Teaching English in China: One Expat's Experience
The Wall Street Journal Career Journal
By Tom Carter
February 2007

Having little luck finding an attractive job offer in the U.S. in 2004, I decided to take my skills where they were wanted -- abroad.

Enticed by the "Teach English in China -- No Experience Necessary" ads saturating the online classifieds, I emailed my resume with one hand and packed my bags with the other. I had no idea what to expect, but then, the great unknown can be what makes a job like teaching English in the People's Republic so appealing.

As the world's largest economy opens to foreign investment, education has become one of China's thriving sectors. Confucius probably wouldn't stand for it, but he wasn't wearing pinstripe suits and driving a shiny black sedan. The country may be Communist in theory, but the renminbi -- Chinese currency -- is emperor.

A Chinese adage says that the best advice is often born from the most challenging experiences. After three years helping the sons and daughters of Han learn English, I've had my share. Westerners looking to teach in China may want to consider the following before packing their bags.

Some foreign English teachers may be shanghaied at least once during their time in China. Baiting unsuspecting Westerners to China with false promises of a high salary, deluxe apartment, airfare reimbursement, visa or other incentives is a common online scam. Blame it on temptation. Often Chinese laws are too fluid and relationships ("guanxi" in Mandarin) with authorities too intimate, leaving some foreigners with little protection against scams.

The moment I arrived in the Middle Kingdom I had what some seasoned expatriates call "the complete Chinese experience." The "school" that had accepted my application turned out to be a nickel-and-dime operation run out of an apartment by a guy in his bathrobe. I'd come half way around the world for a job and found myself out of work.

I was literally lost in translation. Despair and a desire to return home to Mom set in. But I quickly learned that, commensurate with its sizeable population, China has a profusion of kindergarten, primary, middle and high schools and universities in even the most remote cities. In short order, I wound up with a position and salary more attractive than the one I had originally accepted.

Chinese parents may work night and day to pay for pricey English lessons so that their child can get a head start in this competitive society of 1.3 billion. Unfortunately, academics are not an issue to many of China's new educational entrepreneurs who put profit before curriculum and quality. Classroom experience and Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) certification is nice, but in many cases a Western face is all a native English speaker needs to land a teaching job in China.

In more reputable schools, most prospective English teachers don't have it so easy. I endured a weeklong interview process, including a series of teaching demonstrations before 300 stern-looking parents, all while I was still jetlagged and suffering from culture shock. I must have done something right, because I was chosen to teach at a top school in the province.

Being rice-wined and dined by my prospective employer over 30-course banquet dinners did not distract me from negotiating a fair salary. Many foreigners ("laowai") prefer to live in a cosmopolitan city like Beijing or Shanghai than a small town such as the one I had chosen, and I was able to use this preference as leverage during contract discussions. All deals in China, like the price of fruit at the marketplace, can be negotiated.

Most English teachers in China needn't speak Mandarin in the classroom. Instead, we instruct students through a process of language immersion and simulation, which in time invariably leads to proficiency. Diligence and a little creativity are all that are really needed, but like performing on stage five times a day, it takes its toll.

Over the next few years, I would meet a number of disappointed young Westerners who came overseas as English teachers expecting to party all night and spend their free time pursuing adventures in the countryside. That, I would tell them, is a lifestyle for tourists, exchange students and embassy brats, not the hardworking teacher.

As a foreign expert English instructor, I'm scheduled for up to 30 classes a week and spend most of my free time planning lessons. I'm up at dawn with the older folks practicing their Tai Chi and not back home until after 10 p.m., about when the migrant construction workers also are getting off work.

I never thought I'd be an educator. I didn't like most of my teachers when I was a kid. Teachers the world over are typically low paid, overworked and underappreciated. But the fatigue and the hit on my income -- compared to what I might earn in the U.S. -- are what I pay for being part of a rapidly-changing China. As it turned out, I'm not so bad in front of the chalkboard -- I actually like it.

-- Mr. Carter is a business English trainer in Beijing.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a February 2007 edition of The Wall Street Journal Career Journal.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

The Chinese Internet Crash of 2007 - Calamity or Capitalism?
Calamity or Capitalism?
By Tom Carter
NowPublic.Com

In late December of last year, a 7.1 earthquake off the coast of Taiwan severely damaged Asia’s undersea fiber-optic cables, disrupting telecommunication circuits across the continent.

China and Southeast Asia saw their communications capacity fall to between 2 and 10 percent, and though a portion of service has since been rerouted to alternative fixed lines and suicidally slow satellite transmissions, the P.R.C. has yet to fully recover from the technological aftershocks, what Mainlanders are now referring to as the “World Wide Wait.

Repair status is conflicting, with Chinese telecom officials publicly alternating between evasive (“the work is slow because of complicated conditions”), blameful (“the repairs are done by other companies we commissioned”) and unrealistically optimistic (“a few more days”), as quoted in the state-run media.

International news sources cite a more likely and longer completion date of early-March for a return to full capacity, perhaps due to what global news service AFP disturbingly reports as China “relying on 19th century technology to fix a 21st century problem.

In an effort to downplay the crisis, China precipitately announced that it expects to become the world’s largest Internet user, overtaking the United States with an estimated 137 million users. That’s quite a bullish forecast for a country that has suffered nationwide telecommunications outages since the new year.

