The first week, part three

11 January 2008

The Rocky Housing Horror Show

Met my very friendly, extremely helpful and lovably ditzy interpreter Shelly on Friday morning outside the shiny big mall that holds my office. Aided by two indefatigable estate agents (one of them a girl from Mongolia with funky hair who demonstratively laughed at the Beijing winter by sporting short sleeves and a blazer), we were to embark on an odyssey of the bearable, and not-so bearable, of what Beijing’s rental market has to offer.

Over the space of two days (on both of which I was spectacularly late into work) we viewed a total of eight apartments in the Zhongguancun area. Of those eight…

... five were in older buildings (presumably built in the 1950s or 60s) with staircases that, from the amount of people passing through them (and spitting in them!) every day, were so completely and utterly rundown and filthy they reminded me of cellars but not house entrances.

... three were in the same complex of massive, new high/rise buildings in between Microsoft and the subway line in to town.

... six had a wet room as opposed to a bathroom with a separate shower and toilet. Of those six, most of them had not only the toilet but also the sink pretty much right under the shower, no partitions or anything. Oh, and one of them had not a sit-down, but a squat toilet. All but one of the wet rooms were tiny, barely lit tile enclaves. Not so attractive.

... two had the toilet separated from the (in both cases tiny) shower cubicle.

... five were most randomly furnished, with the fridge in the living or entrance area, with the furniture and barely existent decoration looking more than tired. In most of these the flooring was those hospital-style tiles, the wallpaper was coming off and the place generally didn’t look the cleanest.

So basically I saw five kips and three fancier, "luxury" apartments.

The three fancier ones (all in the aforementioned complex) were decked out with modern furniture, floors and appliances. Two of the flats, unfortunately, were studios of barely 40 square metres but because of the location and their general niceness, still went for RMB 3200 a month each. (The other five were between RMB 2200 and 2900, depending on whether they were complete hellholes or just a bit old.)

One flat, however, like the other two nice ones, had wooden floors, new (and tasteful!) furniture and, best of all, over 50 sqm of space. It was also decorated with just the right dose of princess, which, pretty much made me fall in love with it instantly. Trouble was, however, that Shelly found the apartment far too dear at RMB 3200, and convinced me to keep looking even when the agents offered to decrease their fee, bringing the annual rent down to RMB 3100. This was at lunchtime on Friday, and since I’d allowed myself to be talked into more viewings, the horror show went on, and I saw another four less-than-bearable places. By Saturday afternoon, after the 8th viewing, I was able to convince her to get back in touch with the agents and landlord, and, much to my luck, the apartment was still available.

A deposit was paid, a contract signed, and I was able to move in first thing on Monday, after lots of hassle and seemingly endless negotiations.

I’ve now been living there for a week and couldn’t imagine a nicer place for myself. The apartment does have a wet room, but it’s more like a massive shower cabin with a glass door and curtain that has a toilet in it. The sink, along with a lovely mirror and handy little cabinet, is separate. Plus, ever since I’ve moved in, I’ve been keeping it meticulously clean, mopping after every shower to give myself the illusion of it being a regular bathroom. (I quickly informed the boyfriend, too, that, as my guest, he is not going to have number twos while showering.)

While I was and still am very happy to have found this very lovely and centrally located place (*), this whole affair also shocked me a bit in that I realised the stark difference in living standards and the very modest circumstances that a lot of Beijingers still live in. It saddened me to see that, in the age of the property boom and with fancy, expensive malls everywhere around them, for many in the city this lifestyle remains out of reach. My flat probably costs as much as some people get paid a month, and some of the small goofs about my place (for example the gaps between some of the parquet pieces, unacceptable in a German flat) show how far removed this way of living is for the people who have worked on putting it together.

The boyfriend was due to fly back to Dublin on Wednesday morning, so he was able to help me check out of the blasted hotel and move into my new home on Monday morning.
After a long taxi haul with at least two more bags than I remember going on the plane with, when I’d let the last one sink to the floor and sat down on the couch, I felt like I was finally able to say,

Wo zhu zai Beijing – I live in Beijing.

(*) situated in between Microsoft and the number 13 subway line into town, 10-15 minutes to work by bus, 25 minutes on foot. Walmart 5 minutes walk. Only two days of flat hunting, and I already sound like an agent!

Entrance hall - with a pink kitchen, like in those Japanese horror films.

Yes, 'tis a wetroom, but trust me, it's by far the nicest of the bunch.

Can't go wrong if Totoro likes it!

The princess room

13 January 2008

Intercultural communication

The evening before I was due to move into my new palace, Himself met me during my lunch hour, and we had a little stroll through the lovely mall I work in. In the basement, there appeared to be some sort of fashion show happening, so we stopped by. Indeed it turned out to be a bridal wear presentation, with some breathtakingly gorgeous (and at times slightly over-the-top) dresses. Needless to say I was speechless, staring at the runway with a big grin on my face (and probably a Homer Simpson-esque bit of drool hanging from the corner of my mouth). Of course I noticed the look of fear and terror on Himself, but decided to ignore it. It wasn’t until later that he told me how there was another, local couple standing right behind us. Apparently Himself had turned around briefly (possibly to scan the area for an easy escape route) and had noticed the girl in gawking at the dresses in complete awe just like myself, while her boyfriend had little beads of sweat running down the side of his face. When noticing an equally frightened fellow male, the local guy apparently raised his eyebrows at my guy as if to say “I know what you’re going through”, which was met with an appreciative nod of resignation by my boyfriend.

Blokes- the same everywhere!

Bis dann,

Nadine