This was a little place on North Street. I say little, but really everything we've seen is bigger than our old condo in Vancouver. Even the ones that are too small. North Street is one of the busier streets in Halifax. Only two lanes of traffic, but a steady flow of traffic to and from the bridge to Dartmouth. It was a cute house, screaming out for some love and attention. Too much love and attention for us.
The fireplace above belongs to a house on Oxford Street. It wasn't a bad house, but it wasn't great either. Some work had been done but the finishes were nothing special. It's as if they just wanted to finish it up as quick as possible with the least amount of expense. And I suppose if I was going to sell a house I might think that way too. Why waste money when someone else is going to come along and rip it all up again? It's appeal mostly lies in the fact that it has a one bedroom apartment with it's own entrance on the main floor, perfect for visiting friends or relatives. That and we really like that fireplace.
The house above is also situated on North Street. Stepping inside was like travelling through time. Knob and tube wiring all through the house, original woodwork, period furniture, giant cast iron radiators. A nice house, but not for us. Far too much work would be required to get this house in shape. There wouldn't be any shortage of room, but there probably wouldn't be any shortage of projects to keep me busy for the rest of life either. A massive undertaking for someone with more dollars to throw around. Asking $329,900.
I'm starting to wish we could take the bits we like out of these houses, and assemble the house we want from all those bits. I suppose that's why people choose to build their own houses. I don't think I'll be going that route any time soon. On the drive home from the airport the night we arrived in Halifax, I told Patty's brother Peter how stressful the last few days had been. He laughed and replied 'Try building a house.'