An ode to an old song, with creative license intact, inc.
Recently, I’ve been fretting ever so hard about how to get a place for myself and my daughters. Its been significantly harder than I could ever imagine. As in, nightmare proportions…
I drove 8000 something kilometres to get Nova Scotia to Victoria BC where my ex fiance had taken our daughters. It was a solo trip, and in some ways liberating (much easier to look after just 1 person than 5) and in many ways lonely, boring , repetitive and uncomfortable. Just ask those people involved in 13 separate accidents I encountered in one 105kilometre stretch as I hit a good snow squall….
Despite having my cell and truck searched at the border (they thought I was coming to the USA to work, which I clearly wasnt) and encountering some testy bastards along the way, I actually also met some lovely, helpful, generous people too. What a wonderful experience. I slept well in the back of the truck, saving money and forgoing the luxury of a fresh shower every morning. After all, I had spent the entire summer in 2013 or 14 designing, creating, making and installing an internationally praised camping/storage/sleeping platform in the truck. It was actually darn comfortable.
I also learned to use my hand cloth to “bath” pretty much every day in Starbucks, HighVee and Walmart. Made a mess, but I took that opportunity to clean up there too. Its pretty gross walking into a toilet in a public store and seeing it gross with human activity lets be frank. I ensured my visits were first thing in the morning (6am) where the facilities had just been rigorously cleaned.
Into Canada (nice friendly border guards!), I found that coming to Victoria was a bloody nightmare. So many cars, so many people, so much grime that is typical in a city. People smoking weed walking down the main street (what a disgusting smell), and where I lived for a short time, the air was heavy at night in particular with the dense fog of cannabis. My host there was the only person in Victoria to offer me a roof to lay my head under before I arrived. I was ever so damn grateful.
I then moved onto my old Professors house where I was welcomed. I write this from there, where I had no clue what a huge bloody hassle it would be getting a decent and somewhat reasonable place to stay in a city with 0.5% occupancy rate.
Turns out, people compete for places at that sort of rates. The rental for a one bedroom without parking and without utilities is 40% more expensive than the farm’s mortgage. Its pretty insanely criminal.
If I was happy pissing away $2500 a month for rent, I could get my daughters and I a nice house or maybe even just the top floor of a house in quite a number of places. What a joke.
So, my efforts have expanded to OUTSIDE the city, where I’d be happier anyway. Raise those precious girls in a more natural, quieter environment without the pressures of sitting in traffic so bad, that Victorians call it the Colwood Crawl. Whats equally offputting is how close houses are to each other here. I could literally swing a cat and smack the opposing walls of two houses here. As we say in South Africa, nee dankie.