In fact, internet blackouts are nothing new to foreigners residing in the People’s Republic, who are accustomed to limited access to overseas sites that have been blocked by the central government’s web monitoring entity, commonly referred to as The Great Firewall of China.

But the newest online paralysis resulting from the recent natural and technological calamity has most certainly affected international businesses in Mainland China, many whom rely on consistent online communications and B2B transactions to stay above international water. Even multinational conglomerates Google, Microsoft and Yahoo, who are already struggling in the Asian market, are now regularly met with “cannot display” time-out errors.

Conversely, China’s e-commerce giants just don’t understand what all the fuss is about. China News Service reports that amidst the first several weeks of Internet outages, Chinese-based ISPs boasted a 99 percent uptime as the country’s largest web corporations including Sina, Baidu, Alibaba, Tom and Tencent saw their site traffic, and earnings, multiply.

But for China’s Internet-deprived expat community from Beijing to the Bund, hope is literally on the Verizon. A consortium of international telecom providers including China Telecom, CNC and U.S. carrier Verizon have jointly invested $500 million in the construction of a new Trans-Pacific Express (TPE) Cable Network connecting Mainland China directly with the United States.

The next-generation submarine optical cable system, expected to be completed in 2008, will span the Asia-Pacific at 60 times the present capacity, rendering obsolete the damaged FNAL cables beneath the Taiwan Strait.

Indubitably, China’s easily-crippled telecommunications infrastructure and the prolonged aftermath can be blamed on poor foresight and co-dependent technology and is both a devastating episode for foreign companies in China and a chin check for a nation striving to compete as a 21st century world player.

But if the completion of a bigger and better trans-Pacific cable network has anything to do with the cause for the delay, then foreign and Chinese companies alike will just have to wait that much longer to resume to normal operating speeds.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared on NowPublic.Com

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

XINJIANG
A Bazaar Crossroads
From dusk ‘til dawn in Xinjiang’s teeming Muslim markets you’ll be immersed in an ancient mix of Eastern and Western cultures
Story and Photography by Tom Carter
Escape Magazine

Perhaps the foremost reason why so few travelers make the journey to northwest China’s Xinjiang province is quite simply its vastness. Aside from being located on the exact opposite side of the country from Beijing, which itself is a long journey even by plane, the arid autonomous region is the largest territory in China, spanning over one-sixth of the second largest continent in the world. It’s also a long journey in terms of the cultural shift the traveler will experience especially when one spends a whole day in its street markets. And conversely, considering its proximity to central Asia, sharing borders with an astonishing eight other nations, one wouldn’t believe that Xinjiang is the People’s Republic’s least touristed province. But it is this solitude in fact that makes the provincial desert a distinct oasis in Asia.

Not far from the scalding sands of the Tarim Basin is the region’s political and commercial center, Kashgar. What Marco Polo called Cascar and the Han now refer to as Kashi the Asian outpost has fashioned itself over the centuries into one of the Silk Road’s most vital international crossroads linking China with northern Pakistan and eastern Afghanistan by way of the Karakorum Highway. As such, Kashgar more closely resembles the Mid-East than the Han culture we are familiar with; the city is a veritable tapestry of central Asian cultures, as reflected in its massive weekly bazaar. Located in the Kona Sheher old town, the famous Sunday market is, like all things Xinjiang, China’s largest.

Approaching the market district, one is immediately beset by a commingled scent of smoke and fruit. If China is famous for its cuisine, then Xinjiang is responsible for half of its success. Lamb kabob roasted throughout the day over sizzling coals against an undulating landscape of spicy lamian noodles topped with peppers, tomatoes and garlic, goat’s head soup, deep-fried fish and yellow mountains of pilaf rice, all washed down with boiling vats of satiating cinnamon tea.
There may not be as much bread in the whole of China as there is in Kashgar and one is oft tempted by stacks of lightly seasoned nan or pyramids of sesame seed bagels fresh out of the oven. Scarlet slices of watermelon, Xinjiang’s most abundant fruit and pink peaches blushing like a child’s cheeks are the perfect desert dessert, with market patrons walking away with comically dripping chins.

If China is famous for its cuisine, then Xinjiang is responsible for half its success

Gorged on the regional fare, one must then dodge the merchant calls of "kilinglar!" (Turkish for "come!") while browsing the endless displays of useful household wares, useless souvenirs (genie lamp anyone?), outdated electronics, knockoff clothing and eye-catching textiles, the latter being the most popular among the women of Kashgar. It’s quite a sight to see a Muslim lady shrouded in an hijab headscarf burrowing through hills of shimmering silk and other fine fabrics to further veil herself in.

Xinjiang’s predominant nationality, the Uyghurs, flavor the region with both their unique Turkish-influenced culture and devout religious faith. With more then twelve million Muslims in China, Xinjiang naturally accounts for over half the national total. Kashar’s Id Kah is the largest mosque in the People’s Republic; the city literally comes to a halt five times a day when the faithful respond to the calling of the adhan and rush to mosque for a congregational series of Mecca-facing prostrations and Islamic prayer. Half an hour later, the city is again screaming with activity and commerce.

