Coming home again was different this time. Of course, I didn't exactly have a "home" in the States any longer, nor did I have one yet in Slovenia. I wasn't exactly a woman without a country but I was certainly a woman without a place of her own.
One of my favorite writers, Virginia Woolf, wrote that for a woman to be a writer, she needs financial means and a room of her own. Having neither of those items, I wondered how I would ever be able to focus on writing. Years ago, when I had left my well-paying job at the hospital to re-open my agency and be the general contractor on the construction of my house, I had planned to spend part of my time writing. I don't mean just writing client website and brochure copy, or simply taking the time to record daily progress in my construction journal. I wanted to start writing the great American novel. Well, who doesn't? More important, who actually ever does? It's really an unattainable goal for us mere mortals. But if you don't set your sights high, what's the use?
I started writing numerous things but nothing I felt like finishing. Blame it on writer's block, lack of talent or the fact that nothing I started would go anywhere under its own power. But after years of spousal betrayal, all I had to show for my writing career were three journals of private pain and humiliation mixed with factual documentation of infidelity. Not exactly the writing I had planned to create. From time to time, I would actually start writing something. Then, I would move on to something entirely different. I was searching for a genre, a style, a story I could tell. I still hadn't found it. Like most would-be writers, I was searching for a muse.
My guess is that most people entertain romantic notions about writers who just sit down, churn out a novel and get paid some fabulous amount of money which allows them to take a month-long vacation. The fact is that successful writing is a disciplined endeavor; a writer writes every day. Ernest Hemingway is remembered not only for his talent as a storyteller but as a heavy drinker and a womanizer. All are true. But what most people don't know is that he stood (yes, stood) at his typewriter every day from dawn until at least noon, writing. Writing is a passion and a talent but it's also work, make no mistake about it. I still hadn't found time in each day to write, and I certainly didn't have any when I returned to the States. My life was about to change drastically and I had much to do and not much time to do it.
I had taken a trip to Europe and returned an almost-homeowner. It was mid-July and by the end of October, God willing, I would be back in Slovenia to close on the sale and move into my "new" home, altering absolutely everything in my life. I would no longer be visiting Europe and living in my friend's house in Missouri. I would be living in Europe and visiting the U.S. What a concept for a Midwestern farm girl.
Between client deadlines, family visits and social engagements with numerous friends, I spent time researching ways to finance my new life. That part would be a tremendous challenge whether I was moving to Europe or to somewhere in the the States. When you have a mortgage, you sign a contract with a lender. My signature was affixed to a very large mortgage for a very large home here. The bank doesn't care whether two people are married or divorced. The court settlement specifies the division of all the stuff of your life among divorced couples, but the contract with the bank remains intact until the person who retains the property can re-negotiate the mortgage. Between my credit debt, my meager self-employment income and my name on an existing massive mortgage, I wouldn't be able to squeeze a dime out of any respective lending institution in the entire country. I would have to pursue alternative options and based on my research, I had three. First, win the lottery. Second option, find someone who would give me a private loan. Third, find someone who would co-sign a loan. The likelihood of the first option happening was nil since I don't play the lottery. I don't even bother with the Publisher's Clearinghouse sweepstakes. So, I moved on to the second option and actually had two friends who probably had the financial wherewithal to loan me the money, but not necessarily the inclination. Still, that was the best place to start.
Despite my current income limitations, I did have the assurance of receiving a specific amount of money every month from the ex for the property settlement he owed me. For that reason, I pitched the loan to my friends using that monthly settlement amount as the payment I could guarantee making on the loan. I had a plan and built a case that relied more on their generosity than on my actual credit-worthiness. They considered my proposal seriously because they wanted to help me rebuild my life but in the end, turned me down for their own financial concerns. They were entering retirement, were expecting their second and third grandchildren and the economy was in the proverbial toilet. Of course, I understood and was thankful for their friendship and moral support which I continue to receive from them.
Next, I turned to the angel-investor option. No one there would be motivated by my sad mid-life rebuilding story. It would be strictly business. I further developed my business plan and put it out on the appropriate websites but didn't receive any interest. I certainly wasn't surprised, but I kept trying every time I found a new site.
I was just about out of options. I even considered writing a tearful letter to Oprah to see if she would help. Then, I slapped myself in the face and told myself to wake up and come up with a realistic solution. Once again, I countered my depression with the fateful belief that perhaps it wasn't meant to be. If so, I had lost $13,000 on the attempt but to me, it was worth it. I had to shoot for the stars and if I didn't quite get there, at least I knew I had tried.
I continued to try to sell things to raise some of the money. After all, if I could reduce the balance due by $15,000 or so, maybe I could find a way to finance the rest. Had this all been occurring two years earlier, I probably would have sold everything for top value and found the financing. But with the economy in dire straits, I was lucky to find anything positive. I knew I wouldn't give up all hope until the actual October 31 deadline, but it was fading fast.
It was a friend who stepped up and bravely offered to co-sign a loan for me at a local bank. That meant she would put up the collateral and I would use my monthly settlement payment to repay the loan. When she first offered, I was still hoping to find another way -- a way I could do this "on my own." I continued to search with confidence boosted by the offer on the table.
Running Man (RM) was working in Spain until the end of September. The Count and Countess had graciously invited me to stay at their villa during RM's last days there. I wanted to see Spain, even if it would be very little on this trip, so I booked a flight to Barcelona for the last week of September. Our plan was to spend a couple of days in Spain, then make the long drive back to Slovenia. My hope was that I would return to open a bank account there, have the balance due on the house wired, then transfer it to Mr. M. If I didn't have the money by then, I would be going back to negate the contract and try to figure out the next move in my unsettled life.
Once again, I was running out of time. If all I needed was a room of my own, perhaps I should just be content with my friend's guest bedroom for the time being. But from there, I could only look out on a world I was familiar with. What I really wanted, no, needed in my life right now was a window with a view of a different world. I had found the house with the perfect window. I just didn't know if I would be the one looking out from it or not.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Walking a Thin Line
The day after I signed the contract, Running Man (RM) and I packed up the car and headed north. I was flying out of Stuttgart, Germany, back to the States. Our trip took us again through western Austria and into Germany. RM and I talked about the house in Goce and about its potential for my B&B. It really seemed too good to be true. And as we drove through the northwestern part of Slovenia with its beautiful Austrian-influenced alpine farmhouses, I was more confident than ever that the Vipava Valley region was the perfect place to be -- close enough to all of this but more temperate, more Italian and Venetian, and right smack dab in the middle of wine country.
I was going back to Missouri to figure out how to finance my dream. RM was going back to France, then to Spain where he would work for a count and countess whom he'd worked for in the past. Although I didn't know for sure when I would be returning to Europe, he hoped I would be able to meet him in Spain at the end of his tour there. I couldn't even think about that right now.
