When the apartment speaks a language they never taught you in real-estate school

He wasn't new to the game. Danny (not his real name), an Israeli businessman in his 40s, had already invested in apartments in Israel – but over the years, as the market started to feel crowded and he felt his money could work harder, he looked abroad.

“Romania looked to me like it was developing, Greece winked at me with its mix of sea and numbers, and Ukraine – even before the war – looked like a bold opportunity,” he told me in a routine consultation that quickly turned into a deep conversation about the unexpected gaps in international property investment: not in the value of the property, not in taxation – but in the tenants themselves.

Danny bought three apartments (or at least that's what he thought):

• In Bucharest – a two-room apartment in a new project.
• In Athens – a renovated apartment in a regenerating neighbourhood.
• And in Odesa – a classic three-room apartment in a listed building.

All three were let relatively quickly, but the surprises soon started to appear. Not from the market, but from the tenants. The people you see once or twice a year (if at all), who are supposed to pay you rent regularly – but who in practice demand much more of you than you thought. And all of it because of cultural differences.

Romania – “But why don't you come and visit?”

In Bucharest, Danny let the apartment to a young couple – she's a teacher, he's a programmer. The agreement was standard: first year, signed contract, payment through the bank. Every investor's dream.

After just two months, he got an email:

“We need you to come and check the damp problem yourself. It's important to us that you feel what it's like to be in the apartment you're renting out.”

Danny thought it was a joke. A flight for damp? What am I, an air-conditioning technician? In Israel, a tenant would send a photo, maybe call – but wouldn't expect the landlord to take a flight just to “feel” the damp. But Romanians – as he learned – see the landlord as an active partner. In the local culture, the owner's physical presence matters a great deal, especially when it comes to a personal relationship.

After he didn't reply for a few days, he got an emotional phone call:

“It's very disappointing that you're not taking responsibility. A landlord needs to be present.”

That's when the penny dropped. In Romania, the landlord is seen almost as a member of the family. A lack of communication, and especially a lack of involvement, can be taken as a lack of respect. He appointed a local management company to be his “face” in Bucharest – and relations calmed down.

Greece – “It's not just your apartment, it's ours too”

In Athens, a boutique apartment in a regenerating neighbourhood was let to a 28-year-old student. Everything went smoothly – until one day, when Danny was visiting, he asked to see the apartment. The tenant refused.

“This is my house. I pay, I live here. You don’t enter without my permission.”

In Israel, plenty of tenants accept the landlord's right to check the property from time to time. But in Greece, as Danny learned, the tenant is a queen and the apartment is her kingdom.

What's more – when he tried to replace the air conditioner during the summer months to improve the property's value, the tenant insisted that no technician come in until September, because:

“August is a month of quiet. You don't make changes. You don't replace air conditioners, you don't bother the tenants.”

It turns out even an apartment has a month off. And the tenant? She won't be disturbed during it. Not even with cold air.

Ukraine – “If it isn't written, it doesn't exist”

His apartment in Odesa was let to a self-employed engineer. Everything was agreed verbally: payment in cash, a basic contract. After 5 months, the tenant decided to stop paying.

“What's the problem?” Danny asked. “We have an understanding.”

“If there's no clause obliging me to fix the shutter – why should I pay now? You didn't give me a receipt, after all. There's no proof I paid you last month.”

This is where Danny got the most painful slap in the face. He tried to talk, to explain, to persuade.

“In my country, if it isn't written, it doesn't exist. Full stop.”

In Ukraine, especially in an unstable environment, detailed written documents are a critical basis for any action. Even if there's a contract, it must include every small detail: responsibilities, dates, payment methods, how faults are repaired.

Unlike Israeli culture, which can sometimes rely on “your word,” here only documents talk.

Danny had to pay a local lawyer to evict the tenant. Today, every contract he signs in that country is drawn up by a Russian-speaking lawyer and notarised.

“I thought what works in Israel would work in Europe too. Today I understand – every market is a different world. And not just the market – the culture too.”

Renting out a property in a foreign country isn't just about knowing the tax. It's also about being able to read between the cultural lines:

• Understanding why a Romanian expects you to come and see the problem for yourself.
• Why a Greek tenant will see you as an intruder when you ask to see the property.
• And why a Ukrainian will demand a written clause for every light bulb you ask to change.

Today, Danny manages each apartment with a local representative, a tailored contract and clear expectations. But the real insight is the one he makes a point of telling new investors:

“Don't fall in love only with the numbers. Get to know the people too. Because in the end, the apartment may be yours – but the culture is theirs. If you don't understand the culture, you don't understand the deal.”

Learn to talk to the apartment. To the tenants. To the culture. Because sometimes it's right there – between the Greek air conditioner, the Romanian damp and the Ukrainian shutter – that the most important lesson about returns is hiding.

Write to me in the comments or privately – I'll be happy to share more insights and help you avoid the surprises.