When I first moved to Zhongshan, China, I settled into a
modest yet practical apartment that reflected my preference for minimalism.
Living simply has always been a cornerstone of my lifestyle. I don’t like
accumulating too many things. If I need to leave, I want to be able to pack
everything I own into a couple of bags and head out without stress. This
apartment was perfect for that kind of life.
Located in a blue-collar neighborhood, the building wasn’t
fancy, but it had a certain charm and functionality that suited my needs. My
street was lined with small businesses, ranging from water distributors to car
dealerships, though these businesses seemed to change frequently. The
neighborhood was always bustling, with motorbikes, delivery trucks, and street
vendors adding to the constant energy of the area.
The building itself was surprisingly clean and
well-maintained compared to many other Chinese apartment buildings I had seen.
Its hallway didn’t have the cold, institutional feel that some buildings in the
city had—it was homey and welcoming. Once you stepped into my apartment, the
minimalist lifestyle became apparent.
The entryway greeted you with a small shoe closet for hats
and shoes, and immediately to the left was the sliding door to the bathroom and
utility closet. While the bathroom was somewhat dated, it had everything I
needed: a Western-style toilet (harder to find in this area), a decent water
heater, and—unlike many Chinese bathrooms—a separate enclosed shower. Most
bathrooms in China are "wet baths," where the shower and toilet share
the same space, so having an enclosed shower was a luxury I appreciated.
The main living area was compact but well-organized. To the
left was a small kitchenette that I used every day. My trusty wok was my go-to
for making simple meals like scrambled eggs or stir fry. The kitchenette even
had a folding table, which I only opened when guests came over. Adjacent to the
kitchenette was a small desk area with a mid-level Wi-Fi router and a reliable
internet connection included in my rent—a crucial detail for staying connected.
One of the highlights of the apartment was the balcony,
which overlooked the neighborhood. It was a mix of residential buildings and
factories, and the sights and sounds were a constant reminder of life in
Zhongshan. Factories producing everything from underwear to hardware operated
nearby, and their trucks frequently passed through, adding to the symphony of
urban noise. Across the street was a pet shop, where barking dogs often
competed with the hum of motorbike taxis. This was one of the biggest challenges
of living here—the noise.
Despite the commotion outside, the balcony was a functional
space where I hung my laundry. Like most apartments in China, there were no
dryers, so I relied on the balcony’s drying rack. The apartment had two air
conditioning units—one downstairs in the living area and one upstairs in the
lofted bedroom—making the summer months bearable.
The lofted bedroom was a simple, comfortable space. It had a
small wardrobe, a bed, and its own air conditioning unit. I liked the open
layout, which allowed me to look down on the rest of the apartment. The entire
place came fully furnished, which was a standard practice in China. While the
furniture wasn’t luxurious, it was functional and slightly better quality than
what you’d expect from IKEA.
The apartment building even had rooftop access, which was
another feature I enjoyed. Though the rooftop gym equipment was purely
decorative—it hadn’t worked in years—it was still a great place to unwind at
night. I’d often go up there to watch storms roll in or to admire the skyline
of the nearby business district of Guzhen, known as the lighting capital of the
world. The rooftops of factories and apartment buildings stretched as far as
the eye could see, and the view gave me a sense of place in this ever-expanding
city.
For 18 months, this apartment served as my home. My monthly
rent was just 1,580 RMB (around $215 USD), plus a 200 RMB management fee that
covered hallway cleaning, building maintenance, and the salary of the 24-hour
security guard at the front desk. Electricity and water bills were also
affordable. Even during the hottest summer months, my electricity bill—despite
running two air conditioners—never exceeded 374 RMB. My water bill was a
laughable 10 RMB. Altogether, my total monthly expenses for the apartment were
around 2,165 RMB (roughly $295 USD), which was an incredible deal for the space
and amenities I had.
Of course, there were inconveniences. The bedroom being
upstairs and the bathroom downstairs meant middle-of-the-night bathroom trips
required navigating the stairs in the dark. Carrying laundry up and down those
stairs was also a bit of a hassle. The noise from the street was another
drawback. The combination of barking dogs, delivery trucks, and late-night
street barbecues often disrupted my sleep.
