housing market in port said: a broke student's rent vs. buy fever dream
look, i’m not supposed to be here. my student loan money is supposed to be for ‘educational expenses,’ but somehow i’m standing in a flat in el manara that smells like old fish and regret, wondering if i could ever possibly buy a place in this city. port said. it’s not cairo, it’s not alexandria, it’s this weird, humid, ship-watching peninsula where the air tastes like salt and diesel. and the housing market? it’s a total mind-melt.
so, renting vs buying. let’s get the brutal numbers out of the way first, like that one professor who starts the lecture with the slide you already know will fail you. i’ve been stalking local facebook groups and a godforsaken site called ‘property eg’ for weeks. a decent one-bedroom in a non-derelict building in the main areas like el manara or near the corniche will run you 2,000 to 4,000 egyptian pounds a month. that’s, like, three months of my cafeteria budget. but buying? hah. a modest apartment, if you can even find one for sale that isn’t a money pit with a view of a brick wall, starts at 3.5 million egyptian pounds. my entire family’s combined net worth, probably. the bank down the street has a ‘housing loan’ sign that feels like a personal joke.
why is it like this? well, port said isn’t just a city, it’s a living, breathing customs post. jobs here are tied to the canal, shipping, tourism that comes and goes like the tide. one month everyone’s flush with cash from a ship chandlery gig, the next month the contracts dry up. so people rent. they need to be able to leave. buying feels like tying a concrete block to your ankle in this harbor. the ‘investment’ angle is a sick joke unless you’re buying for a seasonal summer rental to people from cairo fleeing the furnace, but then you’re a landlord and i can’t even afford to be a decent tenant.
> *"just rent, ya basha. my uncle bought in ‘08 and still can’t find a buyer. the whole building is ghosts and for sale signs. port said eats speculators for iftar." - mohammed, the coffee guy at the corner who knows everyone’s business.
and the weather! forget ‘pleasant.’ the humidity here isn’t a condition, it’s a roommate. a clingy, salty one that ruins your notes, makes your hair a permanent frizz, and seeps into the cheap plaster of these old buildings. you think you’re getting a deal on a rent-controlled apartment? wait until july when the air turns into a wet blanket and your ceiling starts weeping. it’s a short drive-well, a ferry ride-over to port fouad, which is basically a weird, quiet suburb that feels like a different country. or you can zoom over to ismailia in an hour if you need to remember what a straight road looks like.
the real dirt, the stuff you only hear after the third cup of tea, is about the neighborhoods. aisha from flat 3b, who’s been here since the british left (maybe), told me: "don’t touch anything near the old fish market. you will smell fish in your dreams. and the rent is cheap because the foundation is basically sand. also, the power cuts last longer there. it’s a triple threat." she’s not wrong. you get what you pay for, and here what you pay for is often a mystery.
so what’s a person to do? you claw for a rental, you find three roommates, you accept that your ‘kitchen’ is a hot plate next to the toilet. you deal with the landlord who ‘forgets’ to fix the leak for months. and you watch these massive cruise ships and cargo vessels glide past your window, majestic and completely indifferent to your tiny financial crisis. they’re moving global trade. you’re moving your laundry from the chair to the bed. it puts things in perspective.
if you’re new here, lurk on the port said expats subreddit, but take everything with a grain of salt (and a pinch of that sea air). for actual listings, property eg is the main dump, but it’s full of agent scams and photoshop. better to just wander the streets of el gomrokya or near the european club and look for ‘for rent’ signs-old school, but less likely to be a facebook scam. and for the love of god, check the water pressure before* you sign anything. nothing says ‘welcome home’ like a shower that spits out a sad dribble.
in the end, this city isn’t built for owners. it’s built for temporary people. sailors, canal workers, students like me, tourists chasing a postcard. the housing market reflects that-a constant, swirling, slightly sticky rental pool. i’ll keep renting, watching the ships, and pretending my loan money is for ‘research.’ maybe one day i’ll buy a tiny place in port fouad. but today, i’m just trying to find a landlord who doesn’t increase the rent every six months like it’s a national sport.