When I signed that contract, I turned a corner. Unless I wanted to lose $13,000, I was leaving everything familiar and safe and heading into nothing familiar at all. I had a lot of time to think about that on my flight back to Atlanta. I could close my eyes and see what Goce 23 would look like after I carefully and lovingly reshaped it. But from time to time, my reverie would be interrupted by that other voice in my head that shouted, "Are you crazy?!" Perhaps I was.
My sister-in-law picked me up at the airport in Kansas City and I stayed with her and my brother that night. They were ecstatic as they looked through the photos I had downloaded to my laptop. Since they were the first Americans I had a chance to talk to for awhile, I had to ask them if they thought I was nuts. They both told me I wasn't crazy, I was brave. There's a very thin line between bravery and insanity. I'm convinced it requires a smattering of both to make this kind of move.
I was a long way from making the move -- about 98,000 Euros away, in fact. I had until the end of October to come up with the bulk of the money, but only until Monday to conjure up the down payment. It was Friday when I left Kansas City. The proverbial clock was ticking. I needed to get back to my temporary home in northeast Missouri to get a few more mature people to weigh in on the insanity issue. After all, my brother and sister-in-law weren't even quite 30 years old yet. They were still too young to have been tainted by disappointment and, well, reality. I hoped they could live out their entire lives that way.
I had another three hours to think on my drive back. I knew I needed to make sure I was pursuing this dream for all of the right reasons and none of the wrong ones. Was I just trying to run away? Did I just want to make sure I wouldn't have to run into the ex and someone else from time to time? Had I become so jaded that I needed to leave everything I'd ever known for a new world where I knew nothing? Faced with the reality of actually making such a bold move, I needed to make sure my motivations were pure and not reactionary. This wasn't the first time I had pondered these types of questions, but this was the most important time to make absolutely positively sure. Well, as sure as you can be about anything in this world.
I believe that when faced with life-altering decisions, you have to think with both your head and your heart. To think with only one or the other leaves the task incomplete. If I used only my head, I would have reasoned that my business was slow. My debt load high. I could never get a loan from a bank here for a property there, nor from a bank there without a job and a residence. I couldn't speak the language and it's an incredibly difficult one to learn. I could count the number of acquaintances I had there on one hand. And running off to Europe would never heal the scars I still carried with me, although they were fading. Well, you get the idea. Using only logic, the "cons" column was full and the "pros" column rather empty. I needed my heart to fill that one in. The first one was a biggie: My dream was to own a B&B and write. If I believed in my dream enough and worked hard enough, I could overcome all of the negatives. I just had to have faith.
Now, faith is something I definitely struggled with during the bad years of my marriage. But during the past few months, I had slowly regained a bit of it, perhaps without even realizing it. What was God's plan for me? It was apparently not what I had believed it to be. I needed to let go of what I thought my life was supposed to be about and instead of thinking and planning so hard, just take the time to close my eyes, raise my face to the warm sun and cool breeze, stretch out my arms and breathe deeply. You can't control most of what happens in your life. You can only control what you do with the priceless, albeit painful, things you learn along the way. Without a dream, life is pretty empty. I had existed dreamless for several years. Now, I had found a new dream and I needed faith again. The two go hand in hand.
I spent Friday and Saturday in a frenzy of figures. I pooled my tiny bank account, a client's payment, a couple of credit cards and even one of those checks from some payday loan place that was in my stack of mail when I returned. I didn't have time to get anything sold -- the Mercedes, jewelry, piano, etc. When Monday arrived, I checked the exchange rate. I was still $600 short. I was depressed but philosophical. If I couldn't put together the down payment, buying the house just wasn't meant to be. Pure and simple. But being philosophical didn't keep me from allowing a very good friend to lend me the shortfall until I did sell a few things.
On Monday morning, I wired the down payment from my bank to Mr. M.'s bank in Slovenia. I then called RM who had told me he would contact Zvonka to make sure everything had arrived as it should. One thing you can't control is the precise exchange rate when your U.S. Dollar hits a European bank. By the time mine hit Mr. M.'s account it was actually a few Euros shy of the full down payment amount. Not to worry, RM told me after speaking to Zvonka. Mr. M. said I could just put the difference in the final payment.
I was one critical step closer to my dream, and $13,000 and change deeper in debt.
I was going back to Missouri to figure out how to finance my dream. RM was going back to France, then to Spain where he would work for a count and countess whom he'd worked for in the past. Although I didn't know for sure when I would be returning to Europe, he hoped I would be able to meet him in Spain at the end of his tour there. I couldn't even think about that right now.
When I signed that contract, I turned a corner. Unless I wanted to lose $13,000, I was leaving everything familiar and safe and heading into nothing familiar at all. I had a lot of time to think about that on my flight back to Atlanta. I could close my eyes and see what Goce 23 would look like after I carefully and lovingly reshaped it. But from time to time, my reverie would be interrupted by that other voice in my head that shouted, "Are you crazy?!" Perhaps I was.
My sister-in-law picked me up at the airport in Kansas City and I stayed with her and my brother that night. They were ecstatic as they looked through the photos I had downloaded to my laptop. Since they were the first Americans I had a chance to talk to for awhile, I had to ask them if they thought I was nuts. They both told me I wasn't crazy, I was brave. There's a very thin line between bravery and insanity. I'm convinced it requires a smattering of both to make this kind of move.
I was a long way from making the move -- about 98,000 Euros away, in fact. I had until the end of October to come up with the bulk of the money, but only until Monday to conjure up the down payment. It was Friday when I left Kansas City. The proverbial clock was ticking. I needed to get back to my temporary home in northeast Missouri to get a few more mature people to weigh in on the insanity issue. After all, my brother and sister-in-law weren't even quite 30 years old yet. They were still too young to have been tainted by disappointment and, well, reality. I hoped they could live out their entire lives that way.
I had another three hours to think on my drive back. I knew I needed to make sure I was pursuing this dream for all of the right reasons and none of the wrong ones. Was I just trying to run away? Did I just want to make sure I wouldn't have to run into the ex and someone else from time to time? Had I become so jaded that I needed to leave everything I'd ever known for a new world where I knew nothing? Faced with the reality of actually making such a bold move, I needed to make sure my motivations were pure and not reactionary. This wasn't the first time I had pondered these types of questions, but this was the most important time to make absolutely positively sure. Well, as sure as you can be about anything in this world.