Despite the traditional lifestyle of the Uyghurs, Kashgar has developed itself over the years into a white-tiled mercantile metropolis, where even the famed weekly bazaar is now held in a modernized indoor facility of thousands of identical stalls. Though still quite a spectacular site, this refinement has left many enthusiasts desiring something a bit more...authentic. Not to be discouraged, the answer to anyone dissatisfied by the comparatively tamer and more contemporary Kashgar is Xinjiang’s lesser known, yet arguably more impressive souk in Hetian, a day’s scenic drive south along the lethally hot Taklamakan, the second largest desert in the world. The shaded, tree-lined respite is renowned throughout China for its jade, silk and carpets – the three treasures of Hotan (as the Uyghurs spell it), which translates into "place that abounds in jade".

Beyond the medieval blacksmiths pounding on their anvils asphalt turns to dust

Hetian- A souk beyond

Indeed the first site anyone will happen upon at the Hetian marketplace is an entire street of jade dealers, either from storefronts, on blankets spread out on the ground, in the trunks of cars, or out of their pant pockets. The rabid riots of precious stone peddlers and prospective buyers haggling in their Turkish tongue over every size and color of jade imaginable add to the chaos that is only the beginning of Hetian’s bazaar. Extending countless kilometers in all four directions, the traffic-stopping market literally takes over the city streets; ass-drawn carriages contending with big bad buses and motorcycle taxis navigating through scores of preoccupied people. An entire boulevard of fragrant fruits and prismatic vegetables intersects an avenue lush with carpets and rugs, which is then separated by the canals of the Hotan River.

Beyond the medieval blacksmiths pounding on their anvils asphalt soon turns to dust. Livestock both alive and freshly slaughtered trample the dirt or turn it into crimson mud, and baying horses, camels, mules and bulls excrete freely onto the ground while being industriously inspected by interested human parties. To a pulsating background score of 200 beat per minute Arabic tabla drums and the two-stringed dutar, the bizarre bazaar dramatically segues into heaps of faux jewelry, henna hair dye and cheap cosmetics ravaged by young, olive-skinned women wearing heavy black eyeliner who prefer neck and arm-revealing (gasp!) western fashion to their more conservatively concealed counterparts. Meanwhile the local men get a shave and their head scalped by an outdoor barber or go browsing for a new knife or an embroidered dopi cap.

The blazing desert climate begins to cool at sunset, which in the summer months is about 11pm, and the mad market in Hetian winds down. Beggars seek those last few alms, exhausted vendors relax with a few chapters of the Qur’an, and the rest of us return home to look through our treasures.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a February 2007 edition of Escape magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

November 3, 2006
NOW WE ARE IN XANADU
Tom Carter travels to the winter wonderland of Inner Mongolia
HK magazine

In the summer it is a scalding expanse of desert, in the spring verdant grassland; but in the winter, Inner Mongolia is a white kingdom few travelers, beyong the occasional Mongol nomad, brave to enter.

Indeed, the traditionally nomadic lifestyle of the native Mongolian reflects the region’s unforgiving climate. To quote the usually intrepid Lonely Planet guidebook chapter on Inner Mongolia, “…from December to March – forget it!”

Occupying 12% of China’s landmass in a majestic arching slope of over one million kilometers, Inner Mongolia borders 8 other Chinese provinces in addition to the colossal countries of Mongolia and Russia to the north.

Today, Mongolians make up only 17% of the provincial population. And while leather-skinned warriors on armored horseback may no longer pose a threat to the Chinese, the mainland is now seeing a second Mongolian invasion, this time in the form of sand.

The vast Gobi Desert, which already consumes Inner Mongolia’s northwestern border, is dramatically expanding at a rate of 10,000 square kilometers per year and is calculated to turn 40% of the People’s Republic into a veritable wasteland, evinced by the apocalyptic sandstorms from the north that assault Beijing during the summer months

But vacationers to Inner Mongolia (Nei Menggu in Putonghua) need not concern themselves with such things as environmental catastrophes, for in winter the gold sands of the Gobi slowly give way to white as frost slowly veils first the north and then the entire province.

Arriving in the Inner Mongolian capital of Hohhot (pronounced Ho huh ha ta), one finds that it truly is a “Blue City,” as its Mongolian name implies, but with a comparatively modern ambiance nonetheless.

The urban skyline falls behind the horizon as our journey via steam train progresses across the frozen plateau to the more rustic northeast. Following electrical lines from village to village, the train’s ice-trimmed windows reveal an otherwise barren countryside dotted with red brick homes stacked with chimneys continuously exhaling their coal smoke.

This is the pastoral life of Mongolian miners, farmers and shepherds hibernating for the winter, nary a sole outside save the occasional caravan of camels led through the snowy waste by men as furry and indistinguishable as their charge.

The flatlands give way to hills of white birch and sinuous rivers of blue ice. Veering north, the train then burrows into the Greater Khingan mountain range, which forms a natural provincial border separating Inner Mongolia from the plains of Manchuria to the east.

Passing frozen Hulan Hu, China’s fifth largest lake, and the Hulunbuir grasslands (now blanketed in snow), it comes as a pleasant shock to discover that the busiest land port of entry in the mainland is located here in the far reaches of Inner Mongolia. The Manzhouli crossroads, situated directly on the borders of China, Mongolia and Russia and the Trans-Siberian Railway, is a fascinating fusion of northeastern cultures.

