Having lived here for a while now, I am perhaps desensitized to some of the more strange happenings that would have in a previous life caused concern.

After returning from Hong Kong, I noticed my tiny apartment had a bit of a smell. A gas-like smell. Particularly the kitchen. I thought, “this smells gas like. But cities here often smell like [take your pick of: burning rubber / wet dog / wet burning dog]. I’m tired, it will probably just go away on its own.” Two days later I left again for a week for vacation, and upon returning, discovered the smell was still present. A total of 11 days had elapsed.

Thinking this could be serious, I tightened the pipes to the stove and water heater. Smell still present. A day later I contact the landlady. She comes over to inspect, affirming “yes there is a sort of gas like smell,” runs off, and returns 20 some minutes later with a jovial Anhuinese migrant-worker-pipe-fix guy. He carries a sponge and a squirt bottle of soap water.

After explaining the situation, he nods and *soap soap soaps* the intricate network of pipes, looking for bubbles to form, indicating a leak. Several minutes later, under one cabinet, he declares “Oooooh… Yep, there’s a big leak here. But it’s just natural gas, it definitely won’t poison you” – this was news – “I suppose if there’s a spark it in the wrong place it could explode. But you’re pretty much safe.”

The landlady insisted he fix it anyway. Too bad; I was having some amazingly peaceful naps.