Still, I was grateful for the experience of living here. The
management staff were kind, my neighbors were friendly, and the building itself
stood out as one of the nicer ones in the area. As I prepared to move, I
reflected on how this apartment had been a comfortable and convenient space
that aligned with my minimalist lifestyle.
However, I was ready for a change. My next apartment
promised to be even smaller, cleaner, and quieter—a space that would require
even less effort to maintain. While I would miss aspects of this home, the
prospect of moving into a new place with new possibilities was exciting.
Little did I know, my journey through Zhongshan’s apartment
landscape was just beginning. Each move would bring its own set of challenges
and surprises, shaping my experience of life in this vibrant city.
My Apartments of Zhongshan, China, Part 2: A Modern
"Garden" Community
After a year and a half in my first Zhongshan apartment, I
moved to a newer and much more modern complex. This time, my home was situated
in a residential community that’s commonly referred to in China as a
"garden." These garden communities are self-contained living environments,
typically designed with multiple high-rise towers encircling lush green spaces,
playgrounds, and amenities. It was quite a departure from the older,
blue-collar neighborhood I’d lived in previously, and it came with its own
unique charm and challenges.
The street outside my new apartment was a bustling area
anchored by an elementary school. During the school year, the sounds of
children playing and announcements over the PA system were a constant backdrop.
However, during the summer months, the area quieted down considerably, offering
a much-needed break from the city's usual chaos. Surrounding the school and
apartment complex were a few small supermarkets, noodle shops, and real estate
agencies renting out apartments in the newly constructed buildings.
The apartment complex itself was a brand-new development,
only about a year old. Some towers were still under construction, but many were
already occupied, creating a lively mix of young families and elderly
residents. The community had a 24-hour security presence, guarded gates, and
two main entrances, which gave it a sense of safety and exclusivity. Walking
into the complex, you were greeted by a lush, beautifully landscaped garden
with winding pathways, benches, and even a massive playground for kids. If I
were a child, I would have been thrilled to live here—the playground was
enormous, colorful, and inviting.
The centerpiece of the garden was a large circular walkway
that people used for evening strolls, dog-walking, or jogging. The sense of
community was palpable, with elderly residents chatting on benches,
grandparents playing with their grandchildren, and families enjoying the serene
environment. It was a stark contrast to the industrial noise and congestion of
my previous neighborhood.
One of the modern conveniences I appreciated was the hive
box system for package deliveries. These lockers made online shopping a breeze.
When packages arrived, I received a code that allowed me to retrieve my items
at any time, ensuring I never missed a delivery.
While the complex had many appealing features, it wasn’t without its drawbacks. The trash disposal system, for instance, was not as efficient as in other modern buildings. There were no garbage chutes, so residents had to bring their trash down to communal bins. These bins often overflowed, and many people simply tossed their garbage around the bins instead of into them, creating a smelly and unsightly mess.
Inside my building, the first impression was mixed. The
entrance featured mismatched tiles and protective coverings around the
elevators that made the space look less polished. However, once you got to the
apartments, the quality improved significantly.
My unit was on the 13th floor, offering sweeping views of
the surrounding city. The apartment itself was compact and felt more like a
hotel room, but it had all the essentials I needed. The bathroom was modern and
clean, with a Western toilet and an enclosed shower—a welcome improvement over
older apartments that often lacked these features. However, not everything was
perfect. The exhaust fan in the bathroom had broken six months earlier, and
despite numerous requests, it remained unfixed.
The main living space was small but functional. My laundry
and ironing area took up one corner, and I had added a rack to compensate for
the limited closet space. The kitchenette, while modern, lacked a hood vent,
which made cooking indoors impractical. To avoid filling the small apartment
with smoke or cooking smells, I prepared my meals on the utility balcony, which
also housed my washing machine and electric hot water heater. The balcony
itself wasn’t meant for leisure—it was purely utilitarian—but it got the job
done.
