Paul and I went and looked at this. Because it is for sale. And because we are insane.
The appeal is obvious… No?
The only reason we could afford this, (which is a statement without any concrete basis, but is perhaps possible according to our imagination) is that it is a seven-unit rental property. And because it is falling down. And therefore it is cheap.
Cheap, compared to what? I’m not exactly sure… Compared to other, non-falling-down mansions on the river? Compared to homes that are actually homes, rather than giant pits of despair and mess and shoddy roofing, and being able to see the sky through the second-floor ceiling, and plywood patches on the exterior walls… That kind of cheap.
Once we pay for it and put many hundreds-of-thousands-of-dollars into it, untold years of our lives, live with our tenants, and possibly kill each other… it will no longer be cheap.
But THIS will be our front porch.
And it kind of makes me not care about being happily married. Or sane. Or eventually divorced and bankrupt.
Granted. It does have some issues.
Why yes, that IS insulation just hanging out of a wall that appears to have been bashed through.
Why yes, they DID tuck a bathroom into a room that is hardly six-feet tall…I know this, because I am six-feet tall, and I could barely stand up in there.
Why yes, a Mansard tower burned down at some point, and they just laid two-by-fours over the hole, topped it with plywood and poured concrete as the roof!
When we left. We said things like: that house is completely doomed. Only a crazy person would buy that. We would be insane to even consider it. We would seriously end up divorced.
To try to renovate a house of THAT size. Would be an undertaking of grave idiocy.
It would probably kill Paul.
The realtor assured us no bank will finance this. And that whoever buys it is going to need cash. Which made us laugh. And secretly mad at eachother. Why do neither of us have over half a million dollars just sitting around.
So. Out of curiosity, we’ve asked the bank. Nicely.