Shops, hotels and restaurants are of distinct Russian personality and advertise in both Chinese and Russian script while the streets teem with rugged import-exporters and big blonde Russian tourists extravagantly attired in plush fur coats, pelt scarves and omnipresent ushanka hats.

But the final and most remote destination comes during the return trip south through tundra as vast as the sky above, the snowscape spotted with resilient brush, wind-swept fences and adobe villages of ice-glazed rooftops until…Xanadu, Kublai Khan’s summer palace.

While the name Xanadu invokes an air of mystery to those who have never been, there is in fact no “snow-white mares with sacred milk, rich and beautiful meadows” as observed by Marco Polo, nor Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s oft-cited “stately pleasure dome.”

Xanadu, otherwise known as Yuanshangdu, today is less an eternal world than a set of dilapidated stone walls and towers buried in centuries of dirt and weeds, leaving the fantasies of a romantic Mongolian city to be written by the opium-addled. China’s tourism bureau has all but deserted the ancient area for (literally) greener pastures, and, according to locals, it is a rare day when even one visitor can be found walking the venerable grounds during the winter months.

But the sheer desolation of Xanadu is exactly its attraction. Walking among 11th-century ruins mantled in dazzling whiteness, one is left completely alone to enjoy an untouched history and uncorrupted serenity that is otherwise not found in today’s China.

In the immortal words of disco queen Olivia Newton John, “Now we are in Xanadu!”

Tom Carter, a freelance writer and photographer from San Francisco, has lived in P.R.China the past two and a half years. He is currently backpacking through all 32 Chinese provinces.

Getting there

Daily flights from Hong Kong to Hohhot (connecting in Beijing), via Air China, Cathay Pacific and Dragon Air, 6 hours, 7000 HKD, round trip.

Daily trains from Hong Kong to Beijing, 24 hours, 800 HKD. From Beijing to Hohhot, 12 hours, 300 HKD

To reach the bordertown of Manzhouli, daily trains from Hohhot to Hailaer, approx 40 hours, 270 HKD for a sleeper. From Halaer to Manzhouli, via shuttle bus or express train, 3 hours.

There are no official tours or direct routes to Xanadu. From Hohhot or Hailaer, get off at Sangandali, and then take a shuttle bus to Zhenglanqi (simply called Lanqi by the locals). From Lanqi, a private taxi can be retained for approx. 100 HKD for a round trip to Yuanshangdu, 30 minutes away.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a November edition of HK Magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

September 28th-October 11th, 2006
Ditch the Tour
Buy a two day pass and get lost in Jiuzhaigou as leaves turn from green to blazing reds and oranges
Text and Photos by Tom Carter
City Weekend

Autumn is perhaps China’s most precious season, a respite between sweltering summers and fatal winters. But it is only in the northern Sichuan highlands of Jiuzhaigou, China’s natural wonderland, where fall can be witnessed in blazing splendor.

Approaching Nine Villages Gully near the Gansu border, one may at first be daunted by the chaos of tour groups and ceaseless convoys of busses not unlike diesel prisons bullying their way through the crowds with deafening blasts of the horn. Be reassured, however, that anyone in a red hat following a flag and megaphone most certainly does not have the same itinerary as a more independent-minded visitor.

While Jiuzhaigou is a massive 720 square meters, you can feel the full force of the nature reserve on a two-day pass. Keep a keen eye out for the seldom-used paths veiled in vegetation located on the opposing side of the main thoroughfare in Zaru gully near the park’s entrance.

With the growl of the tour busses segueing into a score of birdsong and black exhaust becoming crisp breathable air, the nature reserve quietly proceeds into a Y-shaped canyon of virgin woodland that would make a ChongQing girl blush. Not unlike vertical forests, the verdant broadleaf palisades dripping with lichen and turning a muted crimson and gold for the coming fall ultimately dissolve into the heavens as one is led deeper into the forest.

Drinking in the damp sweetness, the dense woods of the Nuorilang gully are suddenly pierced by the region’s star attraction: prismatic lakes ranging in size from small to dragon-sized pools and covering a color spectrum of ice blue to fall apple green. Formed by glacial erosion and fed by underground springs, the phosphorescent phenomena is attributed to algae and mineral concentration, though a poet laureate might otherwise be inspired to write of the mint-blue waters as the mouthwash of the gods.

As dusk approaches, the park is promptly evacuated of all visitors. While most will return to the neon-lit tourist circus outside the entrance, the assiduous traveler can skirt the rules (and security guards) by staying the night with friendly locals living on the grounds. Home to the Qiang and Aba Tibetan minorities, the autonomous villages of Zechawa and Schuzheng in the park center, and the smaller Rexi and Heijia villages to the north, are themselves a cultural draw.

Dawn before the crowds is rather like an epiphany, gentle winds whispering through the lakeside reeds as revelations from nature herself. Readers with an affinity for tranquility may especially appreciate the walkways behind the seldom-traversed Swan and Grass lakes in Zangmalonghe gully, though the tranquil beauty of the area is in fact no secret at all; Jet Li’s ‘Hero’ was filmed at Arrow Bamboo Lake.

