Homeless for how long?

Newtown, Wellington

So now that we were in the country, now that we were fresh kiwis... glowing with the crisp fresh air and growing tired from jetlag...
we realize
that we are homeless.
And tired.
And hungry.
And we have a small amount of cash to survive until we get jobs.
The stress hits us.
We need to find a place to stay.

I look up the cheapest Backpackers that has internet: Downtown Backpackers. We drive (on the left side of the street you know) through the big buildings of the Central Business District to find our way there. The hostel is a big one, and luckily we were able to get a room.

But what is a blog post without a dose of kiwi kindness? Jason was so frazzled from driving that his wish was a simple one - a wish for a beer. The Backpackers gives each guest a Buy-2-get-1-beer-free coupon for the bar next door. He went to the bar, had a beer, and a kiwi gentleman struck up a conversation with him. Next thing he knew, the guy bought him a beer, made Jason's day - and he was able to cash in his third freebie. Jason was happy and although his dinner was liquid, with a full stomach, went to bed.

We had to be out of bed by 7:30am the next morning because the free street parking ends at 8:00am. We have to be on the road, but where to go?

The advice I had read everywhere was not to line up a rental beforehand from overseas, because when you get there you may hate it. You need to see it first.

Turns out that was bad advice if you are on a budget, because if you can't afford to stay a week at a hotel while you find "the perfect house," then you are going to lose all your money and sanity trying to find a place to not be homeless.

We needed accommodation right away. I had contacted many people for apartments but everything was taken or not suitable for couples. One listing however had promise, and we were convinced that if they had an open room - and we prayed that they did - that we could stay there. It was cheap, suitable for couples, and it said "fully furnished - just bring your bag."

So we went to the address and found the place.
The Pickled Parrot Lodge.
But the office was empty. And nobody was answering the phone.
We waited around for a while, and finally, dejected, left and drove up the street. But it was a dead-end. So as we turned around and approached the building one last time, I suggested we go back up the driveway and check one last time.

There was a truck parked there. It wasn't there before.

I screamed to Jason "pin him in!" with the car, so he couldn't get away.
I jumped out of the car and went towards the office, and the fellow in the truck rolled down his window, and asked if he could help me?

I asked him if he was the owner. He nodded.
Nervous, excited, and immensely hopeful, I said "We really, really need a room."

He said he is "chockered full" but he will have a room available Sunday.
It was Friday - we could sleep in the car for 2 nights if it meant we had a place to stay come Sunday!
We followed him into the office.

He showed us his chart of rooms and dates. It was a poster-sized chart, packed full of tiny rows of text - row after row after row. And a tiny little white space which started under the column entitled "Sunday." Chockered full, he was right. There was one room available.

And it was now ours.

Or rather, it would be come Sunday.
So what would we do until then?