Apartment Hunt - take two

It has been a while since I blogged on here, during which time I've been chased around the Philippines by a typhoon (I swear that is true); have had my UK bank account blocked (apparently it is okay to use my cash card everywhere from Argentina to Morocco to probably Outer Mongolia, but use it in HK and they get suspicious); returned early from a trip to view an apartment I'd already viewed (small mistake by a well-wisher there), and done battle with Orange long-distance (despite promises, they didn't switch off my account when they were supposed to). I have rowed in a quad that came as close to sinking as boats come - flip flops were floating around and getting in the way of sliding seats there was that much water; I've waffled my way through an hour's lesson on two books I've never read before in my life; I've successfully been totally lost in the IFC shopping mall not once but twice. In addition to these fun activities, I have viewed every single apartment available to rent on Lamma right now - I could in fact write an extremely tedious book on the subject. I could mention the buttercup yellow kitchen units in one, the 'third bedroom' that wouldn't fit a baby's cot, the 'quiet, peaceful' one that comes complete with two permanently yapping neighbours' dogs and a near perfect view of the power station. (Which reminds me, one entertaining quirk of Lamma that says an awful lot about the general attitudes towards Green and the Environment over here: Lamma has HK's main power station situated on it. It also has HK's sole wind farm. That's right, just the one. A rather futile token gesture).
Anyway, I could go on about all of that - and trust me, there is a lot more I could rant about as well - but I won't. I'll just mention that, as someone put it very well in an email to me, I've had my Virginia Woolf moment. I've found that room of my own, my space, my new version of reality to try on for size. The accommodation itself in the one bedroom apartment leaves a few things to be desired - a slightly dodgy 1960s style bamboo bar, and an exceedingly dodgy black wire cage-like structure serving as kitchen storage space - but the real deal is if you go up above the rooms. To my private roof terrace that comes equipped with what is arguably the best view in all of Hong Kong, and is indisputably the finest sun bathing spot in the entire city. Yes, I paid for a sunbathing spot. And you seem surprised?
I have a south facing balcony, I have the ultimate 'room with a view'. As of Wednesday, anyhow, all this is mine for a year. I plan on filling it with the cheap delights of Ikea (since a year is about their acceptable life-span before Things Fall Apart - getting in as many literature references as possible here), partly because yes, they are cheap, and partly because Ikea apparently delivers to the island which makes my life SO much easier.
From next weekend, when I'll have moved in and added all those womanly touches (well, an enormous throw to diguise the positively vomit-inducing black leather pimp sofa), I will be a Proper Person over here. Working - working in the loosest possible sense of the word - and, complete with my monthly resident's ferry card, living in my own place on Lamma. It is two weeks since I arrived and I'm thoroughly exhausted, totally clapped out to be exact, but it has been worth it in the end. To all of those who said, 'it'll be okay in the end... it always is', yeah, okay, you were right. Feel smug. For a moment. Okay, that's long enough. Big-headedness is not an attractive feature.
I've been meaning to blog away on here, have some cracking ideas and titles for posts ('I Love You' is going to be a corking missive, I feel), but have been Dead by the time I've arrived in bed. Tomorrow I don't need to set an alarm - I cancelled rowing, and have nothing specific to do. I think I'll visit the Goldfish Market. Who amongst us doesn't feel inspired by such a concept??
Before I forget: the women who sit around en masse on Sundays are Filipino maids. They get booted out for the day, often told they aren't allowed back to the house before 9pm. They do go to the parks - and when it rains, there are real issues of where all the women go. I like Filipinos. They are genuinely the nicest bunch of people I've ever encountered, their kindness brought home to me especially when I went here from HK where everyone seems determined to be as rude as possible (honestly, the number of doors that have been let slam in my face - people just don't LOOK to see if someone might possibly be exiting the building immediately behind them). I think I'll invite a batch to my roof terrace on Sundays. They provide me with a meal, I provide them with a picnic spot. Win-win situation.
And now I'm signing off - just thought I'd let the world know in general that I haven't died out here. Look forward with eager anticipation to a full-on rant when my energy levels are back again.

