The flat was almost empty of our possessions. I stood hands
on hips looking around at the echoey front room, wracking my brain to try to
think of what we might have forgotten to do, and looking at evidence of our
failed experiment of living in a ‘local’ block.
The terrace that looked like a plus on paper, but had twice
bought water into our flat and been impossible to maintain given the crap our
neighbours poured onto it daily. The massive bamboo edifice constructed outside
our window that had heralded the start of disruptive and dusty works on the
building. The aircon unit that had been broken for 4 weeks during the summer,
and poured water more than once onto an electrical socket. The second bedroom
visible through the adjoining door that had had a leak since we arrived, and a
gaping hole in the floor. The mess behind our book case where a formidably
sized family of cockroaches had recently take up residence.
Sigh. Quite the failure. Time to go and try again somewhere
else.
Then behind me I heard some mutterings, whispers and gasps,
and turned to see my neighbour Isabel and two other elderly ladies standing on
the threshold of the open front door, leaning in, heads rubbernecking frantically,
staring with ill-concealed curiosity. One lady said, breathless with excitement:
“You leaving?”
“Yes, I am”
“Wah, too many problem, ah?”
“Yes, lots of problems”
“Ah, ah, yes…May we take a look?!”
“Er…[the flat is clearly empty, what do they want to see?]…sure.”
They rushed in like children flocking to the base of a Christmas
tree filled with presents, clucking and exclaiming. They opened cupboards,
squinted into the fridge, scuttled into the spare room at a run. Quite
extraordinary – who knew my empty flat could be so interesting?
As they were about to go, inspection done, one asked where I
was going to. After a few false starts in English, I dredged the name of our
new block in Cantonese: jun seng fung.
This caused open-mouthed astonishment. As one, they
exclaimed “Woooh, yao tcheen ah!”, then gabbled at one another in rapid fire
Canto, with much head shakings in my direction. Loosely translated, that means “Wow,
so rich!!”
The big joke is we are paying perhaps £30 more a week for
our new place. But their reaction says it all. The block we have moved into is wonderful,
and looks more like a sleek hotel inhabited by the rich and famous from the
outside and in the communal areas.
Spotlessly clean, nicely decorated. Compact but well-put
together apartments. Plentiful, friendly, incredibly helpful staff. We know
from friends who live here that they can organise any manner of handyman to fix
any ill you might have at the drop of a hat. Unbelievable facilities after our
manky stairway in 143 Second Street – a pool, a gym, onsite dry cleaning, a
supermarket in the building.
Basically, a wealthy-looking, expat-drenched enclave, with
all the attendant facilities you might imagine. Fulfilling every stereotype of
what expats might want. I mean, the supermarket sells things from, swoon, Waitrose (!) and they even have
recycling facilities, don’t you know dahling,
where you throw your bins out? It’s like, almost unheard of in HK, so that sort of detail is what makes it just par-fect, you know?*
And so, my first reaction when my erstwhile neighbours were
clearly judging me for my choice of move and for seeming to have unimaginable
amounts of cash was to feel offended. But then, I thought – so what if it fits
the stereotype they have in their minds? Stereotypes exist for a reason. The
new flat, despite having been in it for less than 24 hours, feels more like
home that the last one ever did. And if wanting a gym and a pool and a flat
that fundamentally works and does not
have its own creepy ecosystem makes me a dreadful expat, then sign me up to the
Dreadful Expat Club right now.
Some thank yous. Cathy and Trevor used their final full day
here helping us to move in, and their help and advice shaved hours off how long
it would have taken us alone. And a big thanks to Ruth, Michelle, Louise and
Rachel for coming to an impromptu house warming last night…I’d never understood
what the term really meant before, but having friends and family over within
hours of hauling the boxes in through the door seemed to bring the flat to life.
Ghastly typical expats in Island Crest, we may now be. But I
think we are going to be very happy here.
*That bit was a parody…I think…
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