Day 3 — Tuesday, 2/2/2026 — Not‑so‑welcome Apartment

By the time I finally arrived at the apartment, I was exhausted — tired, jet‑lagged, and running purely on stubbornness. I followed the directions my host sent: enter the code at the main building door, climb to the second floor, find the lockbox. Simple enough… supposedly.

The building itself was very old. I knew to expect that, but coming from Florida where everything is new and air‑conditioned and perfectly painted, it was still a bit of a shock. The staircase to the second floor was tucked away behind a door in a narrow side hallway. The stairs were steep — very steep — and carrying two heavy suitcases up them was absolutely not fun.

When I reached the second floor, I got the key from the lockbox for this heavy, uninviting hallway door — like they needed another door to ward against aliens or gremlins or vampires… I don’t know. Of course the key wouldn’t turn. At all.

I messaged my host for help, and he told me — extremely helpfully — “You just need to turn the key.” Thank you, Captain Obvious.

I tried again. And again. Eventually, I pulled the key out slightly, and it finally turned — but even after turning it twice, the door still wouldn’t open. I texted him again. He told me to “turn it more.”

So there I was: jet‑lagged, surrounded by suitcases, half sitting and half collapsing onto the hallway floor, imagining every worst‑case scenario my brain could create. What if I never got inside? Where would I sleep? Should I just get on a plane home?

After about half an hour of struggling with that cursed key, a neighbor appeared. I asked if he knew how to open the door. He sighed like a man who had fought this battle many times and said he had to help many other people before — I wasn’t the only one.

He showed me the “technique”: wiggle the key just right, pull slightly, push slightly, pray a little, and then at the very end, apply a ridiculous amount of force. Even practicing with him, I still couldn’t get it to open.

Finally, using both hands and all the strength I had left, I managed to force the door open.

The host had told me to keep the hallway door closed, but after that experience? Absolutely not. Luckily, there are only two apartments in that hallway, and the neighbor said the person next to me just moved in so maybe she did not know the “keep the door closed to make people’s lives miserable just for fun” rule. So I felt a little better.

Then I opened the door to my apartment… and got another shock. The place looked nothing like the pictures. Maybe it was the jet lag making everything seem worse, but still. The bed wasn’t even made — the sheets were in a pile. The entire place was smaller than my bedroom back home.

I texted my host and complained about the state of the apartment. At that moment, I was ready to ask for my money back and fly home. My brain was not handling anything well.

At that moment, the world was a horrible place and the sky was about to fall, and we were all dying in brim and fire.

Thankfully, Chad and Elle talked me off the ledge, and I went to bed on my flat and lumpy pillow.

This is home.
The little top window is mine.