Hong Kong is not for the timid or the insecure.
Hong Kong will stare you down until you’re so uncomfortable that you run for a mirror to see if you have ketchup or just gweilo on your face.
Hong Kong will fill your lungs with pollution, cover your skin with eczema and confuse you into thinking “double confirm” is good English.
Hong Kong will make you want to leave after the first year of your contract is up or make you want to go the distance for permanent residency. Permanent residency is like a scar to be worn with pride because few understand the suffering you went through to earn it.
You’ll find out why soon enough.
FINDING AN APARTMENTHong Kong is divided into four main areas: Hong Kong Island, Kowloon, the ominous-sounding New Territories and the Outlying Islands. I’ve created a map (to the right) to help you get your bearings.
While public transportation provides extensive coverage of the city, you should figure out the most convenient route to your job and how much you value your life. If it’s not much, look at cheaper, farther-flung areas primarily linked to civilization by minibuses.
Think about what nearby amenities, like supermarkets and gyms, are important to you. For example, if you want access to a wide-range of quality Western goods, be sure to stay in your home country.
After you've decided where you want to live, you’ll need to find an agent or two or three or four to help you with your search. Walk into an agency in your preferred neighborhood—you’re never more than 10 feet from one—and talk to whichever agent looks the most competent. You can base this on any number of factors, but generally, go for the one who isn’t drooling or rubbing his hands together greedily like Mr. Burns.
Never forget: Agents are liars. They will lie about how quickly you need to sign the contract. They will lie about there being other bids on the apartment (so hurry up and sign the contract!). They will lie about how long building renovations will take. They will probably even lie about their name. I mean, Woodie? That doesn’t sound very Chinese to me.
Most of all, they will lie, excuse me, fudge the math, on how big an apartment is.
If you're from the United States, you're used to space. Space in your yard. Space in your house. Space between people in line. You want to spread out and sprawl. It's your manifest destiny.
To you, a 1300-square-foot house might as well be a hut. A 700-square-foot apartment is essentially a prison cell--but in Hong Kong, 700 square feet is spacious.
Of course, that’s assuming the apartment is really 700 square feet. The magic phrase you need to know is “efficiency ratio.” The apartment might be 700 square feet on paper, but that could include the ledge where you put your herbs or domestic helper.
You want to know how much usable floor space you have and no two 700-square-foot apartments are necessarily alike.
So, furnished or unfurnished? Furnished often sounds like a great deal, but keep in mind that your Western sensibilities might not mesh with those of the mainland Chinese landlord. Have you watched “Real Housewives of New Jersey”? Because while the Chinese may not have actually introduced pasta to the Italians, they did turn them on to tacky furniture and marble-topped everything. I call this “Chido” (Chinese + guido) style.
A furnished apartment I saw recently had a giant built-in fish tank that took up a significant portion of the living room/dining room space. I asked the agent what she expected us to do with that and she cheerfully suggested, “You can put plants in there!” While I’ve often toyed around with the idea of starting my own grow operation, I kind of just want a free wall for my TV. But you might prefer being the newest drug kingpin on the block.
Don’t get an apartment for the view. There’s a good chance it will be blocked by some new development with a ridiculous pseudo-upscale name like the Varicella. (“The Varicella, you’ll be itching to get in!”)
Don’t expect an oven. Or more than two burners. Or counter space. Or any type of kitchen layout that assumes the occupants consider cooking anything more than a chore for the maid to do.
You will never use the clubhouse.
Rent is negotiable, and the sooner you can move in, the more likely the landlord is to accept your low-ball offer. You can also ask that s/he provide curtains, replace light fixtures and, for God’s sake, do something about that doorbell playing “Oh My Darling Clementine.”
This all may sound overwhelming, but don’t worry. After you're here long enough, you'll just be grateful when the toilet isn't in the shower, the hallway doesn't smell like cabbage and incense and old ladies, and there aren’t floor-to-ceiling gold-leafed mirrors that somehow manage to take up 20% of the usable space.
And if you’re still pining for the McMansion you gave up to move here, give thanks you don’t live here:
Think about what nearby amenities, like supermarkets and gyms, are important to you. For example, if you want access to a wide-range of quality Western goods, be sure to stay in your home country.
After you've decided where you want to live, you’ll need to find an agent or two or three or four to help you with your search. Walk into an agency in your preferred neighborhood—you’re never more than 10 feet from one—and talk to whichever agent looks the most competent. You can base this on any number of factors, but generally, go for the one who isn’t drooling or rubbing his hands together greedily like Mr. Burns.
Never forget: Agents are liars. They will lie about how quickly you need to sign the contract. They will lie about there being other bids on the apartment (so hurry up and sign the contract!). They will lie about how long building renovations will take. They will probably even lie about their name. I mean, Woodie? That doesn’t sound very Chinese to me.
Most of all, they will lie, excuse me, fudge the math, on how big an apartment is.
If you're from the United States, you're used to space. Space in your yard. Space in your house. Space between people in line. You want to spread out and sprawl. It's your manifest destiny.
To you, a 1300-square-foot house might as well be a hut. A 700-square-foot apartment is essentially a prison cell--but in Hong Kong, 700 square feet is spacious.
Of course, that’s assuming the apartment is really 700 square feet. The magic phrase you need to know is “efficiency ratio.” The apartment might be 700 square feet on paper, but that could include the ledge where you put your herbs or domestic helper.
You want to know how much usable floor space you have and no two 700-square-foot apartments are necessarily alike.
So, furnished or unfurnished? Furnished often sounds like a great deal, but keep in mind that your Western sensibilities might not mesh with those of the mainland Chinese landlord. Have you watched “Real Housewives of New Jersey”? Because while the Chinese may not have actually introduced pasta to the Italians, they did turn them on to tacky furniture and marble-topped everything. I call this “Chido” (Chinese + guido) style.
A furnished apartment I saw recently had a giant built-in fish tank that took up a significant portion of the living room/dining room space. I asked the agent what she expected us to do with that and she cheerfully suggested, “You can put plants in there!” While I’ve often toyed around with the idea of starting my own grow operation, I kind of just want a free wall for my TV. But you might prefer being the newest drug kingpin on the block.
Don’t get an apartment for the view. There’s a good chance it will be blocked by some new development with a ridiculous pseudo-upscale name like the Varicella. (“The Varicella, you’ll be itching to get in!”)
Don’t expect an oven. Or more than two burners. Or counter space. Or any type of kitchen layout that assumes the occupants consider cooking anything more than a chore for the maid to do.
You will never use the clubhouse.
Rent is negotiable, and the sooner you can move in, the more likely the landlord is to accept your low-ball offer. You can also ask that s/he provide curtains, replace light fixtures and, for God’s sake, do something about that doorbell playing “Oh My Darling Clementine.”
This all may sound overwhelming, but don’t worry. After you're here long enough, you'll just be grateful when the toilet isn't in the shower, the hallway doesn't smell like cabbage and incense and old ladies, and there aren’t floor-to-ceiling gold-leafed mirrors that somehow manage to take up 20% of the usable space.
And if you’re still pining for the McMansion you gave up to move here, give thanks you don’t live here:
2 comments:
As I read this, tears are forming in my eyes.
Please stay in Hong Kong and keep writing your guide. Totally made my day. Thanks.
Post a Comment