A few obervations

I'm so stressed about the decided lack of apartment that I managed all of two hours' worth of sleep last night. That is today's excuse for inevitable witterage... Just thought I'd mention a few of these points while I remember them:

1. On Sundays, the raised walkways of Central (if you know HK, you know what I mean here - otherwise, imagine a jungle of escalators and walkways that enable the pedestrian to pass through a good few thousand miles or so of downtown Hong Kong without going anywhere near something as tedious as a side street) are packed with women. Not shopping, or begging, or doing whatever else it is you anticipated there. They're sitting in their droves on neatly placed sheets of cardboard, picnicking out of enormous hampers with their female friends and family. Cards are played, food is eaten, gossip is undertaken - at least 99 out of 100 of these people are female. At least. Why on earth people go picnicking in the middle of a pedestrian walkway is a msytery to me: go to one of the endless parks, catch a ferry to an island, surely those are slightly more appealing options?

2. the Hong Kong Chinese bods have to be among the dopiest bunch of people I've ever met. At least a fair portion of them are anyway. Case one: if there is, for example, a fish stall at the side of a road, there will inevitably be one or two people just standing there looking at the fish. They've apparently no intention of buying the fish, they're just looking at them, clogging up the pavement. (The fish are thoroughly dead, by the by). In addition to this 'standing around doing nothing', they have a total inability to move out of the way of oncoming people. Even the tiniest, slightest Chinese lady can take up an entire sidewalk. The whole thing is beginning to get on my nerves just a little.

3. I just went around a supermarket and I swear I have no idea what at least fifty per cent of the products are. And on the food front, never buy a yogurt drink here (if you expect it to taste like something from the UK at least), and don't look for an oven in your rented apartment. I just visited a colleague's swanky apartment and even he doesn't get an oven. (Written as if my culinary treats rely on the presence of an oven).

4. There was definitely a '4' when I started this list but my brain is so dead I can't remember for now what it was. I'll get back to you in the next exciting installment. Possess your souls in patience, dear readers.

Apartment Hunt - take one

Well, I ventured out to Lamma Island today (promised haven of bookshops, veggie restaurants, beaches, and bargainous properties). Thanks to the hotel receptionist providing me with a map the size of a postage stamp, it took me 45 minutes to locate the metro only 500metres from here - Hong Kong appears to be one of those frustrating places that only bothers to signpost things when you can see them anyway. Metro spat me out in Central, again with a decided lack of signage that left me wandering for another 45 minutes instead of the 5 required to find the ferry terminal. It wasn't possible to see more than a few dozen metres at most courtesy of the smog/cloud/mist that appears to be a fairly standard feature of this city, resulting in ships appearing somewhat eerily out of the gloom mere inches from our sputtering ferry.

Within ten minutes of arriving I was checking out my first apartment. At least now I have a benchmark I suppose... The 'green view' I was promised turned out to be a banana tree battling to get in at the window in the living room (the estate agent tried to sell me the idea of reaching out and plucking a banana for breakfast), the rooms were horrendously filthy, and the fridge and stove conceivably harked back to the very earliest examples. Features included a wicker wardrobe and an external clothes drying rack. I'm not sure what exactly I was expecting, but something which represents a slight upgrade on this particular pad is certainly required.

Four estate agents proved to have remarkably little of interest - one point blank refused to show me one of the apartments, I think on the basis it is at the top of a 'large hill' (mild slope even by my standards) and they honestly couldn't be bothered to lug their carcass up there.

The plan is to head back again tomorrow, either hoping that I somehow missed an estate agent's window or that new places magically appear overnight. Right now, I think I need to focus on turning my Negative Energy into Positive Energy... As an aside, it is poll day on Hong Kong. The lady who was elected last time on Lamma wins again, basically because not a single person stood against her. I don't think this was much to do with any particular brilliance on her part, rather the general overall laid back nature of the residents. I'm exhausted. Anyone who knows a shop that sells new leases on life, do let me know.

So, who are you?

