which I was determined to keep, despite it being in an inconvenient position and obsolete.  The only downside was that the flat had a tenant.  However, the tenant gave us a verbal agreement that she would be prepared to move out, so we borrowed the money, signed the paperwork at the German consulate, and by August we were the proud owners of a tatty little studio with no proper bathroom in the Eastern reaches of Prenzlauer Berg.  It was our little piece of Berlin.  It was also, quite possibly, the most reckless thing we had ever done.  We didn’t ask the tenant to move out straight away as we needed to save enough money to get the renovations done.  Every time we visited we would walk past our flat, imagining the day when it would be our name over the doorbell.  Eventually, in 2011, we decided that, although we still didn’t have enough money saved, we could at least get the essentials done so we contacted our lawyer about the terms of the tenancy.  The first surprise came when we were informed that we needed to give our tenant twelve months’ notice.  However, we looked at this positively – it would give us an extra year to save – and we had the termination notice prepared.

The twelve months came and went and the tenant had decided that she was staying put.  This was the start of a year-long nightmare.  We consulted our lawyer who told us that we had an option to ‘claim’ the tenant out in the courts.  However, we would have to prove that we had a genuine need of the property, whatever that was supposed to mean, and that, even if we won, the tenant would only move out at her own convenience, which could theoretically mean never.  We consulted our property manager who told us that we could probably have our tenant legally removed on the grounds that she had not fulfilled her contractual obligations with regard to the maintenance of the flat and that it was, in his words, in a ‘terrible state’.  He gave us a key to the hof and we went in and looked up at our flat.  The windows were filthy and, as it was a warm day, the balcony door was open, enabling us to see a stack of rubbish piled up against the wall.  We then asked our property manager if he would be willing to take some photographs for us of the appalling state the property was in, that we might use to support our claim.  Here was where his interest in helping us dried up.  He stopped answering our e-mails and ignored all of our further requests for help.

Our next idea was to offer the tenant compensation to move out.  Apparently, this is a common practice in Germany.  We decided that, as it could cost us 6000 Euros to mount a legal case, we would offer her that amount as compensation.  This, our lawyer informed us, was a more than generous amount.  The tenant initially accepted the offer, but our joy at this was short-lived.  She subsequently consulted a tenants’ protection association and was told that we were ripping her off and that we should offer at least 12000 Euros.  We attempted to contact the association to arrange a ‘round the table’ meeting that we might put our case forward and come to a reasonable arrangement with the tenant but they refused to answer.  We felt devastated.  I strongly believe in tenants’ rights and I believe that tenants need protecting from unscrupulous landlords but we had, in the six years that we’d had the flat, never once increased the rent, which was pitifully low.  We had complied with everything that had been expected of us, paying for repairs whenever they occurred, buying a new cooker, a new toilet, even taking out a bank loan for a new boiler.  We had also had verbal confirmation from her that moving out wouldn’t be an issue.  However, there seemed to be no legal protection for us.  She had let our property deteriorate to practically a ruin but we were apparently powerless to do anything about it.  We decided that enough was enough and, reluctantly, we put the flat on the market.  We were back where we had started.  It was the end of a cherished dream for me but by then I just wanted to see the back of it.

It was during a visit in May 2013 that Alan had the idea of using the money we made from the sale to move to Berlin for a year and see how things worked out.  We had rented an apartment in EberswalderStraβe and were having breakfast on the balcony one sunny morning with the street beginning its morning routine two floors below.  We had arranged to see a few available – and empty – flats during our week-long stay and at first I was against the idea.  I had fallen victim to the property-owning mentality that years of Thatcherism had indoctrinated into the British psyche, to the extent that I was unable to imagine becoming part of the renting culture.  However, there were other things to consider.

Owning a flat entails a financial commitment to the maintenance of the building as a whole.  When we had the Chodowieckistraβe flat, there were yearly meetings regarding what works were needed and we were always liable for a proportion of the costs (luckily, these were calculated according to the size of the property, so our contribution was relatively low).  Over the years we paid hundreds of Euros towards roof repairs, external renovations and refurbishment of the hof. 

Another concern was that, thanks to the education-averse UK government, it looked increasingly likely that my job would be coming to an end and committing to another costly purchase didn’t seem appropriate when facing the possibility of unemployment.

In the end, I came around to the idea and as the year progressed we set a date, located a flat and sought a tenant for our house in the UK.

I have learnt that you must be very careful buying a property in Berlin. It can be almost impossible to remove a tenant so it’s best to look for an empty property.  It is vital to get a good lawyer.  Ours has been brilliant – always prompt to reply to any query, willing to give us valuable time to talk through our options and never trying to persuade us into taking costly actions that might come to nothing.  I have also learned not to expect too much from your property manager; ours did little more than take our money.

We had two years of hell with our tenant but that’s behind us now and, even though I still feel bitter about it, especially if I happen to go past Chodowieckistraβe, I’m happy to be living here without the burden of property ownership.