I believe that when faced with life-altering decisions, you have to think with both your head and your heart. To think with only one or the other leaves the task incomplete. If I used only my head, I would have reasoned that my business was slow. My debt load high. I could never get a loan from a bank here for a property there, nor from a bank there without a job and a residence. I couldn't speak the language and it's an incredibly difficult one to learn. I could count the number of acquaintances I had there on one hand. And running off to Europe would never heal the scars I still carried with me, although they were fading. Well, you get the idea. Using only logic, the "cons" column was full and the "pros" column rather empty. I needed my heart to fill that one in. The first one was a biggie: My dream was to own a B&B and write. If I believed in my dream enough and worked hard enough, I could overcome all of the negatives. I just had to have faith.
Now, faith is something I definitely struggled with during the bad years of my marriage. But during the past few months, I had slowly regained a bit of it, perhaps without even realizing it. What was God's plan for me? It was apparently not what I had believed it to be. I needed to let go of what I thought my life was supposed to be about and instead of thinking and planning so hard, just take the time to close my eyes, raise my face to the warm sun and cool breeze, stretch out my arms and breathe deeply. You can't control most of what happens in your life. You can only control what you do with the priceless, albeit painful, things you learn along the way. Without a dream, life is pretty empty. I had existed dreamless for several years. Now, I had found a new dream and I needed faith again. The two go hand in hand.
I spent Friday and Saturday in a frenzy of figures. I pooled my tiny bank account, a client's payment, a couple of credit cards and even one of those checks from some payday loan place that was in my stack of mail when I returned. I didn't have time to get anything sold -- the Mercedes, jewelry, piano, etc. When Monday arrived, I checked the exchange rate. I was still $600 short. I was depressed but philosophical. If I couldn't put together the down payment, buying the house just wasn't meant to be. Pure and simple. But being philosophical didn't keep me from allowing a very good friend to lend me the shortfall until I did sell a few things.
On Monday morning, I wired the down payment from my bank to Mr. M.'s bank in Slovenia. I then called RM who had told me he would contact Zvonka to make sure everything had arrived as it should. One thing you can't control is the precise exchange rate when your U.S. Dollar hits a European bank. By the time mine hit Mr. M.'s account it was actually a few Euros shy of the full down payment amount. Not to worry, RM told me after speaking to Zvonka. Mr. M. said I could just put the difference in the final payment.
I was one critical step closer to my dream, and $13,000 and change deeper in debt.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Contract: No Day at the Beach
The seller of the Goce property needed a response from me by Monday. I knew I wanted it. That was the easy part. I didn't need the weekend to make up my mind. The 9,800 Euro down payment was the issue, and one I needed to address with Zvonka on Monday morning.
Running Man (RM) and I spent Saturday on a beach in Croatia with his brother, sister-in-law and nephews. It was the first time I had been in Croatia and another stamp in my passport. The beach was in Moscenicka Draga, on the Adriatic Sea near the port of Rijeka. I experienced for the first time changing out of my shorts and shirt and into my bathing suit in a tiny three-wall canvas changing room on the beach. To call it a "room" is misleading. It was about two feet by two feet. I just hoped I didn't knock the structure over in the attempt. But had I suffered such misfortune, it would have gone virtually unnoticed. Europeans are far less modest than Americans at the beach. I saw many men and women changing in and out of swimsuits while gripping a beach towel around them. I also saw a few topless sunbathers, mostly women whose breasts had lost their pertness long ago. It's not for me but it's a free country. Well, I think it is anyway.
It was a sunny, hot day, perfect for lounging on a reclining chair near the water. The chairs and umbrellas were lined up and down the beach. Some people sunned themselves on towels laid upon the beach which would have been terribly uncomfortable. The beaches there aren't sandy. They're nothing but stretches of large white, ivory and pale yellow stones. Thank goodness for that pair of Keen sandals I had bought on sale before leaving the States. Good for hiking and wearing in the water. Not so good for my tan lines, but that's okay.
The beach was packed with people of all ages, shapes and sizes. What a phenomenal place to people-watch. I'm not sure I ever saw or heard more than a dozen Croatians that day. As RM had foretold, the beach was filled with Italians. They came for the same reason they spend so much time in Slovenia; it costs less to do everything in Croatia and Slovenia than it does in Italy. I chuckled from time to time listening to the conversations going on around me. Not at what they were saying but how they were speaking -- loudly and with that duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh rhythm I thought was merely a stereotype. And while speaking, there were hands flying all over the beach, moving this way and that way, up and down and around. That stereotype is also deserved. It was fun to be among all of it.
We enjoyed an interesting lunch at one of the cafes on the water. Personally, I'm not a fan of fish with heads still attached or scampi (small lobsters) that are still alive when you eat them. I prefer my seafood dead and unable to stare back at me from my plate. But as a traveler, I have to be a little adventurous, and I'm very good about at least sampling things I've never had before. I braved the fish but skipped anything with flailing pinchers. I can enjoy such things vicariously and not feel like I'm missing out.
All of the activity around me helped keep my mind off the fact that I needed to come up with nearly $13,000 for the down payment on my dream property. Lottery winnings, perhaps? Doubtful. I would have to play to win. I had several things I could sell, including my rare and classic 1983 Mercedes 500SL convertible. I loved that car but it wasn't a diesel so shipping it back to Europe, from where it had been shipped to the States so many years ago, didn't make sense. I should be able to sell it for around $5,000. I had jewelry I might be able to get $1,500 for, and $20,000 worth of unfinished kitchen cabinets (long story) I should be able to sell for at least $2,500. Not only was it highly unlikely that I would be able to sell all of that immediately to raise some cash, but it still left me several thousand short.
Someday, I plan to return to this beach without such a burden on my mind so I can enjoy it even more. But I did find out as we left that it's a lot easier to change clothes in the beachfront hotel bathroom stall than on the beach. Live and learn.
RM and I were in Zvonka's office first thing Monday morning. I wanted the house. Now what?
Zvonka said we needed to meet with the seller in the morning to sign the contract. I asked, through RM, if I needed to have the down payment in hand. Zvonka told me that I could work that out with the seller tomorrow. He might give me a month or so to come up with it, or just have me pay everything when the sale closed. He and I could reach an agreement on the date.
"Wouldn't that be great?" I said to RM. "I could have time to get all of the financing together." It sounded too good to be true. Again.
I had to ask Zvonka what happened if one of us couldn't keep up our end of the contract. I had to be concerned about the consequences if I was unable to come up with the 101,000 Euros. Moreover, I was worried what would happen if the seller figured out he could sell the property for a lot more than what I was paying for it. According to Zvonka, in Slovenia, if the buyer fails to come up with the money by closing, she loses her down payment. But if the buyer reneges, he has to pay the buyer two times the down payment. Apparently, the government put that law into play because a lot of sellers were reneging and giving the country a bad name in global real estate.
