The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Money
I’ve ditched my Spanish holiday let – it was a catastrophe
While I’d allowed for voids, I hadn’t prepared for a 110week Covid hiatus
Based on the average age of buyers on the television show A Place in the Sun (my guilty pleasure), my partner and I were relatively young when we bought our holiday rental in Spain.
We weren’t flash or rich when we bought it, but we were naive and able to take out a mortgage in another country. Equipped, at that time, with two good UK salaries and what we thought to be a long and prosperous relationship with Europe (we’d only ever known free movement within the bloc), we hurtled ahead and signed a gazillion papers in Spanish.
We don’t speak Spanish, but we didn’t let that little fact interfere with what we decided would be a good way to invest for our future retirement home in the sun. In any case, interpreters are readily available to Britons willing to part with cash in pursuit of Spanish charms. How much of the 45- page mortgage document they actually translated and we understood is a moot point.
Our initial foray into letting our holiday home was easy. The developers had a management company and as we were novice investors (this was prior to me becoming a full-time landlord), they took over the whole enterprise and deposited a healthy amount into our bank account every month, which covered the mortgage and costs.
But then the developer went bust. Soon after, the swimming pool – the main attraction of our complex – sprang a leak. The next seven years saw various legal battles, with the managing agents and developers arguing over who was responsible. The owners were left to foot the bill. The apartment was rented for a pittance to locals and it barely scratched the surface of the mounting costs. The icing on the cake came when we fell into negative equity.
Fast- forward a few years and our enthusiasm was reignited. The swimming pool was fixed, I renovated the apartment and holidaymakers came flocking. Then Covid hit. While my business plan had allowed for voids, I had not made provision for a 110-week hiatus. I had also not allowed for the big jump in tax, now that UK nationals are no longer EU citizens, or the additional licensing and raft of admin that was introduced.
Add to all that the enhanced cleaning regimes, longer turnaround times, and the knowledge that our future retirement home came with visiting limitations timewise, and I started to question whether the plan was still on track.
When I visited again to inspect our holiday home before we commenced re- letting, it was with a heavy mixture of emotions. The place looked gorgeous, the town was thriving and every thing looked pristine and happy – just how you want a holiday to be.
But still there was a niggle that niggled and wouldn’t stop niggling. “Is this really what you want?” was a question that plagued me, along with, “How do the sums stack up?” and, “Is the additional admin worth it?” And finally, “Are visitor expectations now beyond your reach?”
And what did these changes mean in terms of my quality of life?
Like any judicious holiday- home owner, I took my dilemma to the pool with a glass of wine in hand. And it was there I recalled the joyous comments I had received over the years, the happiness our home had created. Then I remembered some of the off days: the late-night calls because the lavatory was blocked or a cockroach had appeared.
It was over my second glass that I realised if I continued with this “dream” there was no respite. Holiday letting is not like buy-to-let, it’s a turbocharged environment where expectations and the level of service demands are ridiculously high.
I mused over these niggles and pondered into my ever- diminishing wine bottle. But it was when I spied a missing pool tile that I felt my stomach lurch.
I leapt from my sunlounger and inspected further. There were only a few tiles missing, but the decrepit greying grout was enough to tip the balance. Post- Covid holiday letting was going to be tough, but I had absolutely no intention of footing a big pool maintenance bill ever again. My place in the sun is now owned by a German.