Monday 06 September – Mt Eden, Auckland.
It's 6:35 and Eleanor has gone for a pre-work stroll, but I'm still in bed. I might have dozed off for a few minutes after she left as I'm drifting between dream and lucid thought as the building starts to wake. At first I'm not sure if the noises are real or just the dying elements of an already forgotten dream. Daylight is filtered into the room through and around heavy red drapes that are two stories tall. Shapes and sounds are fuzzy and not yet familiar; it is our second morning in this space.
From silence I hear the rush of water, I immediately think it is raining out and hope Eleanor has a coat, on closer listen and I realise the sound is coming from somewhere on the inside of the building. It is not any of our neighbours showers, it seems to come from deeper in the fabric, past our front door; seemingly coming from above and below simultaneously.
There is a loud metallic thud from somewhere in the walls, immediately followed by another, I listen intently but there are no further repeats, only that sound of rushing water. A loud ting follows a few minutes later, like an old water-filled radiator heating up, ting, ting, ting. There are no radiators, or anything else in the 'loft style apartment' (tm) that could make that noise. I wonder where it is coming from. Every sound seems to echo more than is natural, this building is all square edges and concrete, sound is not absorbed; maybe it travels with the water through the pipes, only to appear for ears that are awake to hear it. There is a creak, gentle yet grinding, humming away in the background, competing with the water for my attention. I can only focus on one at a time, allowing the other to fade until the focus swaps.
Just before Eleanor returns 40 minutes after departing the building is fully awake, and I start to hear the noises of people moving about; doors banging and footsteps of neighbours on the sheet iron stairs. identifiable and placeable sounds. The underground noises of the building stretching into its day fade away. I lie here for five more minutes and wonder if this 1930s warehouse now converted into 'loft style apartments' (tm) wakes itself from memory, shaking and stretching a long lost limb before realising its glory days are gone and rolling back over to sleep some more. Much as I want to do.
We moved into the 'loft style apartment' (tm) in Mt Eden on Saturday and are here for three weeks. Before moving in we contemplated extending the stay, and while the apartment is nice enough there is only one space (due to it being a 'loft style apartment' (tm)), which is impractical for both of us, especially with Eleanor working from home during the day.
The place was advertised as a 'loft style apartment' which we find rather amusing as it is on the ground floor, and the floor is probably just below street level. I guess they want some of that edgy New York feel, most of the flats in the building seem to have been advertised for sale using similar wording. I tried to find some information on the history of the building, but there is very little. It appears to have been built in the 1930s and was possibly converted into flats in the last decade. I found reference to it once being a warehouse for the Farmers Trading Co. which would be ironic as we may move to a flat in the old Farmers department store building when we leave here.
The building doesn't excite from the outside, and the common areas are a bit dark and bleak, verging on the shabby.
The interior is OK; all white paint, concrete and light wood. it has been decorated in a slightly edgy New York style loft theme as well. I love the acoustic guitar, de rigueur in all the best rentals in 2021. It will remain unplayed during our stay, though I should not be speaking for Eleanor here so perhaps it will have its strings caressed.
The view out those huge windows is of a construction site, which maybe in keeping with the broader theme, though I suspect that is purely coincidental.
With just one open-plan space, other than the modern and dark bathroom, it would perfect for one person. Sadly, however, we are two persons.
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