The apartment had a few quirks that are common in Chinese
housing. For example, the air conditioning unit was installed far from its
power outlet, leaving an unsightly cord stretched across the wall. This kind of
rushed and inefficient installation is so typical in China that there’s even a
term for it: "cha bu duo," which loosely translates to "good
enough."
Despite these minor issues, the living room was cozy. I had
a cheap sofa that a friend had purchased for me on Taobao for just 200 RMB
(about $30 USD), though it was so uncomfortable I rarely used it. My desk
setup, however, was perfect for working. The Wi-Fi, which cost about 1,400 RMB
for the entire year, was fast and reliable. One of my favorite features was a
projector that I used to create a makeshift home theater. I could project
movies and shows onto the wall, creating a massive screen that made up for the
lack of a traditional television.
At night, the view from my window was stunning. The city
lights of Zhongshan sparkled, and I could see the towering high-rises downtown
and the silhouette of distant mountains. The apartment itself was small but
easy to maintain, and at just 1,350 RMB per month (around $185 USD), it was a
steal for such a modern unit in the city center. Utilities added another 200
RMB per month, but even with those costs, it was incredibly affordable by
Western standards.
The complex itself had its share of flaws. Many areas showed
signs of wear and tear despite being less than a year old. Cracks along the
seams of the plastered walls hinted at structural issues, and some of the
common areas, like the pool, were already falling into disrepair. The pool,
which was meant for children, had been filled and drained several times but
never used.
The parking situation was another point of frustration.
While the garage infrastructure was well-planned, some spaces were poorly
located, like the one assigned to a beautiful black Range Rover, which was
sandwiched between motorbike parking spaces. The tight layout almost guaranteed
scratches from the bikes squeezing in and out.
Still, the overall experience of living here was positive.
The management team was responsive and friendly, and the community felt safe
and welcoming. The proximity to my workplace and the convenience of nearby
amenities made it an ideal location. I loved being able to walk through the
garden in the evenings or take in the city views from my window.
While this apartment was smaller than my previous one, it
was modern, affordable, and easy to maintain. It represented a step forward in
terms of comfort and convenience, even if it wasn’t perfect. As I prepared for
my next move, I couldn’t help but appreciate the unique experience of living in
this garden community. It was a slice of modern China, with all its quirks and
charms, and it served as a reminder of how quickly the country is developing
and changing.
The Apartments of Zhongshan, Part 3: Life on a College
Campus
After spending three and a half years in China, moving
between apartments in different neighborhoods, my next chapter brought me to a
very different type of living arrangement—an apartment provided by the college
where I worked. This was a major shift from the blue-collar neighborhood of my
first loft and the sleek high-rise of my second apartment. Life on a college
campus had its own unique rhythm, balancing moments of quiet serenity with the
occasional chaos of student life. While the apartment wasn’t perfect, the perks
of living here far outweighed the inconveniences.
The campus was a sprawling mix of green spaces, academic
buildings, and student dormitories, situated on a hill surrounded by factories.
Despite its proximity to the industrial hustle of Zhongshan, the campus felt
like an oasis. It had little parks dotted throughout, creating peaceful spots
where one could relax under the trees. These parks were particularly enjoyable
when the students were gone, leaving the entire area almost eerily quiet except
for the sounds of birds in the trees. The track and sports fields became my
personal running ground during school breaks, as I often found myself the only
person using them.
The building that housed my apartment was one of the oldest
on campus. It stood next to the classroom building where I taught, making my
commute a matter of crossing the parking lot—a convenience I couldn’t
overstate. From the outside, the apartment building wasn’t much to look at,
with worn concrete walls and mismatched repairs, but it was sturdy and had
withstood its fair share of typhoons over the years.
Inside, my apartment was a two-bedroom, one-bath unit that
had clearly seen better days. It was larger than any of my previous apartments,
but its age showed in every corner. The front door led into a small living room
that I tried to keep tidy, though it bore the marks of daily life. The
furniture was a mix of pieces I owned and items provided by the college. My
couch, for example, was broken into three sections to make it fit in the space,
while the television and dining table belonged to the school.
