"Well, this is a bit odd." The broker checks his phone again, but it's not saying anything new.
It's been an hour, and nobody has shown up to the open house. The broker's name is Dan. We're standing on the ground floor of a townhouse in the Koret Building.
East Hastings Street, across from the best pizza in Vancouver. The Downtown East Side, but it's silent except for CBC Radio 3: classical music plays quietly from tiny, beautiful speakers that can probably only play classical music. Top-40 would cause them to implode.
Dan walks out the door, across the long, wide patio, to the front gate of the courtyard. He's making sure his phone number is correct on the open-house announcement. It is.
A bright, sunny Saturday in Vancouver. Just after lunch, and there's nobody here but us.
A brief history of the loft building
The Koret Lofts began their metamorphosis in 2004. At the time, the DTES offered only urban blight, and nothing artisanal or hipster. Developers eyed East Cordova as a golden opportunity, and they were right.
In 2007, the Koret Building's 118 lofts and townhouses were available to the real-estate-hungry public. Since then, each unit has appreciated to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Dan and I are hanging out in a split-level space that's selling for $649,000. The owners are confident that they'll get their asking price. At the moment, I'm not so sure.
Besides this one, two lofts and another townhouse were listed on the same day. Another unit, a two-thousand-square-foot space on the sixth floor, has been on the market since October last year. At $1.75 million, Dan considers that one to be "way overpriced", roof deck or no.
(The townhouse next door is listed at the same price as this one, and is slightly bigger. Its owners have a reel-to-reel recorder, and thus may be winning in the vintage-swag game.)
I explore the townhouse, as there's little else to do. Cement floors, drywall over what was once exposed brick. Massive wooden beams to remind us that this was once an industrial space: a steelworks for ship repairs is our best guess.
The current owners installed a vintage schoolroom pencil sharpener on the thick wooden column by the patio door. Dan and I wonder where the pencils are, and if the owners will take the sharpener with them when they sell. For six hundred fifty thousand, I'd want the pencil sharpener thrown in. It would make or break the deal.
The townhouse faces the alley though a secure gate. "It's a bit of a fishbowl," the broker tells me. The alley doesn't go all the way through, so there isn't much foot traffic. I only hear a few shouts throughout the day; as well as several insistent whistles, which turn out to be Dan's iPhone ringtone. The patio has barbecues and a long table, an urban oasis for entertaining.
Back inside, the kitchen screams "European design", with simple, functional fixtures. One of those flexible faucets that you can remove from its housing, and, should the mood strike you, spray anywhere in the room. These people own a fondue set. I've never seen one outside a restaurant or store before. Every kitchen implement is elegant and pristine. Le Creuset everything. The knives are sharp. The muddler has never been used. Why am I so determined to prove to myself that the current owners don't cook? What does it matter?
CBC Radio 3 fades to silence as I step further into the space. Past the kitchen and its sensible island is a heavy wooden table, host to a single lamp. The bookshelf belabours the point that the owners are into design. You'd never buy a place like this if design wasn't important to you. Issues of Wallpaper by the dozen. Massive tomes on art and photography. Some vintage thrift-store titles:
The Beginner's Guide to Guinea Pigs
Know Your Poodle
Persian Cats
The urge to rifle through each title is nearly overpowering. They're using reclaimed railroad spikes as paperweights.
We've now been here for an hour. Nobody has shown up to explore this temple of thoughtful living.
'It's not Fluevog!'
Dan exhales, says, "It's a waiting game." He's not talking about this afternoon, but the current real estate environment in Vancouver. "Buyers are sure that the bottom will drop out, so they want to wait for prices to come down."
Sellers are counting on the market staying stable long enough for them to close a deal. Only one of them can be right, but which one? You don't want to be the last one to buy just before the bubble bursts, and you also don't want to learn that the bubble isn't going to burst, just as prices hike yet again.
This townhouse has been on the market for twelve days. Within the first few days, Dan held an open house, and ten couples showed up. One couple put in an offer. As that offer was batted back and forth, an additional couple viewed the townhouse.
Ultimately the deal fell apart: the owners would not budge on the price. Six hundred forty-nine thousand dollars. Perhaps the owners figured that, since they got an initial offer so quickly, then surely a second offer would come along just as quickly.
If the past sixty minutes are any indication, that calculation would appear incorrect.
An apartment or house or loft or townhouse will sit there, not selling... until it sells. There's no real way of knowing when the right buyer will find the right property. That's why brokers such as Dan have jobs: they play matchmaker between potential buyers and, well, if not their dream homes, then at least the best properties that their money can buy.
