My Beijing Apartment

This is the outside of my building from the back alley.

After three weeks of class at Beijing University, where I lived in a hotel, I moved into an apartment I found listed online. I'm kind of low maintenance... (That's not the right word. I sign up for undesirable situations on purpose?) ... so I was far from dismayed to see the place for the first time when I moved in. 

The way I describe my place to my friends who still live in hotels is that it's where normal, lower-middle-class people live. It's on a sidestreet with overflowing trash cans, too many idling taxis, a knife-sharpening business in a questionable alley, and a couple noodle shops. The fruit market always smells rotten, but I still buy mangoes and lizhi there. Stray animals wander around. And the many, many old people who sit on the street all day openly stare at me. They either yell "Foreigner!" at me, or whisper "beautiful girl..." like I can't hear either. You know, if they reversed the volume on those, it'd be blatant racism and street harassment, but seeing how it's genuine surprise and admiration, I'll let it go.

My particular building is old, six stories because any more and it would need an elevator, painted red, and could use some upkeep. I'm on the first floor, so I don't have to endure the dusty, creepy staircase with sound-activated lights for very long. But it's there.

Inside, the apartment is small, and wallpapered in hot pink. Like, Hello Kitty pink. There's a bed in the hallway, which was supposed to be mine, but I got upgraded to one of the two bedrooms. That story is forthcoming! There's a tiny kitchen and a tiny bathroom. It's old and not very clean. There's nothing specifically gross about the place... it's just China, okay?

Pink and flowery.

The first few days I took cold showers. Not on purpose. I just didn't realize how fickle the hot water machine is. It's in the kitchen, and you have to plug it in, turn on the kitchen light, and let the kitchen faucet run for a few minutes before going into the bathroom to use the shower. Silly me for not knowing that!

I'm happy here, I'm comfortable, and I've learned to call this place "home."

This is the street entrance to my building. People congregate here every day to play cards, look after children as a group, drink tea, eat meals, and comment on this American girl every time she walks by.

Do you know where "home" is?  It's the place where, when you're walking after work in 100 degree heat after a day of reading banking regulations and you're in a complete daze and can't remember the last twenty minutes of your life including how you crossed ten busy roads, and suddenly you snap out of it and find yourself 30 meters above the Third Ring Road on a pedestrian overpass that leads to your sidestreet... that's when you know it's home. Because you can find it unconscious and blindfolded.