Dona E. Bowens

I have an affliction known as IBP in the most exclusive circles. For those of you not in the know, that’s International Bougie Problems. What are the symptoms? Well, there are minor symptoms like getting your streaming services to work from abroad. Yes, yes get a VPN, but HBO is on to that shit. I may be internationally bougie, but I refuse to pay for a more powerful VPN that will get me full access to HBO. I’ll suffer with Netflix and Prime and continue to boycott the Apple+ that I never had. Watching sports is another IBP that I have yet to solve. I can’t miss too many more Barca matches and may have to resort to *gasp* a bootleg streaming site as soon as I update my antivirus protection. Oh, how I suffer.

But the one International Bougie Problem that has been the toughest to solve is transferring money to Uruguay for the deposit on the flat that I finally found. Before I get into all of that, can I tell you how I finally found the place? When we last left this saga, I think the owner of my first airbnb, Augusto, had offered for me to return for a long-term stay. He’d cut me a deal and problem solved. I only had to go to airbnb number two for a month, because before offering me the long-term stay, Augusto had already booked another tenant, and then return to Augusto’s. Is all this making sense? If not, don’t worry. The long and the short of it is, when Augusto came to pick up the keys from me and said, “I have something to tell you,” I knew the deal was off. After speaking with his family, he was reminded that the airbnb is his hobby at 80 years old. What would he do and how would he meet new people if he had a long-term tenant? I understood, though it was a punch in the guts. Now I had a month in airbnb the second to work out my housing situation. However, as soon as I got into the taxi that would take me to my next temporary home, I wasn’t so worried anymore. “It’s all part of the adventure,” I told myself. It wasn’t meant to be. What’s more, though I was comfortable at Augusto’s place and could have made it work long-term, I don’t think it would have ever felt like the place. At this point in my existence, for my creativity and sanity, my nest has to have a vibe beyond being serviceable.

My last hope was my friend Ali, who also happens to be my real estate agent. Ali is so good that when I sold the little tree house I’d bought back in Ohio, the proceeds of which are financing my International Bougie Problems, Ali is so good that me (the seller), and the buyer of my house, both used her as our agent. Ali had contacted me to say that being an international realtor herself with Remax, she could reach out to others who might be able to help me get situated in goddamn Montevideo. Do your thing, Ali!

And that’s how I ended up on the hands of Shira. Based out of Florida, Shira is originally from Uruguay and usually works with people looking to buy property in Uruguay, but she agreed to take on my IBP and help me to find a rental. We got on a Zoom call and she showed up late—after I reminded her— with wet hair and I thought to myself, “This woman isn’t serious. She must’ve forgotten this call.” But Shira was the only card I had left to play. She didn’t seem to know how the rental market worked in Uruguay with the insurance and whatnot, but she did tell me that there’s no licensure process to become a realtor in Uruguay, so anyone can hang a shingle out and claim to be a realtor. She said she’d investigate, and boy did she. She got back to me in 24 hours with a potential place and explained to me in great detail why I, as a foreigner and a bougie freelancer can’t get rent guarantee insurance. But despite all of that she’d already found one place willing to work with me. I forgave Shira for showing up late with wet hair to our Zoom call.

To give her an idea of the kind of place I was interested in and the price, I sent Shira this listing. And this is where the miracles, the crazy coincidences, the universe moving in my favor comes in. Shira looked at the listing and said, “OMG. That’s my friend’s place. He remodels lofts in the Old Town. Let me give him a call.”

That’s how I ended up in Old Town on Tuesday with Roberto, the owner of the flat, taking a look at the place. Well, actually, I didn’t see the place from the link above because it still has a tenant, but no worries, Roberto showed me 3 other places in the two buildings that he has on the pedestrian street in Old Town. As soon as I walked in, I knew it was the place. Roberto collects art and had beautiful pieces hanging in the hallways and throughout the flats. The buildings are old, which I like, with the original tile floors preserved and the crown molding painted in soothing green to compliment the cream walls and stained glass. Yes, this was the place. And Roberto was chatting about the painters, playwrights and writers he’d like to introduce me to. When he said, “This flat is a bit dark, but you can always go to the rooftop terrace to do your writing,” I was like, “Take my money!”

And I do want Roberto to take my money—which brings me back to the IBP that is vexing me now. The flat I want to take is a furnished loft like the one on the link, but a bit smaller and definitely cheaper. But I never imagined it’d be so hard to get money from my US account to Roberto’s. I can’t do a wire transfer unless I’m physically in a bank in the US. That’s not going to happen. PayPal might have worked but Roberto doesn’t have PayPal…the fees are stupid he says. Several months ago, a friend from Spain told me about Revolut which I signed up for a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been using it mostly to pay for groceries because my US bank charges me a fee every time I use my debit card internationally. Save money where you can, right? Roberto has Revolut and said he’d gladly take the deposit that way. After much aggravation, I finally connected not just my debit card, but my US account itself to my Revolut account and now I’m waiting 3 days for the transfer to post. As long as I get Roberto his money by October 1st, and I think I will, because things are going my way, I’ll soon be sitting bougie and bohemian, four blocks from the beach, penning my tales in a loft that fits my soul.

International Bougie Problems are good problems to have, may you be cursed with them, too.

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