My husband and I moved in with 5 other people to save money while traveling in Europe. It was a disaster.

Business Insider

16-07-2025

We were two young college graduates in our second year of marriage. I was 27 and my husband 26. We had student loans, debt, and the cost of living was rising in Santa Barbara, California.
We craved a financial break—and some adventure. We'd met while studying abroad in the Middle East and got married in the late fall of 2016.
My husband's dream had always been to live in Barcelona. So, we began a nightly ritual of apartment hunting online. Every day, my excitement grew as we planned our exit strategy.
Eventually, we found an apartment in the Gothic Quarter. Though it was far from our dream apartment, the rent was the perfect price and included utilities.
We'd save nearly $850 a month compared to our apartment in Santa Barbara. We submitted our deposit and were on a flight to Spain the next month.
We didn't realize what we'd gotten ourselves into
On the first day, panic set in.
After we signed the paperwork, our landlord greeted us and gave us an apartment tour. We knew we'd have multiple housemates, but after touring the space, the reality of the situation sank in.
The agreement listed four other people, which was the number of housemates we were expecting. However, during the tour, we learned that there was a fifth honorary resident. Having an additional person felt like a giant curveball we had to navigate, as I was mentally prepared for four.
With seven people in the flat now, I knew fostering positive, friendly vibes was key to survival.
Communicating with roommates who didn't speak the same language was a challenge
Our roommates were a Renaissance man from the UK, a student from Bulgaria, two men from Morocco, and the surprise fifth housemate—a cousin of one of the Moroccans. Half of them barely spoke any English, which I quickly learned was going to be a challenge.
While I speak Spanish, not all of our Moroccan housemates knew the language. They mostly stuck to speaking Arabic. It was extremely hard trying to communicate with them, and conversations often felt like a word stalemate, a Wild West at home.
On many occasions, hand gestures were the only mode of communication. While my gestures improved, some questions were impossible to ask.
For instance, "Does your cousin who sleeps here every night pay rent?" Or "Can you please not play Parcheesi at 4 a.m.?"
We never figured this out, and clear boundaries were never set.
We had a lot of roommate issues
At times, our food would disappear, so I developed the habit of labeling every single thing. It helped some, but ultimately we stored less food and shopped more often.
Dirty plates, cookware, and utensils filled the sink, and clean dishes were sparse in the communal kitchen. I stored a set of clean dishes in our room so we always had some on hand.
What's more, there was one bathroom for all seven of us. It was a nightmare.
While spacious, the bathroom was filthy and smelled horrendous. One day, my husband went out and bought gloves, a mask, and any chemical he could find to eradicate the gunk.
He spent the next couple of hours deep cleaning what must have been months of buildup. For a week, he was deemed house hero, and two of our roommates bought him a thank-you beverage.
The last straw was the WiFi
Still, one of the biggest problems was the WiFi. It was on and off, slow and fast, and never had a consistently strong signal.
Working, studying, or watching a movie from our flat was a perpetual dilemma. I spoke with my landlord about the issue, and he apologized and sent a new network to connect on.
Turns out, one of the Moroccan roommates was hoarding the fast WiFi, leaving the slow connection for everyone else.
When I shared the new network with my other housemates, tensions rose quickly. This ongoing WiFi conflict caused fury, and a few days later, one roommate (a friend) moved out.
Within a week, three more people moved in to occupy that one room. If you do the math, there were now nine people in a five-bedroom home.
This was my breaking point. After three months of living in Barcelona, this was our sign to move out.
We left and traveled to Bulgaria and then Romania for the Christmas Markets. Shortly after we'd left Barcelona, our Bulgarian roommate sent us a message on Instagram informing us she'd moved out too.
In the long run, living with five housemates as a married couple wasn't a complete disaster. We saved money, traveled throughout Europe, and built long-lasting friendships with some housemates and other travelers along our journey.
Would we do it all over if we could? Probably not.