The Great Unfinished Nation!

Unlike China, Australia is a great nation of home-finishings; all the windows have fly-screens, all the toilets flush, and there are no coils of electrical wires dangling into the street. One of the main reasons I left Australia was the exorbitant prices of home repairs, and the social pressure to invest in quality interior infrastructure. What attracted me to China was the promise that anyone could be a plumber, electrician or outfitter. After all, I thought, how hard can it be to smash a hole in the window with a hammer and run a television cable into your apartment?

When we first moved to the Jing, we found ourselves tossing up between living in a sunny mezzanine and our Cave at Sanlitun. The way I saw it, the mezzanine had yellow silk curtains that shimmered in the breeze, and a private roof-top enclave, where I envisioned reclining on over-stuffed cushions amongst twisted vines and smoking apple-flavoured tobacco from my hookah. The deciding factor for my more earthy partner however, was that the landlord of the mezzanine insisted his renovations were finished.

To side with my partner, I will concede that the mezzanine was littered with empty paint tins and wood shavings, and there were large holes covered by pieces of cardboard in the second-story floor. It also had a suspiciously wobbly balustrade, windows that wouldn’t lock or close, a toilet pipe that pointed in the wrong direction for effective flushing, and no hot water in the kitchen. In turn, the Cave at Sanlitun does have polished wooden floors, non-fluorescent light-fittings, hot water pressure, windows that close, and enough heaters to survive the winter.

As the months have passed however, the absences of light and yellow silk curtains have caused the small imperfections of the Cave to encroach on my state of well-being. The tiny gaps in the walls and screens have paved the way for many a curious roach, and our midsummer night dreams are filled with the operatic whine of mosquitoes. I also fear that between repairing the door handles and trying to contain a rebellious shower-curtain rod, I’ve neglected our rock in the bathroom drain, leaving it subject to asphyxiation by hairballs and grey mush.

It is possible that my unwillingness to fork out an extra couple of grand a month may be the root of all my problems, but I keep returning to the nagging thought that this lack of finesse goes deeper. After all, my friend pays twice the rent I do, and all the tiles in his newly refurbished bathroom dislodged from the walls a couple of months after he moved in; and the luxurious multi-million dollar ‘gold’ mall in the Village at Sanlitun has sewerage pipes sticking out of its exterior.

When it all gets too much, I just remind myself why I came here in the first place. I now have nearly three years of practical plumbing and electrical experience, which puts me in good stead to get an apprenticeship when I go back home. After all, what other Australian can unblock a drain with a pair of chopsticks!