I had to decide if it was worth losing $13,000 to take a chance on buying the Goce property. I had another night to sleep on it, but knew I was willing to risk it. Then, I did the math from the seller's perspective. Unfortunately, the double-the-down-payment penalty wouldn't be much of a disincentive for him. If he could sell the property for 150,000 Euros, he could pay me 9,800 Euros and still make more than 140,000 Euros on the sale which was 42,000 Euros more in his pocket than what he would get from our deal. I really hoped this guy would do the right and honorable thing. I really didn't know if I could handle the disappointment.
RM and I returned the next morning. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as RM opened the door and I stepped into the little office. Jana was there wearing a huge smile on her lovely face, and a man and woman sat in chairs facing Zvonka's desk. They were Mr. and Mrs. M. Zvonka made the introductions. I greeted them with my little bit of Slovene, then RM and I pulled up chairs in front of the desk with Mr. M. to my left and Mrs. M. to RM's right. Zvonka started passing copies of a two-page document to each of the four of us. RM cleared his throat and prepared for the arduous task of translating Slovene legalese to me. But before we started with the document, RM asked the seller several questions that I had written down in the little notepad I carry everywhere with me. They were questions about the water and stove and items in the house and the history of the house. I wanted to get to know the man who was selling the house of my dreams and he wanted to get to know a little about the Americanka (uh-mare-i-chanka) buying it. Mr. M. was very nice and smiled when he answered my questions with a soft and pleasant voice. At some point, Mrs. M. replied to a question in English. Aha! She could speak some English. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?
Finally, Zvonka started reading the clauses in the contract. She would stop at the end of each clause, allowing RM time to translate for me. I would either ask questions or signal that it was okay for her to proceed to the next clause with a nod of my head. Speaking of heads. My name issue reared its ugly head right off the proverbial bat. I wanted to put everything in my maiden name but all of my identification, namely, my passport, was still in my married name. I had no choice but to comply. Now, I'd have to change everything in two countries. Geez.
Section one was the property description. It contained the assurance that Mr. M. was the sole owner of the property as verified by the authorities. This is a fairly important issue in Slovenia where individual property ownership was somewhat non-existent during its time as a Yugoslav Republic. Something we don't have to think about in the United States.
Section two was the sale price and the down payment. Zvonka had left blanks in this portion, but not the overall price of the property. The sale price was no longer 98,000 Euros. The tax had been added, bringing the price to 99,000 Euros, and that pushed the 10 percent down payment up to 9,900 from 9,800 Euros. Okay, so that's a difference of only about $140 dollars, but when you're struggling to come up with it, it makes a difference.
Zvonka asked Mr. M. about the down payment due date. RM asked if he would consider just requiring the entire 99,000 Euros at the closing. Mr. M. responded. Then, Mrs. M. spoke up, shaking her head. Mr. M. shrugged his shoulders and looked at her, then to Zvonka, then to RM. He spoke to RM.
I knew the gist of this conversation but had no clue what had just occurred. RM translated.
"I asked Mr. M. if you could pay the full price at the closing and he nodded. Then, Mrs. M. said no, you had to pay the 10 percent now. Apparently, he's going to let her make that decision, even though he's the seller," RM said.
"So, when do I have to pay it?"
He asked the question of Mr. M., turning his back a bit on Mrs. M. just to make sure his nonverbal was communicating his opinion that the property was Mr. M.'s and not hers. I just hoped RM wouldn't make her mad. But she wasn't about to be left out of the conversation. She said something while looking directly into her husband's eyes. I waited for RM.
"She wants the money today."
"Today!" I said. "Will she take a check? I don't carry 10,000 Euros on me." I know there was panic in my voice.
Then, Mrs. M. addressed me in English.
"Your checks don't work in Slovenia. We work at the bank. We can go there now and you can have the money wired," she said.
I'm not sure how we got from pay-it-all-upon-closing to cough-it-up-right-now-or-else. Surely, we could agree upon something in the middle.
"I fly back to the States on Thursday but it will be too late to do business at the banks there when I return. I can try to have the money wired by Monday."
Mrs. M., apparently the negotiator, slipped back into Slovene, this time looking at Zvonka. RM translated.
"She wants something now to guarantee the payment. She doesn't trust you."
RM spoke with a hint of snide. Zvonka looked uncomfortable. Mr. M. looked a little apologetic. Frankly, I really couldn't blame her. I wasn't just a stranger, I was also a foreigner.
Had I known I would be sitting here now, actually buying a house, I would have come up with money to leave in my bank account. But I had no clue I would find the perfect place and have to buck up for it before I left for the States. I remember starting to shake and sweat, just a little.
RM spoke, again to Mr. M., in Slovene. More discussion. Zvonka weighed in.
"I asked if they would take a personal check from me, written on my account in France. If you don't get the money wired by Tuesday (he'd negotiated an extra day somehow), they'll deposit my check instead," RM said.
"I can't let you do that," I responded. I knew he didn't have that much sitting in his account, although I wasn't going to say that aloud since Mrs. M. could understand some English. RM looked me in the eyes and I knew what he was thinking. First, he was confident that I could wire the money by then. Second, he knew that if I didn't, his bank would extend him the credit and I would pay him back. I guess he was willing to take the gamble with me.
"Okay," I said slowly and with a total lack of confidence. "Is that acceptable to them?"
More conversation in Slovene. Everyone smiled. I smiled last, hoping I was smiling because we had all reached an agreement.
Apparently, we had because we moved on to the closing of the sale and the date I would have to pay the balance due. RM and I had discussed this previously as well. Zvonka had told us there was no standard for the number of days until closing so we could ask for whatever we wanted. I knew I needed time to come up with the rest of the money, and I wasn't in a huge rush to move in since I didn't have a job here and I had a place to live in the States. I just prayed that this negotiation went more smoothly than the last one.
RM spoke to Mr. M. who posed a question in response.
"He asked if October 31st would be okay," RM said to me.
It was July 13th so that would give me more than 3-1/2 months. If I couldn't come up with the money in that amount of time, I wasn't going to. I nodded my head in agreement. Mr. M. smiled at me. Zvonka looked relieved. Mrs. M. still looked a bit skeptical.
The rest of the contract was standard language and a clause about the two of us splitting Zvonka's fee. Jana plugged in the negotiated information and produced a final document. Zvonka made copies of my passport and told me she would email my tax identification numbers. She smiled as she placed an original in front of me and another in front of Mr. M., pointing to the appropriate signature lines. Mr. M. smiled at me and I back at him as we signed our names then swapped to sign again. Then, RM had to sign both originals as the person guaranteeing my down payment with his check. I felt like a kid whose dad has to co-sign for her first car.
The atmosphere lightened a bit as everyone made small talk while Jana made copies. Mrs. M. and I even exchanged a little pleasant conversation in English.
