Moving on

As long as we’re on the topic of obscenely-priced real estate, let’s step back momentarily to the Valley They Call Silicon.

When I gave notice last November to the property manager of the condo I’d been renting, she contacted the owner, who said that she was planning to continue to rent out the place. I thought it was a bit strange, as the owner had moved to Boston, and in the five years I’d been living there, prices in the condo complex had nearly doubled. You’d think she’d want to be shed of it.

(When I moved in in 2011, two bedroom units were going for around $400,000-$450,000; by 2016 they were fetching upwards of $800,000.)

Well, just for ducks, a couple of months ago I looked up the address and blow me if it hadn’t been sold after all. For $795,000. Which is kind of a steal for the area, given its proximity to Apple’s new headquarters. My landlady and her husband bought the condo in 2007 for $575,000 ($100,000 more than the previous purchase price in 2004), so they only made a couple hundred thousand on it.

I love the sales pitch in the listing:

“Stunning penthouse condo w/ soaring ceilings & lots of natural light! Remodeled kitchen w/ Staron Tempest counters, ample cabinets, stainless steel appliances including a wine fridge. Spacious living room w/ high ceiling, wood burning fireplace and glass doors to the sunny patio. Separate dining area w/ laminate flooring. Spacious master w/ high ceiling & large closet w/ mirrored doors. Huge master bath w/ shower over tub w/ glass door & dual sinks w/ spacious vanity. Second bedroom w/ plush carpeting & walk in closet. Upstairs loft perfect for home office or family room area w/ high ceiling. Second full bath with stall shower & glass door. Full size washer/dryer and laundry area. 2 detached single car garages w/ storage. Convenient location near shopping, commute locations & restaurants.”

I love the way a third-floor walk-up is described as a penthouse. The dining area isn’t so much “separate” as it is “on the path between the entryway and the door to the master bedroom”. And the walk-in closet in the second bedroom is the most useless thing I’ve ever seen. It’s “walk-in” in the sense that you can open the door and step in, but it’s a wedge-shaped space that makes hanging anything with any expectation of finding it again kind of a non-starter.

I understand why they have it there, and why they label it a closet: in order to call a space a “bedroom”, it has to have a window and a closet. But seriously…

Yes, there’s a wood-burning fireplace. But who’s going to schlep logs up to the third floor? On the five days in the year when it’s not a Spare the Air day in the Bay Area? (I did, however, make a lot of use of the marble fireplace surround to plan projects with yellow stickies, which I could see in perspective and move around as necessary.)

I also don’t understand the attraction of cathedral ceilings, expensive to heat and cool without being able to, you know, live in the area. They also make it impossible to change the batteries in the smoke detectors that legally have to be set at the highest point. (The property manager had to hire maintenance workers to do that, because the job requires an extension ladder, which necessitates two people. She wasn't happy about that, but when I signed the lease I told them I wasn't doing anything that required a ladder.) And the loft was more unlivable space, on account of it being utterly stifling in the summer, and affording no privacy from the main room. So—the appearance of value without the substance.

As for the “two detached single-car garages”, unless one of your cars is the size of a Mini, only one of them is usable for parking your vehicles due to the placement of the garages and the design of the turn space. (I used the second garage for storage.) And because you technically have the mandatory assigned parking spaces in those garages, you cannot use any of the visitor spots in the parking lot. (Parking violations are rigorously dealt with.) And there’s no street parking for a couple of blocks in either direction. So you’re stuffed.

It also lists “HOA Amenities: Community Pool, Sauna/Spa/Hot Tub”, although prospective buyers would find out pretty fast that there’s no sauna. But in addition to the mortgage they’re on the hook for HOA fees of $421/month.

On the plus side, the flat is indeed bright, and I miss that side-by-size refrigerator and the full-size dishwasher. (Although the new owners are probably realizing that the latter is a little temperamental in terms of when it wants to work.) I also miss having up-to-date wiring, with AFCIs in bathrooms and kitchen, and a circuit breaker box that’s not illegally blocked by a refrigerator that was obviously designed for people who don’t need access to food.

I note that the unit was staged for the sale, and I bet the guys hauling all those tables, chairs, beds and sofa up the two flights of stairs bitched with every step. And repeated it when they hauled it all back down.

I reckon the new owners have discovered the joys of traffic noises, and of living half a block from the fire station in one direction and El Camino Real in the other. And of the construction of a five-story Hampton Inn across the street. And the really crabby guy who lives just below them, and the guy on the ground floor who sits outside to smoke his cigars.

But still—it was a great place to live for me, and I hope it is for them, too.