The teal twilight of the water then disappears into placid marshland before dramatically debuting into pearly shoals cascading in a series of multi-level falls so dazzling that any passerby might exclaim wosei! without even realizing.

The resonance of the cascade becomes a murmur as the voyeur descends from the rushing waters into vivid pastures of lavender, purple and yellow wildflower. Moving from Rize gully for the park’s exit gate, take a last breathe of JiuZhaiGou’s pristine autumn air.

TRAVEL TIPS

How to get there:
Connecting flights from Beijing/Shanghai-Chengdu-JiuZhaiGou airports for RMB 2420-3220
Where to stay:
The Sheraton is located 1.5km from the park entrance (from RMB 600-1,700 per night).
Where to eat:
Eat with the friendly locals living in Jiuzhaigou – Tibetan yak meat is a must try.
Where to play:
The nature reserve, of course! Two-day park passes cost RMB 220.
Extras:
At once subtropical and temperate, there are over 2000 endemic varieties of flora, including the stunningly obvious blue-green algae, vibrant rhododendron and orchid. Species of pine, maple, spruce and birch are especially spectacular in the autumn. JiuZhaiGou’s altitudinal range and rich vegetation directly contribute to the region’s unique animal life, with 140 species of birds and mammals such as deer, the elusive golden snub-nosed monkey and Ailuropoda Melanoleuca, known to most as the giant panda. An innately isolated creature requiring an undisturbed habitat, spotting a wild giant panda feeding in the park’s bamboo groves is difficult but not impossible for anyone choosing to walk instead of taking a tour bus.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in an October edition of City Weekend magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

December 12. 2006
INFOCUS
LOCAL Talk
Beijing Talk

PLANET PANJIAYUAN
Inside Beijing’s Largest Antiques Fair
Text & Photo by Tom Carter

Perhaps not by coincidence, the Greek word Pangaea, meaning “all lands,” is the name historians have given to planet Earth before its continental drift 200 millions years ago, when the world was one.

Similarly named Panjiayuan, Beijing’s largest antiques fair, can likewise be described as a place where every province in the People’s Republic have come together to form their own supercontinent-like market place. Indeed, one might spend years journeying across China to uncover the same treasures that can be had in a day at Panjiayuan.

Here, spanning landscapes of antiquated wares, art, precious stones and revolutionary memorabilia meet precipitous mountains of books, furniture, ceremonial dress and sundry jewelry. One must finally traverse vast seas of dynastic china, heirlooms, national regalia and old coins before emerging dusty, exhausted and burdened with your finds.

Along the way you’ll have encountered traditional Han, the Uyghurs of Xinjiang and the nomadic Drokpas of Tibet, all selling their goods side by side with about fifty other ethnic minorities; the splendors of West China contrasting nicely with vestiges of Beijing.

Scores of international visitors from the Orient to the Americas to Europe peruse the eclectic bazaar to purchase relics that truly cannot be found anywhere else in the world. But the market is also teaming with spectators. Beijing elders who, not unlike moons orbiting a planet, crowd around every negotiation taking place, finding much amusement in watching waiguoren paying forty times more for a faux antique then what a local might pay for the real deal.

Such is life on planet Panjiayuan.

[Panjiayuan is located in Chongwen District off of Dongsanhuan Nanlu. Open Monday-Friday 8:30am – 6pm, and Saturday-Sunday 4:30am – 6:30pm.]

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a December 2006 edition of Beijing Talk magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

Down & Out in HK
A poor man's epiphany in wealthy Asian metropolis.
Written by Tom Carter
Friday, 01 December 2006
That's PRD

Having spent over two-and-a-half straight years in the Chinese mainland without leave, it was with both anticipation and apprehension that I recently crossed the southern border into Asia’s wealthiest city.

Despite its one-stop-shopping popularity with Mainland expats needing new clothes and a new visa, I truly had no idea what to expect in the former crown colony that supposedly makes even rich men feel poor. Rather terrified of exacting reverse culture shock, I hence saved English-speaking Hong Kong and its “One Country, Two Systems” self for the tail end of my journey across the 32 Chinese provinces.

And it is here I report that all my preconceptions and fears about Hong Kong were... true. To quote the under-appreciated American writer Thomas A. Carter (me!) upon his brief sojourn in the legendary Chinese city, “I’ve never felt more poor than when I was in Hong Kong... I’ve never felt more ugly than when I was in Hong Kong.”

DAY 1: Cross the Shenzhen-Hong Kong border at Louhu and catch the immaculate KCR railway, immediately impressed that nobody is staring, shoving or spitting. Arrive in Kowloon’s southern peninsula and emerge from the underground into the land of lights – Tsim Sha Tsui. Blinded with excitement, I have to ask a resplendent group of Indian women draped in saris where the Mirador Mansion is. They point their gold-ringed fingers straight up. A towering, rust-stained concrete block, and one of Hong Kong’s only affordable accommodations. I check in to a claustrophobic dorm room (three times the price of a Mainland dorm and three times as small), then hit Nathan Road. Peering up into the neon lights, tripping in the crush of the crowds, I feel just like a migrant worker back in Beijing.

