August 17th: Naive Apartment Hunters Are We....

I am sitting at the dinner table in the Hubner’s apartment in Pudong awaiting Zack’s phone call. Our agenda for the day is IKEA, an shopping mecca I have yet to experience. I am excited to sort through various home furnishings and see which storage units, lamps, rugs, throws, pillows, sheets, etc compliment my personality. Of course, this isn’t IKEA in Sweden...I have this horrible vision of walking into IKEA to see Chinese families road-testing the goods: slurping smelly noodles around tables, bathing babies in large flower pots, and a particularly unsettling image of a pot-bellied middle-aged man donned only in boxers while reclining on a bed smoking his pack of cigs. That’s one thing I’ve learned about living in China: have low expectations.

That’s one lesson you really need to take to heart when looking for apartments in Shanghai. After a grueling two days of apartment hunting, we finally found a place. But, it was an arduous journey that tested our future compatibility as roommates, and I must say we four passed with flying colors. The tactfulness, diplomacy, and compromise was of UN standards. We may as well been the Peace Corps of real-estate. Our agent, Tia (pronounced tea-AH!), finally pulled through in the end, but I did have to use my “you-better-step-it-up-girl” tone with her after some no-shows and dingy apartments. We gave her our specific requirements and price-range (15-20,000 RMB), but it just did not seem to register (lots of blank stares and awkward lingering eye-contact). Aimlessly wandering around Shanghai for three hours to kill time for the landlords to arrive was a standard we quickly adjusted to. On top of that, agents within Tia’s company were not allowed to share apartments, making the competition even steeper. One of her coworkers had a list of exactly what we wanted, but he would not share. I am not sure if this is standard real-estate practice, but it would seem to me that Shanghai’s largest realtor would encourage it’s agents to cooperate.

Many of the apartments we saw were decent, but would have a few quirks that absolutely do not mesh with western habits and expectations. While the pleasure of baking cookies in an oven is a comfort relatively easy to relinquish, I did not, however, want to have wash my face and brush my teeth in the bathroom sink in the hallway. Nor did Logan and I want to trek across the apartment into the main living room to get dressed since our closets had been deported there. But this story has a happy ending, but not without a little Sino-Japanese battle first. We ended up choosing this freaking fantastic apartment on the fourth floor in an expat compound called Top-of-the-City. We have christened our new home, “The Lodge” because the entire place from floor to ceiling is made of Chinese cedar, which has an industrial yet pleasant pungent smell hits you like a Maglev train going 400 mph. It oddly reminds me of my childhood because of the dozens of hamsters I brought home from Woolworth and tossed in a cage of cedar chips. The Lodge has a spacious living room, an open kitchen, three bedrooms, and massive deck that begs to have a grill and ping-pong table. But alas, my frat-tastic days of Vandy are over and I think we will just stick to potted plants and few tables and chairs like the adults we are tying to grow up to be.

After endless hours of a witnessing a passive and confused Tia, our agent morphed into a dragon in the final hours. This phoenix paced vigorously back and forth while shouting bargaining the rent down with the Japanese landlords, whom by the way HATED me because I put my feet on the couch (what was I thinking?!) and were very skeptical of the prospect of dirty Americans deflowering their immaculate wooden apartment.

After we put in the offer, Zack, Sims, Logan and I had some of our own negotiating to do with each other. The apartment is expensive, and we were retched with guilt and felt like spoiled brats living in such a nice place, especially in China. We knew that we are just out of college and don’t need such a fantastic place. But having a cheerful, comfortable and modern safe-haven to which to retreat is worth every penny. After two hours of exhaustive deliberation and adjusting the rent to meet everyone’s budget, we clinked our glasses and did some version of Three-Musketeers “all-for-one-and-one-for-all” handshake.

In the end, I am going to pay 810 USD in rent per month, which is redonkulous. But, allotting so much cash toward rent will force me to cut back in other areas, such as vigorous drinking, expensive night clubs, and other extravagances. We all concluded that we will are going to embrace domesticity and cut back. Instead of shopping for groceries at Carrefour, we will buy our produce on the street. Special deliveries from Sherpas and daily meals from Element Fresh will certainly be less frequent. I will eat a lot of baozi.

Eating aside, I think, in a way, that this apartment will help me mature and focus on the real reasons why I am here. To work my ass off, learn Chinese, and sink into Chinese culture.