When I finally walked out of my marriage, I had no plan — only a suitcase and a friend willing to take me in. I was lucky. Truly lucky. But I also had no idea that the next few months would turn apartment hunting into one of the strangest, most exhausting chapters of my life.
The day I left home, closing the door on a long marriage behind me, I moved in with a friend. I'm grateful to be surrounded by generous people, and grateful that Zsolti could offer me the entire upper floor of his sizable house. I could have stayed as long as I wanted — but living there long term was never the goal, even if I had no clue back then what came next.
Coming from my own home, I wasn't remotely prepared for the cost of renting. Still, I felt it deep down when the moment arrived: it was time to build a life of my own.
One in a thousand
I was not a seasoned apartment hunter. I only had a vague picture of the cozy little place I'd love to move into, plus a firm budget in my head. Then I started scrolling through the listings — and within minutes I had to face a hard truth: what I wanted and what I could afford were worlds apart.
I opened up my search to all of Budapest and the surrounding county, telling myself I'd figure out the commute if I had to. In the areas that actually suited me, there was almost nothing decent. And that's where I first met the phenomenon that would haunt me: landlords who simply never reply.
I know, I know — everyone's busy, and every listing gets a thousand applicants…
Downtown black comedy
Despite the rocky start, I found my little nook surprisingly fast — the place I thought was ideal. I'd never lived downtown, but life had other plans, and my new home became a renovated ground-floor flat in a District VI apartment building, facing a quiet courtyard.
It lasted exactly one month.
Sadly, on the very first morning, I woke up to someone screaming like an animal. I couldn't tell where the sound was coming from — or whether someone was being hurt, because that crossed my mind too.
At first I hoped it was a one-off. It wasn't. It turned out that directly above me lived a man who couldn't control his rage — arguing with himself, sprinting around the flat, scratching at the parquet, hurling chairs. And that's just a sample of what I faced day after day.
Worse still, because I work from home, I had a front-row seat to the entire show. It got so bad I couldn't concentrate on my job at all.
Horror movie
Here's the punchline: when I viewed the flat, I specifically asked whether there were any unusually loud tenants. The answer was, of course, no. Yet as I later discovered, this had been an ongoing problem for years — one the building management and residents kept trying to handle by calling the police on the gentleman upstairs.
When I flagged the issue to my landlord, guess what his suggestion was? The same thing. You can imagine that, in the emotional and physical state I was in, calling the police was the last thing I needed. And that was just one of the many oddities.
The mezzanine flat was heated by an air conditioner — and it turned out the indoor unit had been positioned so badly that it didn't warm the lower space at all. Wonderful. The solution offered to me? Plug in a space heater. As if that were a real fix for a situation like this.
A few days in, I also learned that the previous tenant hadn't really cleaned the drain, so on top of everything, I had to deal with the sewer smell rising up from it. I was genuinely starting to feel like I was living in a horror film — at horror prices.
Me, the handywoman
I'm the type who tries to solve everything. I studied the space and the airflow from every angle, consulting AI, a friend, and acquaintances in the HVAC business to make the place livable in winter. I had the drain cleaned, added sealing where there was none, and tackled every problem in a thousand other ways.
The landlord was cooperative, but I could feel his patience wearing thin. So was mine. Within the shortest possible window, I found another rental and gave notice that I'd move out at the end of the month.
I wanted to talk about the early-termination fee, since I wasn't leaving early on a whim. Naturally, I had to pay the full amount — even though I'd call this a textbook force majeure situation. At the time, I didn't have the energy to seek legal help.
And yes, I got told I was "too sensitive." I know. But I don't think enduring a madman upstairs, tolerating 17°C (about 63°F) in my living space, and putting up with the rest of the madness is part of what you should expect for the price I was paying.
Freedom — someday
The second rental seemed ideal: a view of Gellért Hill, looking straight out at the Liberty Statue, peace and quiet. Honestly, I didn't even realize I had neighbors. Bliss. On top of that, since I'd specifically searched for a place without a fixed-term lease, I was even happier.
Of course, three days later came the catch. I'm deep in work when there's a knock. The landlord and about four other people are standing at the door, saying they've come to view the flat. What flat? I asked. The one I live in? It turned out the place was for sale — they'd just forgotten to mention that little detail to me.
I immediately said this wasn't going to work and asked what exactly I could expect if someone bought the flat. I was promised it would only be sold to an investor who'd take me on as a tenant. Naturally, by the third prospective buyer it became clear that wasn't quite how it would go — one visitor was already planning where to put her dresser.
The cherry on top: these viewings often happened with no warning at all, or with someone announcing themselves half an hour before showing up at the door, or arriving half an hour late, or not coming at all.
The last straw
The sixth time they trampled through my life, it became crystal clear: I didn't want to wait for the landlord to terminate my lease, and I didn't want yet another rental either.
I'd had enough of the constant upheaval, enough of feeling so powerless. So I took a deep breath and decided that, even though I still didn't know what would happen with the house I shared with my husband, I would buy a small flat of my own.
But the string of "adventures" didn't end there. It was naive to think I'd have my own little nook just like that…
Why is renting after a divorce so difficult?
Beyond the emotional weight of starting over, you often go from owning a home to facing rental costs you never budgeted for. As I discovered, your expectations and what your money can realistically buy can be worlds apart.
Can a landlord sell a flat while you're renting it?
In my case, the flat was put up for sale without anyone telling me first, and buyers came to view it while I was living and working there. I was promised the sale would go to an investor who'd keep me on — but that promise quickly proved unreliable.
Do you have to pay the early-termination fee if you leave because of serious problems?
From my experience, yes — I had to pay the full amount even though I felt my situation was a textbook force majeure. At the time I didn't have the energy to pursue legal help, but it's worth knowing your options.
What finally made me decide to buy instead of rent?
After two exhausting rentals — a violent neighbor upstairs, a freezing flat, sewer smells, and endless unannounced viewings — I was done feeling powerless. That's when I decided to buy a small place of my own, even without all the answers yet.
