Hot, Bothered and Common Sense Flushed Down the Toilet

Every euro saved is a potential future holiday. Or at least, that’s what I told myself when it came time to book our short-term accommodation in Limassol.

My partner and I had decided to move here after he got a really great job offer. Awesome. They would pay for our flights. Awesome. They would help with my visa. Awesome. They would send us a taxi from the airport. Awesome. They would not arrange accommodation… aaah, okay. So, I got work to do.

For South Africans, paying in euros from the get-go is very, very tough, so my strategy was ACAP: As Cheap As Possible. As neither of us had ever been to Cyprus I had to spend hours on Airbnb and Google Maps, trying to understand the costs, the city layout, what were the good neighbourhoods and their distance to by partner’s new work and the properties, and what was actually available. We knew from research that public transport isn’t really a thing here (no metro like other big European cities), so we’d need to hire a car.

I booked a short-term place for a month so we could settle in without the chaos of moving around. It wasn’t central, but it was much bigger than anything else in our budget. The pictures looked great, the reviews were solid, and it even had a proper bedroom, separate lounge, and big kitchen. Perfect. Well… almost perfect.

There was just one tiny, little detail: the bathroom wasn’t attached to the flatlet. It had at least been sealed off for privacy, and reviewers swore it was “manageable.” I brushed it off. “That’s absolutely fine and kinda quirky,” I told myself. “We’ll call it the Outhouse,” I said. “It’ll be fun,” I said.

I was wrong.

The bathroom was only accessible via the sweltering August heat, and since the AC didn’t reach outside, every trip to the loo meant stepping into what felt like a sauna on fire. At first, it was funny — starting our adventure with an “outhouse” — but after a month of having to “do our business” and shower in 40°C heat with humidity that clung to you like a wet blanket (or worse, wet toilet paper), the novelty had long worn off.

To make matters worse, the toilet was crammed so close to the wall that we had to sit at an angle just to, well… you know. At some point, public bathrooms started to feel luxurious compared one we had at home. That was a new low for me.

In retrospect, it was a life lesson:

1. Spend the money for nicer accommodation, especially for when it’s longer than a week.
2. Be grateful — deeply, deeply grateful — for indoor bathrooms.