A Russian-speaking expat hunts for a rental in the Netherlands: a tragicomedy in three acts

Every year thousands of Russian-speaking professionals arrive in the Netherlands. Some move from Russia, some from Ukraine, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Israel, Cyprus or Germany. Some have an offer from ASML, Booking, ING or Shell; some are starting their own business.

They all make the same mistake: they think the hardest part of the move is gathering the paperwork. In fact the hardest part is finding a flat.

Act one: the optimism phase

It usually starts the same way. The expat-to-be opens Pararius or Funda and sets the filters: Amsterdam, 2 bedrooms, furnished, no more than €2,000, ideally near an international school, dog allowed, parking.

After which about three listings remain on the screen. Two of them are already let, and the third exists purely to keep hope alive in humanity.

Welcome to the Randstad — the conurbation of Amsterdam, Rotterdam, The Hague, Utrecht and the towns around them. In theory it’s home to about half the country’s population; in practice, to roughly 95% of all expats, because this is where the international companies are.

The upshot: a Russian-speaking techie from Moscow, a Ukrainian engineer from Kyiv, an Indian developer from Bangalore and an American manager from Boston all apply for the same 68-square-metre flat at once. And lose out to a Dutch couple with two bicycles and permanent employment contracts.

The dream meets the prices

Many expats share one dream: “I want to live in Amsterdam, by a canal.” After three months of searching, the dream mutates into: “I’ll settle for Almere, as long as the station is no more than twenty minutes’ walk.”

A decent two-bedroom flat these days often goes for €2,500–4,000 a month. After a few viewings, many Russian-speaking expats grasp for the first time what the Dutch word gezellig really means — because a 55-square-metre flat somehow has to fit two adults, a child, a dog, a home office, a guest room, ideally a little gym or a soaking bath, and their dreams for the future.

If an expat has children and a budget, sooner or later they wash up in Amstelveen. This is where you’ll find the international schools, the Russian-speaking families, and the people who’ve stopped saying the rent out loud.

Utrecht: the backup Amsterdam

Many come to view a flat, then start doing the budget maths (rent, utilities, service charge, commuting) — after which they start taking an interest in Utrecht, which fairly earns the title of backup Amsterdam.

For a long time Utrecht was a secret, and in the end it wasn’t only Russian-speaking IT expats who were in on it. These days Utrecht is where people try to live who didn’t find a place in Amsterdam; who don’t want to pay Amsterdam prices; who work in Amsterdam. Which is exactly why prices there are gradually catching Amsterdam up.

Rotterdam: the last island of common sense

More and more Russian-speaking expats are moving here. For the same money you can usually get more square metres, a more modern home, a parking space — sometimes even a storage room. For someone who’s spent the last few months looking at Amsterdam listings, a storage room starts to feel like a luxury.

”Prove you’re rich enough”

The landlords’ favourite attraction is called “prove you’re rich enough to rent this flat.” A typical document pack looks like this:

employment contract;
salary statement;
copy of your passport;
bank statements;
a letter from your employer;
sometimes references from your previous landlord.

After which the owner informs you: “We’ll consider your application — along with 84 others.”

Stage one — disbelief. “The agent must be trying to trick me.” No. But the agent is probably in a mild depression of their own about the state of the market.
Stage two — haggling. We grew up with the idea that abroad, everyone haggles: “Any chance of €200 off?” Very likely there are another ten hopefuls behind you, ready to pay more — so no, you don’t get the discount.
Stage three — acceptance. Having sadly worked out how little of your salary will be left: “Fine, I’ll take it.” Usually, at exactly that moment, the flat has already gone to someone else.

The dog: a category of discrimination all its own

Especially if it isn’t a decorative Pomeranian but something larger. Russian-speaking families often move with pets. To the rental market, that’s roughly like turning up to a job interview and mentioning that you occasionally light bonfires in the living room.

Banning a pet outright isn’t always legally simple. But in practice the landlord can just pick another candidate — which is what they do.

The real secret to renting successfully

Here’s the surprising part: in the Netherlands, a flat doesn’t go to whoever wrote first, or whoever offered the most (though that has happened) — it goes to whoever looks the least troublesome. So the ideal candidate looks roughly like this:

works at an international company;
has a permanent contract;
doesn’t smoke;
no pets;
no children and no plans for any;
no musical instruments;
no wish to change anything in the flat;
ideally, no physical needs whatsoever.

The finale

Six months after the move, a remarkable metamorphosis takes place. The very person who once fired off 70 rental applications starts advising the new arrivals: “The main thing is to start looking early.”

They nod, and don’t listen. And a few months later they’re firing off 70 rental applications of their own.

That’s how traditions endure in the Netherlands — alongside the bicycles, the rain, and the chronic housing shortage, which the authorities have made worse by passing a sea of restrictions on private landlords and all but forcing them out of the market.