zimatravels

     As yet I have no job, and no work permit to remain in Macau past 20 days, but I’ve signed a two-year lease for probably the most unusual apartment I’ll ever have.  I’ll try to describe it.

     I had quickly decided that I didn’t want to live in a highrise in the very congested main part of Macau, so I headed for Taipa Village on the first island connected by bridge.  Without much of a clue as to how to proceed, I stopped to buy a bottle of water in a small shop on the first floor of a row of homes.  The teenage girl who took my money started a halting conversation in English.  I explained that I was looking for a small apartment.  She said to wait a minute, and left.  Some minutes later, she came back with a woman who had a connection with an apartment for rent very close by.  We went into a building just a few houses down.

     What has become my room in Taipa Village is a medium-sized light and airy room with a high ceiling.  Two large doors open up into a long balcony with a bamboo rod high up for hanging clothes to dry.  There is also a large window, and a hallway that includes another large balcony, a slab sticking out from the wall that I finally understood was  my “kitchen,” and a small room with a squat toilet.  There is a  cold-water spigot low on the wall near the squat toilet and one at foot level from the balcony off the hallway.  When I asked about a shower, the landlady said they could put one in for me next to the squat toilet.

     There is another apartment off the hallway, and a stairway leading to a third apartment upstairs.  Underneath is the unused first floor of the building, which once was an office but is now only used for storage.  All space is shared with an infinite number of cockroaches and geckoes and one small mouse who comes home every night at 10 p.m. and goes directly into his hole.

     Ah, the view!  The view is best.  I see green everywhere.  From my second floor balcony, I look out upon a small, decoratively tiled public water area combined with a tiny Buddhist shrine across the narrow street.  Behind these are some magnificent trees and luxuriant foliage climbing up the hill as only the tropics can grow them.  Next to the shrine is a wonderful old, abandoned building that has been well reclaimed by nature with vines and flowers crawling everywhere.

     When my new teenage neighbor, Bobbie, explained to the landlady that I had no furniture, I returned to find a table, chair, and what must be the very first version of a sofa bed in the room.

     I only pay $100 a month, which is probably double the going rate for a Chinese person.  As a foreigner, I never would have found this place without Bobbie’s help.  I think I’ll be happy in this total Chinese environment.  Actually, it’s much more like mainland China than Hong Kong or Macau city.

     I’m ready for a modified “nest,” not unlike the several birds nesting in the eaves of my front balcony — not too permanent, but “home” nonetheless.  But can I find a job with a work permit that will let me stay?

This is an excerpt from my book, Memoirs of a Middle-aged Hummingbird, written in my travel journal in September, 1992.