DAY 2: Awoken at 6am by one of my bunkmates stumbling in after a long night. His name is Pat, a young American backpacker with long red hair whose introduction is immediately followed by a long-winded narrative about his two-week romps in Hong Kong, including scoring with the mythical “Asian girls who LOOOVE foreign guys.” When I counter that I never had any such luck, the fast-talking but likeable Pat proffers some off-the-cuff advise (“Dude, lose the beard”) before launching into more useful information. “It’s Sunday, okay, and there’s gonna be, like, 120,000 Filipino nannies and maids on their only day off – and looking for boyfriends!” I’m a little dubious of Pat’s generalizations, but sure enough his mobile rings continuously with calls from adoring cleaning ladies he met the Sunday before. An afternoon stroll around Statue Square indeed reveals a literal blanket of thousands of picnicking South Asian women (Hong Kong’s largest migrant communities) whose collective chatter sounds just like a large flock of seagulls. When I attempt to candidly photograph one attractive young Filipino, she shouts “Hey! I klick jor ass!” So much for getting a date.

DAY 3: Fieldtrip to Shek O beach on Hong Kong Island’s south side, savoring the soft sand and splashing in the subtropical South China Sea. Supposedly this place is packed out on the weekend, but that’s what weekdays are for, no? It’s one of those moments when I enjoy being unemployed. Chase my fun in the sun with a tram ride up Victoria Peak for a breathtaking evening vista of skyscrapers, which appear to be constructed entirely out of lights. Dafnit, an Israeli girl clearly in awe of the Hong Kong skyline, remarks, “We have no tall buildings in Israel. Oh wait... we have one!”

DAY 4: Spend the day traversing Kowloon, the fashion billboards of TST turning into seedy massage parlor billboards as I descend northwest down the Nathan Road side streets, the sun lost behind precipices of neon signs stretching horizontally over the streets. The markets of Mong Kok are mobbed with uniformed students on lunch break: long-haired boys with untucked white shirts and loosened ties, and made-up girls in little outfits out of a Japanese kogal/hentai fantasy: knee-high black stockings, short skirts and a Louis Vuitton bag to carry their pencils and books. They have tattoos, tongue piercings and smoke cigarettes. After commenting that they are the hippest students in China I’ve seen, one 15-year-old boy replies in perfect English, “Yes, so cool, but so young.”

DAY 5: I want to see how the other half lives and spend the day in Central, Hong Kong Island’s microcosm of capitalism. Cross Victoria Harbor by the centuries-old Star Ferry through a morning miasma of pollution and follow white-collared crowds of businessmen contending with cell phones, briefcases and lattés into their respective skyscrapers. Later observe as many women shopping in designer department stores – these must be the wives. I notice that they all clutch their purses as I walk by, then realize why as I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflective fa?ade of the Bank of China tower. My head cast down in self-consciousness, I almost get rolled over by a Rolls (driving on the wrong side of the road, damn Brits!), then almost again by a double-decker cable car. Everyone in Central must be against me. My insecurities are firmed up that evening in Lan Kwai Fong, a gentrified neighborhood of upscale restaurants and bars on the Island’s northern escarpment. The steep streets are congested with young, well-to-do westpats toasting yet another successful day of money -making. I can’t believe there are so many white people in China who aren’t English teachers! They are all smartly dressed and have well-groomed hair; I am wearing cutoff army pants, low-top fake Converse, an eight year old t-shirt that I bought used, nor have I shaved or cut my locks in the eight months I’ve been on the road. I want to belong, but I don’t. It’s one of those moments when I regret being unemployed.

DAY 6: I give the Island another chance and take the night ferry across the harbor to the north end’s older and seedier nightspot, the infamous Wan Chai. Recall it is where Richard Mason penned his 1950’s tale of forbidden love, “The World Of Suzie Wong,” though a lot has changed since he wrote “take a minute’s stroll from the center and you won’t see a European.” The pick-up bars still line the road, yum-yum girls luring passersby into their neon-lit dens, but these are the illegitimate daughters of Suzie Wong, not of Chinese but Thai dissent, wearing not elegant silk cheongsams but cheap miniskirts raised to immodest heights. And unlike the kindly ladies of the Nam Kok Hotel, these modern-day working girls are vicious, mercenary, cold. When a group of obviously disappointed white boys emerge from one venue exclaiming, “In Thailand they take off ALL their clothes,” the brown-skinned door girl in plastic go-go boots is quick to shout back, “Then go to Thailand!” Further down Lockhart I follow a couple of older Europeans primed with drink and flirting heavily with a lovely bouquet of girls looking for generous company. After making their arrangements, one of the men leans on me and confides, “Wy mife, I mean my wife, thinks I’m *HICCUP* at a conference.” The remaining girls give this poor writer a cursory glance then quickly cross the street away from me.

DAY 7: I wake up feeling dejected and classless; the expatriates of Central don’t want me, nor do the waterfront girls of Wan Chai. Take a stroll around TST, passing by friendly knots of third-world hustlers hanging out in front of the Chungking Mansions, the immigrant ghetto of Kowloon that serves as temporary living quarters for Hong Kong’s financially insolvent émigrés. A street corner tout from Kashmir says to me “The Mansions is where anyone not wearing pastel shorts or a suit stay.” I realize this mad cauldron of multiculturalism is the only place I truly feel at home in Hong Kong. The Africans on the never-quiet front steps always high-five me, the Pakistanis all think I’m Muslim (must be the beard), and the Indians bat their eyelashes at me. The Chungking Mansions are the international haunt for anyone who is no one, and I am one of them. It is a peasant’s epiphany – in Hong Kong, I am the ‘nongmin.’

