There are times when one forgets that one is in China, times when one starts to feel a level of comfort in China, times when one falls in love with the different, unique aspects of Chinese culture, and times when one would rather set fire to a Hutong, then throw themselves into it, than deal with the cultural divide.
Welcome to apartment hunting in China.
Looking for a new abode is never fun, but looking for an apartment in China is a very special, highly developed form of torture that renders most people substantially more paranoid and less humane than before they began their quest.
As of now, I have gone apartment hunting three times. I am now wiser, to both the market and the wiles of real estate agents. All of this does me exactly no good, as now I have to acquiesce to the unfair practices with impotent fury instead of confused naivete.
Lesson 1: Dalian: Things can always get creepier
This was my first time looking for an apartment. With little language skills and absolutely no knowledge of the renting market, I somehow managed to get a fair price for a beautiful apartment, albeit after a series of bizarre days.
Day 1: Me vs. the Communist Apartments
Standing outside of the communist, unrenovated grayish-white blocks, I was caught up in the history of it all. Imagine what these blocks have seen! Imagine the lives that these people lived! I wanted to be part of it, I wanted to eat cabbage and rice, I wanted the full Mao experience. I could, for sure, rough it for a few months.
Then, as I walked past the stacks of dried cabbage lining the hallway, noted the crazy maze of pieced-together, patched pipes and finally entered the dismal, tiny apartment, my little capitalistic heart fought back and won over my common sense.
--
Day 2: Me vs. future murder crime scene apartments
By the end of this day, my real estate agent's will had been broken. Every apartment was exponentially more disturbing than the apartment before it.
Apt 1) A giant teddy bear painted on a hot pink wall — I was told that this apartment "was meant for girls."
Apt 2) A studio apartment with the walls to the bathroom made of entirely see-through glass — "very modern Chinese building."
Apt 3) An apartment with a massage table in the middle of it.
Apt 4) A studio apartment with three middle-aged Chinese men hanging out in it.
This was the final straw for my poor real estate agent. She opened the door to find three older men staring blankly at us, she slowly closed the door and could only look at me with mute horror.
Day 3: Me vs. the "ridiculously expensive" day of apartments
On this day, I looked at apartments that were nice and, according to my Chinese friends, insanely expensive. They informed me that I was being tricked by my real estate agent and should find a new one. The absurd price? Around $250/month. Based on what I had seen previously, I decided I didn't care if I was being cheated.
Lesson 2: Beijing I: Deception is the name of the game
This was perhaps the most enraging of the three. Every person, landlord and realtor, lied to me. About everything. One-bedroom apartments were actually studios, 5-minute walks to apartments were actually 35-minute walks, and apartments in Guomao were actually in Shuangjing.
Lesson 3: Beijing II: Being prepared doesn't help
This time around, I was prepared. I knew exactly how much I should pay for an apartment, utilities and taxes. But it didn't matter at all, because, as my real estate agent informed me, though I knew what I should pay, other people did not, and if I didn't take the apartment for the price that they wanted, some other person would.
No comments:
Post a Comment