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.