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a December 2006 edition of That's PRD magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

Hostel Intentions
A sojourn into the heart of Chengdu's backpacker planet.
Written by Tom Carter
Monday, 02 October 2006
That's PRD

As a veteran backpacker of both hemispheres currently traveling extensively throughout all 32 provinces of the People’s Republic of China, this writer has come to depend heavily on hostels. Without them I could not financially (or emotionally) last the 10 months I’m expected to be on the road. As such, I’ve brooded on the etymology of the word.

Hostel: a term that has become synonymous with world travel. From the Medieval Latin hospitium, it has been co-opted by over 80 different countries, beginning in 1912 Germany whence originated the idea of the modern youth hostel. Yet in spite of its global popularity, hostelling has continued to remain a relatively underground experience.
Budget backpackers, considered at once hipsters and hobos, rely on hostels for their comparatively affordable accommodations. But youth hostels are also a retreat from the road; a refugee camp for foreigners journeying abroad.
China might have opened its doors to westerners, but we are still strongly urged by the national tourism bureau to check in to pricey hotels while economical boardinghouses, luguan, are for locals only.

Hot destinations, however, like Beijing, Yangshuo and Dali are renowned for their selection of lively hostels. I’ve been to them all, and I’ve seen it all (there ought to be a reality TV series called ‘Backpackers Behaving Badly). There is one hostel I shall especially never forget, where the vibe was so deliciously laid back that my intended two-day stopover turned into seven.

DAY 1: Arrive 8pm in Chengdu, Sichuan’s sweltering capital city, and check into the ‘Stir-Fry’ hostel. The attractive Chinese front-desk staff in short shorts confirms what I’ve heard about Sichuan girls. Get a bed in a 6-bunk dorm and immediately crash out. Woken at 2am by five inebriated Australians returning from a disco vociferously complaining that Chinese girls spend all day playing online dancing games at internet cafés, but at a nightclub they just stand against the wall.

DAY 2: Browse the three-story hostel premises, drying laundry whipping in the wind like the flag of the backpacker. Take a stroll around Chengdu then return to find my previous bunkmates replaced by a guy named Pickle from Hawaii who road a motorbike across Sichuan. Pickle’s first words to me are “Mind if I smoke a bowl?” At 5am a drunk Dutch girl falls into her bunk and passes out in nothing but her g-string. The next morning she tells us “I dreenk haalf day un sleep other haalf. I need to sleep less so I caan dreenk more.” I would be stupid not to stay another day.

DAY 3: New guy in our room, a University of Oregon grad named Sven (who looks nothing like a Sven). Pickle wakes up at 2pm and suggests our little American clique have lunch at a Tex-Mex restaurant across town. I feel guilty not eating Sichuan hot pot like I’m supposed to, but my conscience is quickly lost in a world of melted cheese and refried beans. Nighttime at the Stir-Fry is hopping, the open-air courtyard crowded with people from every country imaginable sitting around drinking and chatting, their accented conversations invariably beginning with “Where are you from?” followed by “Where are you going?” Happy laughter is a constant. Our world leaders would do well to study life in a hostel. A British bloke wearing a polo shirt with an upturned collar alternates between hitting on the Chinese front-desk girls (now uniformly wearing size-too-small summer skirts) and asking everyone “Are you going out tonight?” Me, Pickle and Sven opt for watching the Quentin Tarantino blood-and-breasts fest “Hostel” on the lounge DVD player. It’s almost like the Stir-Fry…except everyone gets killed.

DAY 4: Said British bloke, his collar now only half-upturned, is passed out drunk on the lobby couch till late afternoon. He was supposed to have caught an early-morning flight back to the UK, the receptionist tells us, but they couldn’t wake him. Evening at the Stir-Fry once again turns out to be quite the social scene. A French guy with tribal tattoos and a Vanilla Ice haircut queues up a jungle drum & bass mix on the lobby sound system and everyone at once stops what they are doing to dance and bob their heads, like a scene out of some musical. A blonde girl with a nose ring unabashedly drinking backwash out of beer bottles littered around the courtyard convinces Pickle to go with her to a local café named the Pot Palace. I shouldn’t be surprised that such an establishment exists in a province where weed grows wild as a weed. Pickle returns at 4am floating. The last he saw of the drunk nose-ring girl she was fighting with a Chinese taxi driver before running out of the cab without paying.

Day 5: It’stoo humid outside so I beeline to the air-conditioned lounge, where we watch seven pirated DVDs (technically only four because they kept skipping). During this time we visit Africa, various regions of Europe, Los Angeles and prison; it’s almost like traveling! An Italian girl comments, “I shoulda be outsidea meeting Chinesea people anda doinga Chinesea things,” but then settles back in the sofa when the next movie begins. At night I chat with a pair of Israeli girls who confide, “We come China to experience culture, but here have too many Israeli backpacker; we can’t escape ourselves!” And meet a young American beatnik double fisting bottles of Snow and Tsingtao (“Dude, they’re both, like, water!”) trying to round up a group to go to the Pot Palace. It dawns on me that while all these kids are literally blazing through the world looking for a good time, I’ve somehow remained the consummate professional. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m ten years older than the average backpacker. At midnight Sven comes in jovially exclaiming that he found the local pink-light district up by the train station. I’ve wondered where he’s been disappearing too lately.

