I recently got the urge to move to a new apartment. There were a variety of reasons-it was getting too noisy where I was, the new taxi prices were becoming a killer in the work commute and I needed a change of scenery. I gave 30 days' notice and went hunting. My first two moves since arriving in Beijing had been a breeze-in fact on both occasions I had taken the first apartment I had seen.

This time around Lady Luck was out of town and it was an exercise in self-flagellation. Step one to finding an apartment is finding an agent. That's essential for anyone too busy to hunt down his or her ideal home away from home.

I browsed through the many online expat sites blazing with agents ready to move heaven and earth to get people settled. There is no shortage. I needed a one-bedroom apartment, close to a subway stop (preferably on Line 1), in a quiet environment and with an enclosed shower. My budget was between 3,000 and 4,000 yuan per month. How hard could it be-right?

My first agent, Paul, whipped me off to three possible apartments. His service was good. He picked me up from my apartment in his shiny red Chevrolet toy hatchback and dropped me off afterwards. Paul tried, he really did, but he just wasn't hearing me. The more I said one bedroom, the more he showed me studios. "Just think, you can see your kitchen from your bed," he said excitedly. Yeah, I could see what a thrill that would be.

As time went on, that was to become a common problem-the agents just weren't hearing me.

Next up was Coco. Small, and cute, with a voice like a metal file rasping over rusty pipes. After listening to my requirements, I got the customary "no problem-I know what foreigners want." I was hauled all over the eastern part of Beijing. She showed me plenty of apartments way out of my price range, urging me on with a saccharine "it's not much money for a foreigner." Coco also had problems calculating distance. A promised five-minute walk to Wangfujing subway station on the phone became a 20-minute taxi ride to the said subway in reality.

James followed. He had dealt with plenty of foreigners, he assured me. His experience showed when he dragged me kicking and screaming to three apartments in a row, all with bathrooms the size of postage stamps and a bucket and hole-in-the-floor shower. In two of the bathrooms I literally couldn't turn around and had to bend like a hunchback. The third one was hidden away at the end of a long alley lined with what looked like rabid dogs, desperate hawkers and toxic smells. Billed as being IN Jianguomen, what James meant was that from the apartment you could SEE Jianguomen-in the distance.

I left James and fled into the night…into the waiting arms of Serita. My clock to finding a new home was counting down. Our first meeting started off well. She was 40 minutes late and then told me to find the apartment on my own and she would meet me there. I got lost and the landlord lost patience and left. Serita blamed me. OK. Being a forgiving person-I decided to give her another chance. She told me she hadn't eaten for a while, as she was always busy. I took the bait and bought her dinner. We looked at some nice apartments. Some were in good locations but poorly furnished. We bargained with landlords to change odd items of furniture. They were hardnosed. I found one I liked in the CBD, but the skeptical landlady asked for 12 months rent in advance plus a month's deposit. When I asked why, and pointed out it was unethical, not to mention illegal, she said that as I was single, I could up and leave at any time. Despite assurances of work contracts, references and agreeing to pay a month's deposit she wasn't convinced. Perhaps I looked like a flight risk. Serita and I played my trump card. I'm a vegetarian, non-smoking, non-drinking Buddhist. How much better could a tenant be? The landlady wasn't convinced-perhaps it sounded too far-fetched. I left thinking maybe being a carnivorous, alcoholic, dope headed, metal freak would have got me in. (Apologies to all my friends who fit into this category).

In the process I learned to check water pressure-if the tap in the kitchen worked it didn't mean the one in the bathroom worked. I flushed toilets, checked gas connections, inspected neighbors and checked main connections. Blue flash meant it works. I criss-crossed Beijing a dozen times, looking for home, trailing in the shadow of an endless stream of well-meaning agents. Finally they all ditched me, deciding I was too "picky."

As the date loomed for me to vacate, an office colleague said she had a contact. I had visions of more traumas. We went to look. Everything worked. The balcony had a lake view. The price was negotiable. It was close to my office. I took it. Some things are meant to be. Did I mention my landlady lives next door-but that's another story.

The author is a South African living in Beijing.