The extraordinary life of a Housesitter
Teodora looked at me without saying a word. Sure she was thinking about the future again. Of what might happen to her, to me, to us. How our lives would change when we go to the place I knew she despised deep in her heart.
Our plan was to leave the Canary Islands, our home for the past 6 months, and stay at her parent’s apartment. Aversion and bad memories aside, the prospect of living a couple of months for free was too great to look over. And our dwindling account balance was eager to have a rest as well.
“We could also try to find someone to watch after their houses,” I said.
“And how do you expect to find them?” She asked with a solemn expression.
“There are websites for this.”
“What?”
“You don’t know the Internet? The biggest global connection through electronic devi--” I stopped before her look turned into physical violence.
“It’s called Housesitting,” I said, trying to calm the demon. “People go on vacation and need someone to watch their properties for the time.”
“Have you ever done this?” Curiosity in her voice.
“No, but I read a bit about it. Some were saying it’s the greatest invention ever, others claim it to be used as free labor, close to slavery because the chores around the property were so much, free time was almost non-existent. I never gave it a go. Never had the need for it, actually.”
“Why haven’t you told me this before? We could have done this the whole time and saved half a year of rent.” How fast emotions of a woman can change. A shaking head marked her incredulity.
“Not thought about it before,” I admitted sheepishly.
Soon after we were signed up on a website (on the Internet, ever heard about it?) and sent our first application to a nice-looking property in Southern Spain. Frankly, we were both excited about what might happen. After setting up a nice little text about ourselves, we were constantly checking for a reply. It never came.
A few days after, Teodora told me about a new listing. Southern Spain. A house in the middle of nowhere. Two dogs and two cats. The owners are Brits, working in Dubai and searching for house- and petsitters to cover the time of five months. Starting in two weeks.
“Do you want to apply for this?” Teodora asked.
“Sure, why not,” I replied, wanting to remain unexcited for the opportunity. It was her obsession and I tried not to get too involved with it. I guess I always had a problem when other people made up decisions and I had to follow them. But making up my own mind, what I really wanted was even worse. So I gave her the burden of making a decision for us.
“I sent them an application,” she said eventually.
“Great,” I said. “Let’s see if they reply.”
“They replied,” Teodora said a day later.
“That was fast. Are you sure they are not serial killers and just looking for easy prey?”
“No, I’m not. But they suggest a video call to get to know each other. Maybe we can determine this detail then.”
In the evening we sat hunched in front of a phone and stared into the screen. A middle-aged couple was staring back at us. The handling of their phone reminded me of how I would have a video call with my parents. Rather than trying to have either both of them on their end of the camera or at least one, we could see only half of each. It made them sympathetic in a slightly pitiful way.
“So where are you coming from?” Charles asked. I knew Teodora was hesitant with the question since her heritage would grant her the questionable trait of getting judged... So I tried to turn the attention to me.
“I’m from Germany,” I said with a grin, knowing this will get a reaction from the other side of the pond.
“Oh,” the Brits laughed, “Then we’ll have to see if we still like each other tomorrow morning.”
This told me everything I wanted to know.
It was the belayed Euro Football cup 2020 and Germany was once more guest for a historic moment on British ground. Because it was the first time England kicked the Germans out of a tournament in 55 years. And since history is doomed to repeat itself, it happened in Wembley.
We talked a bit more about football and I hoped they would forget about their earlier question to avoid embarrassing Teodora with prejudices.
“And what about you, Teodora? Where do you come from?” Camilla asked. Well, so much for my master plan. I could already see her blush, so I tried to give her at least a head start.
“Oh, boy. This will get interesting,” I said. They both looked at me with a question mark on their face, but I knew the outcome. Sometimes, information is better delivered in a story.
“Well, I was born in Romania,” she started and I could see British eyebrows rising. The sheer mention of the country still brings pictures of thieving gypsies and poverty to people’s heads.
“I lived in the mountains, surrounded by goats, chickens, and all sorts of animals,” she continued. “As a teenager, I moved to Valencia and spent my summers studying in London before I went to University in the United States.” By now, the couple on the other end of the line was quiet, processing their now shaken worldview.
“After graduation, I moved to China and worked there for the past 8 years.”
I was grinning because I heard her telling the story a couple of times before and always enjoyed the reaction of others. After all, I did the same.
“Wow,” they agreed with me, “that’s quite a resumé.” And it was. If there’s a Romanian out there in the world, trying to change the reputation of their country, it’s her.
Needless to say, the call ended with the affirmation, that we were happily invited to watch their house and pets.
Two weeks later, we sat on the plane towards Granada, Spain.