The kitchen was one of the highlights of this apartment—my
first full kitchen in China. Though it was a Frankenstein of mismatched
cabinets, appliances, and fixtures, it was functional. I even had a hood vent
for cooking, a luxury I didn’t have in my previous apartment. The refrigerator
was placed outside the kitchen in the living room, a common setup in older
Chinese apartments, but I didn’t mind the unconventional layout.
The bedrooms offered more space than I needed. I used one as
my main sleeping area and converted the second into a closet and storage space.
The main bedroom had a hard Chinese-style bed, which I softened with additional
pads to make it more comfortable. There was visible mold damage along the walls
from a past air conditioning leak, and the floors were warped in places. The
air conditioning unit itself was old but functional, a crucial feature in the
humid Zhongshan summers.
The bathroom was easily the most dated part of the
apartment. It was tiny, with a new Western toilet that had replaced a leaky,
broken one shortly after I moved in. The shower was a mishmash of tiles and
exposed pipes, creating what I jokingly referred to as a "Frankenstein
shower." Storage was limited, so I had added extra shelving to make the
space more usable. The bathroom light had been “repaired” by running a cord
from the fixture to an outlet, requiring me to unplug it to turn it off—a typical
example of the quick fixes often seen in older Chinese buildings.
The apartment also had a small utility balcony where I hung
my laundry to dry, as dryers are uncommon in China. The washing machine, while
old, worked well enough that I declined the school’s offer to replace it. The
balcony was purely functional, housing my air conditioning condensers and an
old satellite dish that no longer served any purpose.
What made this apartment truly special was the price: it was
completely free. As part of my compensation package, the college covered all my
housing costs, including utilities. If I had rented a similar apartment in the
area, I would have paid between 1,200 and 1,500 RMB per month, plus another 500
RMB for utilities. The cost savings were significant, and it allowed me to
focus on my work and travel without worrying about rent or bills.
Living on campus had other advantages, too. The maintenance
staff was quick to address any issues, and the landlady, who also lived in the
building, was always available to help. When classes were in session, the
campus buzzed with activity, but during breaks, it became a tranquil retreat.
Waking up to the sound of birds instead of traffic was a luxury I didn’t take
for granted.
However, there were some downsides. Twice a day,
loudspeakers blasted music, news, and talk radio across the campus. While it
only lasted an hour each time, it was hard to ignore. The age of the building
also meant dealing with quirks like limited power outlets and the occasional
musty smell. Still, the peace and quiet of the campus more than made up for
these minor inconveniences.
As I reflected on my time in this apartment, I realized how
much I appreciated the simplicity it offered. It wasn’t flashy or modern, but
it was practical and comfortable. The free rent and utilities were a huge
bonus, and the location made my daily life incredibly convenient. While I knew
I wouldn’t stay here forever, it was the perfect place for this stage of my
life in Zhongshan. I was grateful for the experience and for the unique
perspective it gave me on life in China.
The Apartments of Zhongshan, Part 4: The Walkabout Rojo
Studio
After years of moving between different living spaces in
Zhongshan, my last apartment, the Walkabout Rojo Studio, became the most
personal and purpose-driven space I ever had in China. Unlike my previous
apartments, this one was designed to reflect my own style and meet my specific
needs, especially for work and relaxation. It was a small studio, but every
corner was tailored to fit my lifestyle, making it feel like home in a way the
other places never quite did.
The studio was located in a newer development, surrounded by
a mix of offices and small businesses. The area itself was dynamic, with new
tenants moving in frequently, giving it a fresh and modern feel. There was even
a small park nearby with walking paths, adding a touch of nature to an
otherwise urban setting. From the moment I moved in, I knew this apartment
would be different. It wasn’t just a place to sleep; it became my creative hub.
When stepping inside, the bathroom was immediately on the right.
It was clean and functional, with a simple layout that worked perfectly for me.
Doing laundry was a regular part of life in Guangdong, where the heat and
humidity could drench clothes in minutes, so having a reliable washing area was
essential. To the center was the main living area, which doubled as a
workspace, lounging spot, and dining room. While I didn’t sleep there every
night, it was a comfortable place to crash when I needed to stay closer to my
projects or escape for a bit of solitude.
