Annemasse: “Welcome to Beirut,” but there is “nothing left to rent”

The apartment listings in Annemasse appear like jewels behind a wet agency window, polished floors and granite kitchen islands shimmering under the lights. But nearly every promise carries the same verdict in capital letters: “ALREADY RENTED.”

A handful of people in warm clothing press their faces toward the glass, scanning the small print before turning away. One complains, “There’s never anything,” as the group disperses into the cold streets. Apart from an expensive apartment, the agency seems to have nothing left to offer, not even a modest lease for an ordinary worker.

The scene unfolds in a city shaped by Geneva’s pull. The streets are quiet on a spring morning, broken mainly by the repeated blows of a jackhammer on Rue du Mont-Blanc. The narrator imagines a rush of newcomers arriving in search of jobs and housing, carrying folders packed with proof of income, tax assessments and employment promises. They are ready to pressure agencies for a small one- or two-room apartment, yet the prospects look hopeless.

The silence also suggests another reality. Annemasse may seem empty because its residents are in Geneva at work. Meanwhile, the agencies are hiring, but newcomers cannot find somewhere to live. The commuter town is reaching its limits, with workers, cross-border earners and housing seekers competing for their own piece of concrete beneath Geneva’s shadow.

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There’s never anything.