We all said our farewells and walked outside. RM and I decided to walk over to the microbrewery restaurant nearby to celebrate. Once there, I had to give him a huge hug and a kiss. I would have nothing to celebrate right now without him. It wasn't just the check he wrote. It was for his translation, his carting me around Slovenia and Italy to look at properties, his love for me and most of all, his confidence in someone who was trying to find her wings again.
Running Man (RM) and I spent Saturday on a beach in Croatia with his brother, sister-in-law and nephews. It was the first time I had been in Croatia and another stamp in my passport. The beach was in Moscenicka Draga, on the Adriatic Sea near the port of Rijeka. I experienced for the first time changing out of my shorts and shirt and into my bathing suit in a tiny three-wall canvas changing room on the beach. To call it a "room" is misleading. It was about two feet by two feet. I just hoped I didn't knock the structure over in the attempt. But had I suffered such misfortune, it would have gone virtually unnoticed. Europeans are far less modest than Americans at the beach. I saw many men and women changing in and out of swimsuits while gripping a beach towel around them. I also saw a few topless sunbathers, mostly women whose breasts had lost their pertness long ago. It's not for me but it's a free country. Well, I think it is anyway.
It was a sunny, hot day, perfect for lounging on a reclining chair near the water. The chairs and umbrellas were lined up and down the beach. Some people sunned themselves on towels laid upon the beach which would have been terribly uncomfortable. The beaches there aren't sandy. They're nothing but stretches of large white, ivory and pale yellow stones. Thank goodness for that pair of Keen sandals I had bought on sale before leaving the States. Good for hiking and wearing in the water. Not so good for my tan lines, but that's okay.
The beach was packed with people of all ages, shapes and sizes. What a phenomenal place to people-watch. I'm not sure I ever saw or heard more than a dozen Croatians that day. As RM had foretold, the beach was filled with Italians. They came for the same reason they spend so much time in Slovenia; it costs less to do everything in Croatia and Slovenia than it does in Italy. I chuckled from time to time listening to the conversations going on around me. Not at what they were saying but how they were speaking -- loudly and with that duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh rhythm I thought was merely a stereotype. And while speaking, there were hands flying all over the beach, moving this way and that way, up and down and around. That stereotype is also deserved. It was fun to be among all of it.
We enjoyed an interesting lunch at one of the cafes on the water. Personally, I'm not a fan of fish with heads still attached or scampi (small lobsters) that are still alive when you eat them. I prefer my seafood dead and unable to stare back at me from my plate. But as a traveler, I have to be a little adventurous, and I'm very good about at least sampling things I've never had before. I braved the fish but skipped anything with flailing pinchers. I can enjoy such things vicariously and not feel like I'm missing out.
All of the activity around me helped keep my mind off the fact that I needed to come up with nearly $13,000 for the down payment on my dream property. Lottery winnings, perhaps? Doubtful. I would have to play to win. I had several things I could sell, including my rare and classic 1983 Mercedes 500SL convertible. I loved that car but it wasn't a diesel so shipping it back to Europe, from where it had been shipped to the States so many years ago, didn't make sense. I should be able to sell it for around $5,000. I had jewelry I might be able to get $1,500 for, and $20,000 worth of unfinished kitchen cabinets (long story) I should be able to sell for at least $2,500. Not only was it highly unlikely that I would be able to sell all of that immediately to raise some cash, but it still left me several thousand short.
Someday, I plan to return to this beach without such a burden on my mind so I can enjoy it even more. But I did find out as we left that it's a lot easier to change clothes in the beachfront hotel bathroom stall than on the beach. Live and learn.
RM and I were in Zvonka's office first thing Monday morning. I wanted the house. Now what?
Zvonka said we needed to meet with the seller in the morning to sign the contract. I asked, through RM, if I needed to have the down payment in hand. Zvonka told me that I could work that out with the seller tomorrow. He might give me a month or so to come up with it, or just have me pay everything when the sale closed. He and I could reach an agreement on the date.
"Wouldn't that be great?" I said to RM. "I could have time to get all of the financing together." It sounded too good to be true. Again.
I had to ask Zvonka what happened if one of us couldn't keep up our end of the contract. I had to be concerned about the consequences if I was unable to come up with the 101,000 Euros. Moreover, I was worried what would happen if the seller figured out he could sell the property for a lot more than what I was paying for it. According to Zvonka, in Slovenia, if the buyer fails to come up with the money by closing, she loses her down payment. But if the buyer reneges, he has to pay the buyer two times the down payment. Apparently, the government put that law into play because a lot of sellers were reneging and giving the country a bad name in global real estate.
I had to decide if it was worth losing $13,000 to take a chance on buying the Goce property. I had another night to sleep on it, but knew I was willing to risk it. Then, I did the math from the seller's perspective. Unfortunately, the double-the-down-payment penalty wouldn't be much of a disincentive for him. If he could sell the property for 150,000 Euros, he could pay me 9,800 Euros and still make more than 140,000 Euros on the sale which was 42,000 Euros more in his pocket than what he would get from our deal. I really hoped this guy would do the right and honorable thing. I really didn't know if I could handle the disappointment.
RM and I returned the next morning. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as RM opened the door and I stepped into the little office. Jana was there wearing a huge smile on her lovely face, and a man and woman sat in chairs facing Zvonka's desk. They were Mr. and Mrs. M. Zvonka made the introductions. I greeted them with my little bit of Slovene, then RM and I pulled up chairs in front of the desk with Mr. M. to my left and Mrs. M. to RM's right. Zvonka started passing copies of a two-page document to each of the four of us. RM cleared his throat and prepared for the arduous task of translating Slovene legalese to me. But before we started with the document, RM asked the seller several questions that I had written down in the little notepad I carry everywhere with me. They were questions about the water and stove and items in the house and the history of the house. I wanted to get to know the man who was selling the house of my dreams and he wanted to get to know a little about the Americanka (uh-mare-i-chanka) buying it. Mr. M. was very nice and smiled when he answered my questions with a soft and pleasant voice. At some point, Mrs. M. replied to a question in English. Aha! She could speak some English. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?
Finally, Zvonka started reading the clauses in the contract. She would stop at the end of each clause, allowing RM time to translate for me. I would either ask questions or signal that it was okay for her to proceed to the next clause with a nod of my head. Speaking of heads. My name issue reared its ugly head right off the proverbial bat. I wanted to put everything in my maiden name but all of my identification, namely, my passport, was still in my married name. I had no choice but to comply. Now, I'd have to change everything in two countries. Geez.
Section one was the property description. It contained the assurance that Mr. M. was the sole owner of the property as verified by the authorities. This is a fairly important issue in Slovenia where individual property ownership was somewhat non-existent during its time as a Yugoslav Republic. Something we don't have to think about in the United States.