The living area was small but cozy, with a television I
rarely watched and a fan that was a lifesaver in the sweltering Guangdong
climate. Even with air conditioning, having a fan blowing directly on me at
night made all the difference. A lamp I’d owned for years sat in one corner,
though I never managed to find a matching one for the opposite side of the
room. It was one of those little things I meant to do but never got around to.
The seating area was a mix of functionality and comfort, serving as a spot to
read, work, or enjoy a meal.
The kitchen, while modest, was one of my favorite parts of
the studio. I’d pieced it together over time, carefully selecting appliances
that fit the limited space. It was small but mighty, with just enough room for
a stove, fridge, and some storage. Most of the setup came from IKEA, which had
been a go-to source for practical furniture and kitchenware. Cooking was a big
part of my routine, and this kitchen allowed me to whip up meals without
feeling cramped or overwhelmed.
On the other side of the room was my charging and storage
area, a nod to my love for technology and photography. It was where I kept all
my cables, cameras, drones, and bags organized and ready to go. As someone who
spent a lot of time creating content and documenting my experiences, having a
dedicated space for my gear was crucial. The work area was another highlight of
the apartment, outfitted with a combination of devices that suited both my
professional and personal needs. From my trusty Microsoft Surface, which
traveled everywhere with me, to my Xiaomi notebook, which had been a reliable
companion for nearly four years, everything had its place. The centerpiece was
my Apple Mini, paired with a Xiaomi gaming monitor. While I didn’t game, the
wide screen was perfect for video editing and multitasking.
But perhaps the crown jewel of this studio was the view. The
large windows opened up to a breathtaking panorama of the mountains and
downtown Zhongshan. In the distance, I could see the Shiqi District, a place
I’d explored extensively in past videos. At night, the city lights transformed
the view into something truly magical, with the mountains silhouetted against a
glittering skyline. It was the kind of view people dream about, and I felt
incredibly lucky to have it. That view alone made the studio feel like a
million-dollar space, even though it was far from extravagant in terms of size
or furnishings.
The Walkabout Rojo Studio was a reflection of me. It was
where I created, relaxed, and recharged. It was small but efficient, cozy, and
perfectly tailored to my needs. I loved everything about it.
Concluding Thoughts: A Journey Through Four Apartments
Looking back on the four apartments I lived in during my
time in Zhongshan, it was remarkable how each one represented a different
chapter of my life there. Each apartment was unique, shaped by its location,
layout, and purpose, and together they taught me invaluable lessons about
adaptability, simplicity, and the importance of creating a space that felt like
home.
The first apartment, a loft in a blue-collar neighborhood,
was my introduction to life in Zhongshan. It was spacious, minimalistic, and
functional—a perfect starting point for someone still getting their bearings in
a foreign country. It taught me the value of keeping things simple and avoiding
unnecessary clutter.
The second apartment, a small high-rise studio, marked a
transition to something more modern and convenient. Its central location made
life easier, but the compromises in space and noise reminded me that every
choice came with trade-offs. This apartment reinforced the importance of
prioritizing what truly mattered, like a peaceful environment or proximity to
work.
Living on the college campus in my third apartment was a
completely different experience. It wasn’t the most modern or well-maintained
space, but it offered something priceless: quiet mornings, free rent, and a
sense of community. It gave me a new appreciation for the simplicity of campus
life and the financial freedom that came with not having to pay for housing.
Finally, the Walkabout Rojo Studio felt like the culmination
of everything I’d learned. It was small but perfectly tailored to my needs,
offering a balance of functionality, comfort, and inspiration. For the first
time, I created a space that felt entirely my own, reflecting both my
personality and my priorities.
Together, these four apartments told the story of my journey
in China—how I adapted to new environments, embraced different lifestyles, and
learned to find beauty and meaning in each space I called home. Each apartment
shaped me in some way, teaching me lessons about resilience, creativity, and
the art of making the best out of what I had.