Does the Dead Pigeon Come with the Apartment? (Shenyang)
Our apartment was dark and dirty beyond words. Phil later said that he could hear his mother say in his ear, “Oh, Philby, no,” and that is how he knew that the apartment they were trying to provide us was truly the pits, and quiet possibly hell.
There were several inches of dust covering every surface that we could see. Dust bunnies ran like tumble weeds across the floor as our luggage was dragged in and laid down. I was speechless. Phil was speechless. There was nothing that we could say. We were dumbfounded. Shocked. I tried blinking, pinching myself, in hopes that it was just a bad dream, but it was real. All to real.
We didn’t have a refrigerator. There was no table or chairs, or any other furniture for that matter. I couldn’t see a stove at first, but we found one sitting on top of a bucket on the “balcony”. We would have had to squat to use it and would have felt quiet primitive doing so. It reminded me of one of those portable stoves that you take camping with you, except that this wasn’t a campground. This was supposed to be our home. I only peered in the bathroom, afraid of what I might find, and it didn’t look as bad as the front room, but of course, I only took a peek. The only place that could have been deemed a home was our bedroom. For some reason this particular part of the apartment was bright and somewhat clean, but it was far from homey. It’s just sad that the only thing nice we could say while standing there was, “Hey, at least we have a TV.” I don’t even know if it worked. We weren’t there long enough to found out.
Christine came running up the stairs and was very articulate about how much she detested the place and made sure to let everyone including Richard and the principal. We just nodded in agreement and decided to watch the show. We were still in shock. That’s when we found out that Christine didn’t have a western toilet and that there was a dead bird right above it. Now, squatting toilets aren’t as bad as they seem, but being western, it nice at least to use a familiar toilet after a long days work. When it comes to birds – both dead and alive – they sure as heck don’t belong in the bathroom. Richard tired convincing that the bird was fake. I knew better. I worked long enough at Carolina Wildlife Care to know the difference between a fake and real tweety.
There was a lot of discussion. Richard and the Principle talked for a long while, and every now and then Richard would ask a question. Meanwhile, Christine had disappeared and I had no idea where she had gone. At one point, Richard said, “How was your apartment in Fuyang?” Phil said, “Better than this.” I said, “I’ve got pictures.” They went back to talking in Chinese. When Christine hadn’t come back in the room I decided to go try and find here. I looked in her apartment, but no one was in there. I went down to the ground floor to see if she might be out there, and that is when I saw here dragging her 20 KG suitcase back out to the road and throwing it into the car we had come in. Christine was obviously not staying. I ran over to her and asked what in the world she was doing. “Go get your stuff,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
I ran back upstairs to find Richard and the Principal still talking everything out. Christine wasn’t too far behind me. Richard asked if it was OK to stay here for the next few days until they found something more suitable. Christine’s response, “NO!” Our response, “….” He then continued to say that the school thought since these conditions were OK for Chinese people, that it certainly should have been OK for us. I’ve met a lot of different types of Chinese people – poor, middle class, and rich beyond numbers, and none of them had something quiet like this. There was a lot more talk, some bargaining, and eventually Richard or the Principal gave in and said that we would be taken to a hotel for the night until better apartments could be arranged.
And that’s what they did. They drove us down the street and walked into a few hotels until they found one that would take foreigners that didn’t have passports(Richard had taken ours to get our resident permit). The one that they picked out for us was better by leaps and bounds than the apartment. We would have lived there if it hadn’t been for the inability to take hot showers. Besides that one detail, the place was great. I didn’t think it possible, but I think that the bed in the room was actually softer than the one I use back home – and that one is pretty darn soft.
And I guess everything that happened beyond that doesn’t pertain to this particular post. I’ll have other stories about Shenyang up soon.
Until then
– G
wow. speechless. a dead mutha bleep’n bird. inches of dust. bunnies. wow. the memories.
Hek
April 3, 2007 @ 2:17 AM
What a poor pigeon!
April 3, 2007 @ 2:15 PM