Section two was the sale price and the down payment. Zvonka had left blanks in this portion, but not the overall price of the property. The sale price was no longer 98,000 Euros. The tax had been added, bringing the price to 99,000 Euros, and that pushed the 10 percent down payment up to 9,900 from 9,800 Euros. Okay, so that's a difference of only about $140 dollars, but when you're struggling to come up with it, it makes a difference.
Zvonka asked Mr. M. about the down payment due date. RM asked if he would consider just requiring the entire 99,000 Euros at the closing. Mr. M. responded. Then, Mrs. M. spoke up, shaking her head. Mr. M. shrugged his shoulders and looked at her, then to Zvonka, then to RM. He spoke to RM.
I knew the gist of this conversation but had no clue what had just occurred. RM translated.
"I asked Mr. M. if you could pay the full price at the closing and he nodded. Then, Mrs. M. said no, you had to pay the 10 percent now. Apparently, he's going to let her make that decision, even though he's the seller," RM said.
"So, when do I have to pay it?"
He asked the question of Mr. M., turning his back a bit on Mrs. M. just to make sure his nonverbal was communicating his opinion that the property was Mr. M.'s and not hers. I just hoped RM wouldn't make her mad. But she wasn't about to be left out of the conversation. She said something while looking directly into her husband's eyes. I waited for RM.
"She wants the money today."
"Today!" I said. "Will she take a check? I don't carry 10,000 Euros on me." I know there was panic in my voice.
Then, Mrs. M. addressed me in English.
"Your checks don't work in Slovenia. We work at the bank. We can go there now and you can have the money wired," she said.
I'm not sure how we got from pay-it-all-upon-closing to cough-it-up-right-now-or-else. Surely, we could agree upon something in the middle.
"I fly back to the States on Thursday but it will be too late to do business at the banks there when I return. I can try to have the money wired by Monday."
Mrs. M., apparently the negotiator, slipped back into Slovene, this time looking at Zvonka. RM translated.
"She wants something now to guarantee the payment. She doesn't trust you."
RM spoke with a hint of snide. Zvonka looked uncomfortable. Mr. M. looked a little apologetic. Frankly, I really couldn't blame her. I wasn't just a stranger, I was also a foreigner.
Had I known I would be sitting here now, actually buying a house, I would have come up with money to leave in my bank account. But I had no clue I would find the perfect place and have to buck up for it before I left for the States. I remember starting to shake and sweat, just a little.
RM spoke, again to Mr. M., in Slovene. More discussion. Zvonka weighed in.
"I asked if they would take a personal check from me, written on my account in France. If you don't get the money wired by Tuesday (he'd negotiated an extra day somehow), they'll deposit my check instead," RM said.
"I can't let you do that," I responded. I knew he didn't have that much sitting in his account, although I wasn't going to say that aloud since Mrs. M. could understand some English. RM looked me in the eyes and I knew what he was thinking. First, he was confident that I could wire the money by then. Second, he knew that if I didn't, his bank would extend him the credit and I would pay him back. I guess he was willing to take the gamble with me.
"Okay," I said slowly and with a total lack of confidence. "Is that acceptable to them?"
More conversation in Slovene. Everyone smiled. I smiled last, hoping I was smiling because we had all reached an agreement.
Apparently, we had because we moved on to the closing of the sale and the date I would have to pay the balance due. RM and I had discussed this previously as well. Zvonka had told us there was no standard for the number of days until closing so we could ask for whatever we wanted. I knew I needed time to come up with the rest of the money, and I wasn't in a huge rush to move in since I didn't have a job here and I had a place to live in the States. I just prayed that this negotiation went more smoothly than the last one.
RM spoke to Mr. M. who posed a question in response.
"He asked if October 31st would be okay," RM said to me.
It was July 13th so that would give me more than 3-1/2 months. If I couldn't come up with the money in that amount of time, I wasn't going to. I nodded my head in agreement. Mr. M. smiled at me. Zvonka looked relieved. Mrs. M. still looked a bit skeptical.
The rest of the contract was standard language and a clause about the two of us splitting Zvonka's fee. Jana plugged in the negotiated information and produced a final document. Zvonka made copies of my passport and told me she would email my tax identification numbers. She smiled as she placed an original in front of me and another in front of Mr. M., pointing to the appropriate signature lines. Mr. M. smiled at me and I back at him as we signed our names then swapped to sign again. Then, RM had to sign both originals as the person guaranteeing my down payment with his check. I felt like a kid whose dad has to co-sign for her first car.
The atmosphere lightened a bit as everyone made small talk while Jana made copies. Mrs. M. and I even exchanged a little pleasant conversation in English.
We all said our farewells and walked outside. RM and I decided to walk over to the microbrewery restaurant nearby to celebrate. Once there, I had to give him a huge hug and a kiss. I would have nothing to celebrate right now without him. It wasn't just the check he wrote. It was for his translation, his carting me around Slovenia and Italy to look at properties, his love for me and most of all, his confidence in someone who was trying to find her wings again.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
At the End of the Road
In front of me was a panoramic view of pasture, vineyard-covered hillsides and forests. I had stepped out of a house in a village where every house was connected to another and into a place where I felt like there were no neighbors at all.
We were standing on a small gravel road that ran parallel to the house and barn, disappearing around the curve at the end of the house.
I turned right to follow the road and as I reached the curve at the end, the ground fell away to a view down into the flatland of the Vipava Valley with the foothills of the Julian Alps behind it. I was awestruck.
Running Man (RM) looked at me, his mouth and eyes gaping as wide as I'm sure mine were. Neither of us could believe what we were seeing. The real estate agent, Zvonka, just looked at us wearing a huge smile.
I stood silently, taking in the incredible views all around me. I continued to follow the little road that ended soon, behind the vineyard adjacent to the house and near some small fenced-in garden plots. I finally turned around to survey the house and courtyard wall from this side. I was struck by its ancient, simplistic beauty in the midst of such lovely surroundings. I could just imagine what the view must be like from the attic window overlooking the valley. We hadn't been able to see out when we walked through that part of the house because the window was frosted and textured, obscuring any view. That's why seeing the valley now was such a phenomenal surprise to me.
I knew this was the house I had to own. It wasn't the house I'd been dreaming about. It was much, much more. The architecture, the space, the secret garden, the ancient wine cellar, the views, the price, the location of the village -- everything was perfect. And although the interior was dated and needed a total overhaul, it was habitable which meant I could move in right away and not spend money renting something elsewhere while trying to make it livable.
The three of us walked back through the cellar and up into the courtyard where Zvonka had left her purse. She had another appointment and we needed to get her back to her office. As she checked to make sure everything was locked up, she told RM that this property would sell quickly. She would come back with us tomorrow morning so we could take another look.
