Ever since I got married my wife has said, “Buy me a house.”
By house she meant an apartment, a condo. I haven’t seen any western “houses” in urban China. We reside in a south China metropolis of 12 million – space is at a premium. No urban subdivisions here.
I’m not one for buying anything other than cameras, beer, and French fries. I’d rather rent, thank you very much. No, I’m investing in anything, but I have a lot less headaches. Broken washing machine? Call the landlord. Exploding pipes? Call the landlord.
Many of my expat friends in China have believed in “partying like a rock star.” For most, their entire income is disposable. Most expats don’t pay bills, their companies do that for them. Rent, power, gas: All taken care of. It’s easy to party like a rock star when you don’t have to pay property tax. I led that life. Other than the hangovers it’s pure bliss. There’s little saving or a rainy day, and certainly no thoughts of buying property.
Then we grow up. Some times over years, some times overnight.
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
For half a second I wondered when the next flight to Canada was scheduled.
That passed.
It wasn’t completely unexpected, the pregnancy. Sooner than expected, yes. But, the powers-that-be like to throw a spanner in the works from time to time.
Said spanner (and resulting destruction) did have a silver-lining – we found an apartment we could afford to buy without really looking much. The down payment was a fraction of what it should have been, good for the pregnant, soon-to-be-DIY couple. A place to hang their hats (and baby bonnet).
Mr. DIYr wasn’t unskilled in painting, plastering, and changing light bulbs. He’d spent a lot of his youth trying to avoid helping his father with similar projects. He knew the tools and materials he needed. When he started the project he couldn’t find them or explain what he needed in the fair hardware store of China.
So started the adventure.
Join the DIYers, their tribulations already in progress.
