Tales of Bay Area Real Estate, Vol 2

After 8 months of looking high and low (in price and geography), LadyThinker and I found a place we loved—a little small, but a great location with room to grow as we grow. It was pretty damn close to being perfect, though it had a couple minor issues. As quirky SF real estate goes, however, it was more than good enough.

So we put our heads together, I created my customary anally-retentive spreadsheets (which LadyThinker believes to be silly) and she became emotionally attached (also customary). We knew this was the one, and we set out to win it.

And win it we did—in every sense except actually winning. You see, we were the most qualified (verified by the mortgage broker handling arrangements) and submitted the highest bid. In most circles, that’s enough. But not the world’s last remaining legal cartel.

No—in the world of real estate, the sellers agent (important distinction—not the SELLER, but the SELLER’s AGENT) evidently needs to like and be comfortable with your agent in order to get the house. And since our agent isn’t a typical agent—it’s a broker that refunds part of the purchase to you—we were screwed. And the agent screwed his fiduciary oath to the seller.

Of course, I’m pissed as can be, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Another reason why the real estate marketplace must change. For anyone with some angel capital to spare, I’ve got the motivation to turn this industry upside down…and do the economy a favor by minimizing the friction that inhibits the housing market in the first place. I’ll spare you the rest of my rant, dear reader…

Old World Sophistication

I’m writing this from one of the unique places in all of Europe—snowy Luxembourg. It’s a place that intrigued me when I first traveled through here during college in 2000, but then I only had a few hours to explore the city. This time I have about the same, so I can’t claim to be an expert.

But Luxembourg fascinates me. It’s a mix of Old World Charm, pretentious sophistication, and so much more. Nowhere outside of Texas will you see as many SUVs—the airport parking lot is littered with Porsche Cayenne’s (and not the base model). Nor will you find such an emphasis on banking anywhere else in the world. From the moment you get off the airplane, the only ads in sight are private client banking and investment banking adverts.

It’s also a place that I would pose has an identity crisis. Everyone speaks French, German, and the national language, which sounds remarkably like Old German. However, tell them that it sounds like German (or any derivative), and they get a little frazzled—seemingly desiring to separate themselves from their easterly and southern neighbors. The people, however, are universally friendly, but distinctive in dress and the way they carry themselves. Reminds me a little of a more innocent Switzerland.

It’s also a hell of a hard place to get to. Trains to major European cities are 3 hours+ and often require a change along the way. Intriguingly for a banking center, flights aren’t much better. From London—Europe’s air hub—there are only a couple flights per day on BA. And my flight had all of 9 people on a 737, and 3 of those were flight attendants.

All in all, I need to spend some more time here. There’s still a charm I can’t quite put my finger on…

Notes from London

My favorite part of travel is still wandering the streets of a foreign city, observing, window shopping, etc. The following are notes, observations, and lessons learned in this fine city:

• The latest food trend I noticed in London: Gourmet Hamburgers. Yes, every time you turn a corner in London, there’s a place with the best burgers in the West End. Those of you who have had the fortune to eat in London know how funny this is. The country of the Mad Cow is now claiming gourmet burgers. And if you’ve ever had UK beef, you know it has a very funny taste to it. $15 for a crappy burger? No thanks.

• Do your shopping in London in late Jan/early Feb. The sales are insane; it’s even cheaper than buying in the US, despite the absurdly weak dollar (more on this sometime soon).

• The Sheraton Skyline at Heathrow is FAR superior, in every aspect—to its sibling the Sheraton Heathrow (which should probably be torn down). Kudos to the staff at the Skyline.

• The Great Court at the British Museum is still one of the coolest places around. Even if it is in the world's largest depository of stolen goods.
  

Help Wanted: How to Deal with the Passenger Seated Next to You on a Transatlantic Flight

I am wondering around Europe as I write this—UK and Luxembourg on meetings—and had an interesting, to put it kindly, neighbor on the flight over. Normally interesting seat mates talk; not this one. He didn’t say one word to me the whole way, and that was much appreciated.

BUT…I may have preferred him to be a talk over the schiz that he was. Rather than traditional annoyance, this man constantly rubbed his index finger under his nose—sometimes violently—like he was trying to sniff something. Last time I saw this was in grad school as the girls came back from their Coke sessions in the bathroom.

In addition to the finger conniption, he randomly had these mini “seizures.” The quotes are because he could obviously control them and make them stop, but several times in flight in hands went nuts. More, he’d lean over towards me—to the point of being in my air space—like he was going to say something, and then went back to his little world. This continued, uninterrupted, for 7 hours. In business class. Weirdest, freakiest neighbor I have ever had…

How would you handle this one?