I was so excited as we drove back to Lokve but I tried to calm myself. I have this crazy superstition that any time I've ever wanted something too much, I haven't gotten it. After that happened to me a few times in my life, I started taking the opposite approach. I would think the worst so that whatever happened would be better than I had expected. Silly, perhaps. But it kept me from experiencing a lot of disappointment. I subscribe to the saying that if something looks too good to be true, it probably is. This place certainly looked too good to be true.
My challenge was going to be coming up with the down payment, although I didn't know how much or under what terms. I decided to sleep on it but spent a fairly restless night, my mind far too full of dreams and nightmares, hopes and worries to slumber.
We arrived the next morning at Zvonka's office to pick her up. I couldn't wait to return to Goce. Her assistant, Jana, was flustered. Zvonka's boss, she said, had showed up unexpectedly and it had something to do with the property in Goce. My heart sank. As RM and I waited for Zvonka to return, I felt my excitement slowly draining from my soul. RM held my hand while the distracted Jana continued to make small talk in Slovene with him.
Zvonka flew through the glass office door and I could tell by the look on her normally smiling face that she wasn't happy. She nipped off some orders to Jana, made an abrupt statement to RM, then picked up her keys and left as quickly and as violently as she had entered.
"We're supposed to meet her there," RM said. "Zvonka's riding with her boss."
"What's happening?" I asked, confused by all of the sharp speech I couldn't understand and the universal body language I could.
"I'm not sure, except that her corporate boss wants to see the property."
My legs were wobbly as we climbed into the car and drove to Goce. I found myself feeling like I wanted to cry. I had raised my hopes too high and now, I was going to fall hard.
It was even worse when we arrived because not only was Zvonka there with her boss, but another couple was there with their camera. It was one thing if the boss thought the asking price was too low. I couldn't afford to get into a bidding war with other potential buyers. I would lose. That was the only thing I was absolutely sure of.
The four of us walked into the courtyard where Zvonka introduced her boss to all of us. Then, she asked RM a question and he nodded, turning to me to translate.
"She asked if we would give her a ride back to her office so her boss can go ahead and leave. I told her yes. That's okay, isn't it?"
"Of course," I said with a smile that looked much brighter than it actually was. Maybe if she liked us better than the other couple, I'd improve my chances of buying the house, I thought.
We wandered through the house again, this time with the strangers. I must admit I didn't look at the house very closely this time. I was watching their faces, and I could see clearly how much they liked what they were seeing. And not even a blind man could mistake their awe at the surrounding view when we stood above the valley.
When we returned to the courtyard, the couple moved away from us to speak to Zvonka. I was making small talk with RM because I was afraid I might cry if I didn't make the effort. RM, on the other hand, wasn't listening to me. He was trying desperately to pick up pieces of the couple's conversation with Zvonka.
"I can't hear much of what they're saying," RM said to me sadly. "All I could hear is that they would like to buy the house."
Zvonka locked the front door then led all of us toward the gates which she also secured. We followed her toward the neighbor's house and stood in awkward silence near our cars as Zvonka returned the keys to the neighbor.
"Are you from Missouri?" the woman asked me. I didn't know she could even speak English and I was hoping RM hadn't said anything too loud to me that they could have understood. Embarrassing.
"Yes. Do you know Missouri?" I asked in return.
She told me that her husband had taught in St. Louis for a few years and they had lived there. I was again struck by the notion of how small the world really is. Out of all the people who might have been looking at the same property in this tiny Slovenian village, it was a couple who had lived in my home state and in a city where I had lived for a few years.
Zvonka said goodbye to the couple and got into our car with us. I started firing off questions to RM to ask her. The first was what her boss had thought about the property.
"She says he was interested in buying this property himself, and that it should have been priced at no less than 150,000 Euros," RM translated for me.
I knew that price was too good to be true, I thought to myself, pouting.
"So, what happens now?" I asked.
RM looked at Zvonka and repeated the question. I tried to read his face as she responded to him but couldn't. He nodded, then looked over his right shoulder at me in the back seat while keeping an eye on the road.
"Zvonka says the house is yours for 98,000 Euros if you want it."
I hesitated in, well, stunned silence. RM looked back over his shoulder at me again.
"Well?"
"That's it? There's no bidding against the other people who are interested in it?" I asked with utter incredulity.
RM spoke to Zvonka again who replied while vigorously shaking her head.
"That's not the way they do it here," RM said. "It's yours. But you have to make up your mind by Monday."
"What's the process? How much money do I have to put down and what are the terms after that?"
RM spoke to her again, then responded to me in English.
"You have to put 10% down and you figure out the terms with the seller when you meet."
"Are there appraisals or inspections or anything? And what do I need to buy a house here since I'm not a citizen?"
More conversation.
"No appraisals or inspections. The seller just decides what he wants for it and the buyer either agrees or doesn't, but the price won't change. And Zvonka can get your tax numbers for you."
"What about closing costs and points and her fee?"
"I'm not sure how to translate 'closing costs' and what are points?" I could tell that RM was getting a little weary of my rapid-fire line of questioning.
"Just ask her what else I will have to pay besides the down payment and her fees. Please," I added to counter his dwindling patience. I was truly grateful for his willingness to translate everything for me.
RM asked and Zvonka answered.
"The only costs will be maybe 100 Euros in tax and you and the seller split her fee. She says your total cost will be about 101,000 Euros."
"That's it? It's that simple?"
"Apparently," RM said.
I leaned back in the seat with a big, stupid grin of relief on my face. It was mine for the taking. I breathed deeply and got lost in my thoughts as RM and Zvonka continued talking in the front seats. When we dropped her off at her office in Ajdovscina, I climbed out of the back seat to take her place in the front. I smiled at her and shook her hand between both of mine, looking her in the eye and saying one of the few Slovene conversational terms I knew, "Hvala lepa. Hvala lepa." (Thank you very much -- twice.)
I couldn't believe it. Was I really this close to owning this incredible property in this historic little village in this completely foreign country in Europe? Was I dreaming? I hoped not.
Now, where would I come up with 9,800 Euros and what was today's exchange rate with the U.S. Dollar? I chastised myself for raining on my own proverbial parade here with these technicalities. For now, I would be content to dream and pray that with faith and a little ingenuity, I could come up with the rest.
Running Man (RM) looked at me, his mouth and eyes gaping as wide as I'm sure mine were. Neither of us could believe what we were seeing. The real estate agent, Zvonka, just looked at us wearing a huge smile.
I stood silently, taking in the incredible views all around me. I continued to follow the little road that ended soon, behind the vineyard adjacent to the house and near some small fenced-in garden plots. I finally turned around to survey the house and courtyard wall from this side. I was struck by its ancient, simplistic beauty in the midst of such lovely surroundings. I could just imagine what the view must be like from the attic window overlooking the valley. We hadn't been able to see out when we walked through that part of the house because the window was frosted and textured, obscuring any view. That's why seeing the valley now was such a phenomenal surprise to me.