Wow, the pressure... to write something readable, to produce a post that will have people bothering to come back... None of this made any easier by the fact I'm thoroughly embedded in a cold right now and feeling particularly pathetic today.
Hopefully, that'll have granted me the sympathy vote at least. If you're an American reader, chances are that you'll be thinking, 'aww, poor chickadee, all gunged up with cold and yet battling bravely to produce a posting. Let's hope she finds her positive energy again soon.' The Brits amongst you, however, will be vaguely wondering why I'm bothering to produce a post at all if I'm really that ill, and if I'm not that ill then shut up and get on with it. A slightly stereotypical observation, but nevertheless grounded in reality. For some reason I was thinking about that TV show yesterday, 'Britain's Got Talent' - the one where a mobile phone salesman shook all the viewers up just a little with his perfect rendition of, 'Nessun dorma.' Likewise, a wee lass called Connie - a six year old half pint - silenced everyone with a pitch perfect performance of, 'Somewhere over the rainbow.' The mobile phone guy, Potts was his surname, simply announced he was There to Sing Opera.

Now switch over to the 'America's Got Talent' I just stumbled across. The acts I saw were, frankly, a ghastly concoction of all that is loathesome about America. Even children as young as eight were essentially saying that darn, they were pretty brilliant weren't they and check out how THEY could shake their booty. Dear God. If you ask me, the contestants I saw were - aside from those who were merely classifiable as lunatics - skilled, not talented. They had practised enough times to Get It Right On The Night. Our Potts guy, damn he was incredible. People who know nothing about opera even realised this.

I was definitely coming to a point here but it seems to be alluding me right now. Something to do with the brash and crass nature of most Americans, who seemed intent on rewarding 'beauty' (anorexic girls with enough make-up to create attractive gremlins), rather than talent. This is just the impression I get from multiple television shows and numerous encounters with our cousins acoss the pond: sit in a cafe anywhere in Oxford and you'll be able to hear the Americans conversing, and if you are unable to distinguish the accent then they're the ones who use phrases such as, 'and how did that make you feel?' every third sentence. Probably in an insincere voice while they eye up the cute waiter hovering in the background. (Hang on, I said Oxford. No cute waiters there - I'll save you the effort, ladies, I've already checked).

Have I annoyed anybody out there yet? Awesome. Stereotypes are frustrating as hell, aren't they? They are basically grounded in a little truth and a great deal of 'pop psychology', the kind of ludicrous information filed away in self-help books. You know the type of thing: How To Get the Man of your Dreams; How To Keep the Man of your Dreams; How to Get Over the fact the Man of your Dreams was actually the Man of your Nightmares. The point of this post, I think, is to try and get everyone to stop making judgements - yes, this is especially directed at you readers who claim to be 'open minded', i.e. the ones who say, 'I like to think of myself as fairly relaxed, but...' and proceed to annihilate the character of some poor soul across the room. Everyone has the potential to be more than the sum of their parts, more than the mere flesh and blood of which we consist - shown by the likes of one Mr Potts who was just there to sing a bit of opera. Maybe we liked him because he was sincere, and sincerity is so darn rare these days.

I'll end this dubiously down-beat post with a poem. And a thought for each of you to turn over in your minds before you fall asleep tonight: are you who you want to be?

Because your eyes were two flames
And your brooch wasn't pinned right,
I thought you had spent the night
In playing forbidden games.

Because you were vile and devious
Such deadly hatred I bore you:
To see you was to abhor you
So lovely and yet so villainous.

Because a note came to light,
I know now where you had been,
And what you had done unseen —
Cried for me all the long night.


POR TUS OJOS ENCENDIDOS... (Verso XIX)

Por tus ojos encendidos
Y lo mal puesto de un broche,
Pensé que estuviste anoche
Jugando a juegos prohibidos.

Te odié por vil y alevosa:
Te odié con odio de muerte:
Náusea me daba de verte
Tan villana y tan hermosa.

Y por la esquela que vi
Sin saber cómo ni cuándo,
Sé que estuviste llorando
Toda la noche por mí.