House hunting

 

Real estate agents are like dogs, and I mean that in the most complimentary way. The canine is the most diverse mammal species of all, numbering over 350 distinct breeds from the Chihuahua to the Great Dane. And when it comes to diversity, the Thai real estate agent rivals Canis Lupis Familiaris.

From the moment we set foot on Thai soil and bought a Thai mobile phone number at the local mall, we began contacting agents. Word of mouth, tourist magazines, billboards: we exhausted all possible contacts.

At last count, I think we have about fifteen agents working for us, some diligently and some with their feet definitely up on the desk. Our modus operandi is to have the agents meet us at McCormick Hospital which is an easy landmark, walking distance from the temporary studio apartment given to us by our school. We can get a quick bite at the curry stall next to the parking lot and then wait at the entrance next to the security guard who pretends not to notice us but steals furtive glances whenever we look away.

The agents arrive in everything from massive over-airconditioned SUVs to ancient, rusted Toyotas that stall at each intersection. And their distinct personalities are as colorful as their transport.

Our first agent was Wisan, a late twenty-something young man who started in the business as an assistant to the Dutch owner. The owner soon grew tired of real estate and handed the entire company over to Wisan. He was enthusiastic and talkative the first day out, especially when we saw a house that we could imagine living in (the first so far that week). We met him several times afterwards, seeing a few new houses each time but always going back to the house we were interested in so that we could further negotiate with the landlady.

We are familiar enough with Thai culture to know that negotiation, whether buying a bottle of water or renting a house, is a delicate and culturally intricate business. We politely sat on the absurdly uncomfortable wooden Chinese-style benches while Wisan translated for us, expressing our appreciation for these antique and obviously valuable teak benches and our overriding desire to have sofas that didn’t feel like church pews.

Over the course of two days, negotiations broke down and the landlady refused to replace the benches, or change the see-through lace curtains and coconut husk mattresses that felt like 20-kilo bags of rice.

We went out with Wisan a few more times afterwards and his disappointment was apparent. He went from a charming host to a sullen teenager, cranking up the CD player so that Whitney Houston and N’Sync blared through the speakers while he drove recklessly down narrow two lane streets to the other, less lucrative houses he had on offer.

And then there’s Moon, who drives her husband’s refurbished robin-egg blue Peugot and talks on the phone non-stop while manning the steering wheel, sometimes pulling over to more fully engage in her animated conversations.

And Eve, who in addition to her real estate agency, also owns two guest houses and an adventure tour company. Considering her entrepreneurial chutzpah, you’d think she’d be a ballbuster, but instead she is an unabashedly sweet woman with a girlish sense of humor and an ear for language. She picks up every idiom I throw out at her; in one of our evening phone conversations, planning for the next day, I tell her to “sleep tight” and for the next week she parrots my “sleep tight” in every phone conversation regardless of the time of day.

The list goes on. We have no particular allegiance to any one agent so that when we find our dream house, we’ll obviously jump on it. I imagine that when the time comes to announce the winner, there will be the need for some diplomatic wrangling among the agents.