The three of us walked back through the cellar and up into the courtyard where Zvonka had left her purse. She had another appointment and we needed to get her back to her office. As she checked to make sure everything was locked up, she told RM that this property would sell quickly. She would come back with us tomorrow morning so we could take another look.
I was so excited as we drove back to Lokve but I tried to calm myself. I have this crazy superstition that any time I've ever wanted something too much, I haven't gotten it. After that happened to me a few times in my life, I started taking the opposite approach. I would think the worst so that whatever happened would be better than I had expected. Silly, perhaps. But it kept me from experiencing a lot of disappointment. I subscribe to the saying that if something looks too good to be true, it probably is. This place certainly looked too good to be true.
My challenge was going to be coming up with the down payment, although I didn't know how much or under what terms. I decided to sleep on it but spent a fairly restless night, my mind far too full of dreams and nightmares, hopes and worries to slumber.
We arrived the next morning at Zvonka's office to pick her up. I couldn't wait to return to Goce. Her assistant, Jana, was flustered. Zvonka's boss, she said, had showed up unexpectedly and it had something to do with the property in Goce. My heart sank. As RM and I waited for Zvonka to return, I felt my excitement slowly draining from my soul. RM held my hand while the distracted Jana continued to make small talk in Slovene with him.
Zvonka flew through the glass office door and I could tell by the look on her normally smiling face that she wasn't happy. She nipped off some orders to Jana, made an abrupt statement to RM, then picked up her keys and left as quickly and as violently as she had entered.
"We're supposed to meet her there," RM said. "Zvonka's riding with her boss."
"What's happening?" I asked, confused by all of the sharp speech I couldn't understand and the universal body language I could.
"I'm not sure, except that her corporate boss wants to see the property."
My legs were wobbly as we climbed into the car and drove to Goce. I found myself feeling like I wanted to cry. I had raised my hopes too high and now, I was going to fall hard.
It was even worse when we arrived because not only was Zvonka there with her boss, but another couple was there with their camera. It was one thing if the boss thought the asking price was too low. I couldn't afford to get into a bidding war with other potential buyers. I would lose. That was the only thing I was absolutely sure of.
The four of us walked into the courtyard where Zvonka introduced her boss to all of us. Then, she asked RM a question and he nodded, turning to me to translate.
"She asked if we would give her a ride back to her office so her boss can go ahead and leave. I told her yes. That's okay, isn't it?"
"Of course," I said with a smile that looked much brighter than it actually was. Maybe if she liked us better than the other couple, I'd improve my chances of buying the house, I thought.
We wandered through the house again, this time with the strangers. I must admit I didn't look at the house very closely this time. I was watching their faces, and I could see clearly how much they liked what they were seeing. And not even a blind man could mistake their awe at the surrounding view when we stood above the valley.
When we returned to the courtyard, the couple moved away from us to speak to Zvonka. I was making small talk with RM because I was afraid I might cry if I didn't make the effort. RM, on the other hand, wasn't listening to me. He was trying desperately to pick up pieces of the couple's conversation with Zvonka.
"I can't hear much of what they're saying," RM said to me sadly. "All I could hear is that they would like to buy the house."
Zvonka locked the front door then led all of us toward the gates which she also secured. We followed her toward the neighbor's house and stood in awkward silence near our cars as Zvonka returned the keys to the neighbor.
"Are you from Missouri?" the woman asked me. I didn't know she could even speak English and I was hoping RM hadn't said anything too loud to me that they could have understood. Embarrassing.
"Yes. Do you know Missouri?" I asked in return.
She told me that her husband had taught in St. Louis for a few years and they had lived there. I was again struck by the notion of how small the world really is. Out of all the people who might have been looking at the same property in this tiny Slovenian village, it was a couple who had lived in my home state and in a city where I had lived for a few years.
Zvonka said goodbye to the couple and got into our car with us. I started firing off questions to RM to ask her. The first was what her boss had thought about the property.
"She says he was interested in buying this property himself, and that it should have been priced at no less than 150,000 Euros," RM translated for me.
I knew that price was too good to be true, I thought to myself, pouting.
"So, what happens now?" I asked.
RM looked at Zvonka and repeated the question. I tried to read his face as she responded to him but couldn't. He nodded, then looked over his right shoulder at me in the back seat while keeping an eye on the road.
"Zvonka says the house is yours for 98,000 Euros if you want it."
I hesitated in, well, stunned silence. RM looked back over his shoulder at me again.
"Well?"
"That's it? There's no bidding against the other people who are interested in it?" I asked with utter incredulity.
RM spoke to Zvonka again who replied while vigorously shaking her head.
"That's not the way they do it here," RM said. "It's yours. But you have to make up your mind by Monday."
"What's the process? How much money do I have to put down and what are the terms after that?"
RM spoke to her again, then responded to me in English.
"You have to put 10% down and you figure out the terms with the seller when you meet."
"Are there appraisals or inspections or anything? And what do I need to buy a house here since I'm not a citizen?"
More conversation.
"No appraisals or inspections. The seller just decides what he wants for it and the buyer either agrees or doesn't, but the price won't change. And Zvonka can get your tax numbers for you."
"What about closing costs and points and her fee?"
"I'm not sure how to translate 'closing costs' and what are points?" I could tell that RM was getting a little weary of my rapid-fire line of questioning.
"Just ask her what else I will have to pay besides the down payment and her fees. Please," I added to counter his dwindling patience. I was truly grateful for his willingness to translate everything for me.
RM asked and Zvonka answered.
"The only costs will be maybe 100 Euros in tax and you and the seller split her fee. She says your total cost will be about 101,000 Euros."
"That's it? It's that simple?"
"Apparently," RM said.
I leaned back in the seat with a big, stupid grin of relief on my face. It was mine for the taking. I breathed deeply and got lost in my thoughts as RM and Zvonka continued talking in the front seats. When we dropped her off at her office in Ajdovscina, I climbed out of the back seat to take her place in the front. I smiled at her and shook her hand between both of mine, looking her in the eye and saying one of the few Slovene conversational terms I knew, "Hvala lepa. Hvala lepa." (Thank you very much -- twice.)
I couldn't believe it. Was I really this close to owning this incredible property in this historic little village in this completely foreign country in Europe? Was I dreaming? I hoped not.
Now, where would I come up with 9,800 Euros and what was today's exchange rate with the U.S. Dollar? I chastised myself for raining on my own proverbial parade here with these technicalities. For now, I would be content to dream and pray that with faith and a little ingenuity, I could come up with the rest.
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