Still, even the best broker can only do so much. Emotion may drive some of our purchases, but, when we get this far into six digits, logic must take over at some point. No matter how much you love a townhouse, there's a point at which you won't, you can't, spend more money. Dan's eyes widen: "Come on, it's not a pair of shoes! It's not Fluevog!"
Emotion and real estate, that reminds me of the MAC Marketing Solutions scandal. I ask Dan his opinion. He laughs, "It's not just what they did, but that they did it so badly. They could have just found a waitress or whatever, somebody who didn't obviously work for them."
In the case of this DTES townhouse, what should we be making of the lack of foot traffic? So far, this is anecdote and not data, but we'd be crazy not to wonder: Should this silence (save for Radio 3) be written off as an anomaly, or taken as a reality check?
At the car wash
Wooden stairs lead up to the bedroom loft. Behind the bed stands what Dan calls the carwash shower: open on both ends, the stall features a translucent wall though which light can bathe you as the shower showers you. There is no bathtub.
As it's a loft space, you look up to see air ducts and water pipes snake their way among thick wooden beams. The current owners use some of these pipes as clothes-rails to compliment the existing downstairs closet.
What I thought was an upstairs closet turned out to be-- surprise!-- a washer-dryer combo. So, for $649,000, you do get ensuite.
"Where is everybody?" I'm thinking it, he's asking it. A sunny Saturday afternoon, just after lunch. His phone whistles insistently, but it's not a prospective home-buyer.
Vancouver vs New York City
Like me, Dan lived in New York City before winding up in Vancouver. New Yorkers are slightly more real-estate-obsessed than are Vancouverites, but Vancouver has pulled ahead in the unaffordable-housing race.
We discuss New York's affordable-housing program for artists, and how Vancouver offers nothing comparable. Vancouver is okay at covering last-chance housing, but Dan wonders, "What about regular people who are working, but can't pay the rent? [...] I know people who grew up here, and got priced out of the neighbourhoods where they grew up."
It's been an hour and twenty minutes.? At this point, I have already pictured myself living here, though it's unclear what crimes I'd have had to commit in order to supplement my current income to afford this place. With 10% down and a 4% interest rate on a 25-year mortgage, I'd be on the hook for $3,096 per month. This does not include the $270 monthly maintenance fee and $2,153 in annual taxes.
We're discussing the commute from Astoria to Midtown when we're interrupted by a young couple in matching black coats. I almost ask what they're doing here. Dan excuses himself and approaches the couple. The girl shakes his hand, the guy hangs back, hands in pockets, hood up. he looks wary, like he suspects a trap.
They go upstairs together as Dan describes the building, the townhouse itself (1,049 square feet, including a 376-square-foot loft), and the live-work zoning. They're out of earshot, so I can't hear whether or not they like the sexy, sexy bathroom sink.
Dan leads the couple back downstairs and the guy pauses, asks, "So, is it possible to turn the downstairs into... something else?"
Dan asks what the guy has in mind, and I'm hoping he'll say "grow-op". Please, guy, say "grow-op". The guy only wants to use the downstairs space as a personal training studio. It's quite doable, actually. There would be enough room.
The young couple leaves. They were here for three minutes. 180 seconds. Dan and I have now been here for an hour and thirty-one minutes. 5,460 seconds.
Closing time
The next twenty-nine minutes pass without any new visitors, unless they're either very small or very fast. Dan and I talk about skiing, and the effect of this season's relative lack of snowfall on the Blackcomb Glacier.
Dan checks his phone, exhales and begins the process of switching off every light, making sure the townhouse is just as the owners left it. He switches off the small-yet-elegant speakers, silencing Radio 3.
A sunny Saturday, and Dan had to spend it here. He shaved and everything. However, the gleam in his eye does not fade, as he believes that this place will still sell sooner rather than later. Perhaps he's right. After all, "anecdote" doesn't mean the same thing as "data". Real Estate: pessimists need not apply.
He lowers the blinds, which drop with a heavy, reassuring whirr. "These are very expensive," he says, "They won't just break."
I step outside, Dan locks the patio door. The open house is over. The sun is still shining, but now it's windy and cold. I try to put myself in the heads of the owners, people I've never met. I don't even know what they look like, never mind how they'll take the news of today's (non-)events. Is $649,000 too muchall things considered; or is property-Cupid just showing up late?
Dan and I shake hands and part ways. I head west on Cordova Street as he collects the Open House sign. I had earlier asked him if he rented or owned. He used to own, but sold. Now he and his significant other are renting, "Until we figure out what to do next."
The Vancouver Observer's "Real Estate" section is launching soon with more independent, in-depth reporting on the most talked about subject in town.? Stay tuned, and subscribe to our newsletter to keep current.
Source: http://www.vancouverobserver.com/city/realestate/real-estate-brokers-nightmare-empty-open-house
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