Saturday, 25 Aug Today I found the supermarket. The western-style supermarket.

The Washing Machine Experienced travelers, those who never had a washing machine as a kid, and anyone else inclined to sneer at the effete may simply skip this section.

Today I washed some of my clothes. The apartment has a fancy little modern washing machine, clearly designed by a Japanese engineer but labeled in Chinese. The only trick to it is that it doesn't have a permanent water hookup. Or rather, the apartment doesn't have a permanent water hookup.

Let me digress for a minute to talk about Chinese construction methodology. In the US, when a high-rise's concrete shell is complete, the building is still only half-finished, in terms of both cost and time. Most of the interior walls are yet to be framed (in wood or metal 2 by 4s) and lined with sheetrock. Plumbing, electrical, hvac, phone; all have to be run through those walls before and during their construction. carpet, fixtures (electrical and plumbing - all the outlets, lights, switches, faucets, metal sinks, porcelain sinks, louvers), wall coverings, paint. Insulation. Plus inspections. Expensive and time-consuming.

The Chinese method: Build a concrete shell, including all the walls. Add tile to some floors. Put in some flimsy wooden doors and some windows. Paint the walls. Construction is now complete. Optionally, some plumbers and electricians can go in and bolt their pipes to the walls, drilling holes between the rooms and floors as needed. Much simpler.

Lights and fans are thus bolted to the ceiling. Shared areas are left bare concrete (In several of the homes I visited, homes which just as nicely decorated as any American home, and one off which was the only space I saw in Beijing which could be described as immaculate, the shared entryway and staircases were bare concrete, crumbling, filthy, and dark), with sound-activated lighting to save electricity.

Oh, and that bit in building design where all the floors on one floor either share the same plane, or are connected by shallow ramps or clear, standard-heigh steps? That's Western foolishness. At any point, walking on any Chinese floor, you may abruptly discover a visually imperceptible one- or two- or three-inch step.

The washing machine. It has a medium-length hose with a funky attachment: first a plastic end, then a dual plastic-metal bit. The metal bit includes a short sleeve with tightening screws, clearly meant to be affixed to a faucet spigot. After so affixing the bit, one can then disengage the hose, so that the faucet is available for daily use. Given this clever design, I wondered why the metal bit was on the hose, not the faucet. Why repeat the laborious fastening procedure, I wondered.

First I detached the metal bit from the hose via a plastic clip, and then I put in on the faucet, carefully fastening the little screws with a knife, and then I snapped the hose back on. No. I tried to snap the hose back on. After removing the metal bit, I spent maybe five minutes trying to mate the two items. I finally succeeded with the help of a dish-tower, and then fastened the whole assembly back onto the faucet.

So. I load the wamshing machine and start it up. It beeps, because it wants water. So I turn on the faucet, and water gurgles all over; the faucet/attachment assembly leaks from four places and flows into the sink, around the sink, and onto the floor. A very small amount of water starts dripping onto my clothes. Attentive manipulation of the metal bit improves the ratio of clothes to floor. Encouraged, I open the faucet wider, and more water leaks everywhere, including onto my clothes. At this point it looks like it will take maybe an hour to fill the washing machine.

I jam the metal bit more vigorously against the faucet, and the clothes/floor ratio improves again. I turn up the faucet, and more water makes it to the clothes, though the faucet handle itself is now leaking as well. By holding the metal bit to the faucet, I manage to fill the washer in about a minute.

Of course, as soon as the washer is full it cuts off the hose valve, so water sprays in every direction from the faucet until I can turn it off. I towel off and retire to the other room to watch a pirated VCD of Rush Hour 2.

Soon, though, I'm summoned back to the kitchen (the demense of the washing machine) by loud beeping. Wash cycle is done, and the machine wants more water. It's dumped the old, dirty, soapy water onto the floor. The quantity of standing water puzzles me, both because I pointed the drain hose to the floor drain, and because there is a floor drain. Why isn't the water draining?

I repeat the routine with the faucet, towel off my feet, and retreat to Jackie Chan.

There is another rinse cycle.

Through careful observation, I figured out the draining problem. The floor drain simply doesn't have the capacity for the water flow, and the floor isn't properly graded for drainage. I was able to sweep most of the water into the bathroom, which drains very nicely.

Let's re-cap the compounding design flaws:

1) detachable faucet attachment can't be left on the faucet, because its reattachment requires Herculean strength and profanity

2) The detachable faucet attachment doesn't make a good seal with the faucet, and because of 1), this cannot be permanently addressed

3) The floor drain can't handle the outflow of water, so water pools quite nicely.

4) The kitchen floor isn't properly graded, so pooled water (caused by either 2) or or 3)) can remain for days if unattended

And one design serendipity: the one-inch drop from the hall to the bathroom keeps the kitchen floor water from spreading. (I refuse to believe this was on purpose, because all of the rooms are like this.)

So, I washed and hung laundry, goofed off on the computer a lot, wrote a bit, moved furniture, and finally turned on the TV to see what all the yelling from the other buildings was about. China was beating the U.A.E. in a World Cup Qualifier, three goals to none.