Day 6: Tex-Mex again for lunch (fifth day in a row!), followed by the Japanese classic ‘Battle Royal.’ A German guy who hasn’t left the DVD room in ten days says that the lazy hostel life is sucking him in. I realize myself that as I still have 12 more provinces to go, I need to either get back on the road or establish permanent residence at the Stir-Fry. It’s a hard choice, but I ultimately opt for the former. Pickle is having his own dilemma. He had been trying to sell his motorcycle, but the local buyers he lined up cut their offer in half at the last minute. “I’ll be damned if I give in to those thieving b*st*rds. I’d rather drive my bike into the Chengdu River!” he shouts as he revs off down the street. I don’t know if he’s serious, but we never see the motorbike again. At 11pm I watch a baijiu drinking game between one of the Chinese front-desk girls and two Brits who have been living at the Stir-Fry for half a year while working as English teachers.

Day 7: Blearily wake up at 6am for the first time in a week and go downstairs to check out. No receptionist to be found, I look around and find the three multinational baijiu drinkers from the night before on the hallway floor. I shake them awake, one Brit crawling off to puke while I turn in my key. Stepping out of the Stir-Fry for the last time I look back to see the still-drunk front-desk girl and the other English lad checking doorknobs for an empty room, then stumble in arm in arm. Manchester – Goooooaaaaal!

YOUTH HOSTELS IN CHENGDU

MIX HOSTEL
10RMB (with YHA membership) for a dorm bed.
Near the train station. 23 XingHuiXi Lu at RenJiaWan, 028-83222271, http://www.mixhostel.com/.
Only a couple years old but already a backpacker’s favorite, complete with pristine dorm rooms, 24-hour hot showers, free wireless internet, restaurant/bar, maps & extensive travel information, complimentary train-station pickup.

SAM’S GUESTHOUSE
50RMB for a dorm bed
Next to the Rongcheng Hotel. 130 Shanxi Jie, 028-6099022, http://www.samtour.com.cn/
One of Chengdu’s longest-running hostels, Sam offers simple rooms attractively set in a tradition Chinese garden (though the noisy Chinese hotel next door is cause for complaint). Basic services include a restaurant, laundry, bikes for rent, internet and tour booking.

HOLLY’S HOSTEL
20RMB for a dorm bed
Near the Wuhouci Temple. 26 Wuhouci Daljie, 028-85548131, http://www.hollyhostel.com
Sam’s sister or wife or daughter or something, this family-run establishment boasts 90 beds in 26 air-conditioned rooms, kitchen, free internet, tour service and complimentary pickup from the train station.

DRAGON TOWN
15RMB for a dorm bed
Near the Mao statue. 27 KuanXiangZi Lu, 028-86648408, http://www.dragontown.com.cn/
Located in a dilapidated hutong, this antiquated courtyard looks intriguing at first, however the dark, hot, cobwebbed attic that serves as a dorm room just can’t compare with more modern facilities.

SIM’S COZY GUESTHOUSE
15RMB for a dorm bed
Next to the WenShu Monastery. 42Xizhushi Lu, 028-86914422,
http://www.gogosc.com/
Set in a preserved 100-year old Sichuan-style residence, Sim’s is an ideal location to relax, with several patio lounges, a bar and entertainment area (including Ping-Pong and a movie room) and 24-hour hot showers.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in an October 2006 edition of That's PRD magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

Keeping A Lid on Crime
By TOM CARTER
Beijing Review

Perhaps the single most reassuring fact about travel in the People's Republic of China is its remarkably low crime rate.

The Ministry of Public Security (MPS), the principal authority of domestic criminal procedures, earlier this year announced a 15 percent decline in violent crime (4.5 million reported cases for 2005), while common property infringement incidents such as theft, fraud and robbery, which account for 80 percent of all cases, rose by only 1 percent.

Cosmopolitan cities such as Beijing and Shanghai, which annually attract tens of millions of overseas visitors on business or holiday, applaud themselves for providing public order and relatively safe city streets where one can walk at just about any hour in relative safety.

But all is not necessarily quiet on the home front. In an uncharacteristically candid public admission, the MPS has reported a pandemic of illicit drug trafficking in China led by an increasing number of foreign crime syndicates, reportedly from the African regimes of Nigeria and Liberia and triads from neighboring Asian countries.

Moreover, violent crime on the southern shore is notoriously rampant in Guangdong, making it the only province in China's mainland to arm police with guns.

Nor is this to say that Westerners are entirely exempt from either being the victim of, or committing, more serious crimes.

I have found myself in several situations while traveling extensively throughout China. I fondly remember the street gang who confronted me in a darkened alley in Inner Mongolia, or facing off with a pickpocket in crowded Qianmen hutong in Beijing with a baying crowd of onlookers taking great delight in watching a 196cm waiguoren vigilante.

Then there was that time in Chongqing. Not exactly heralded as a top tourist destination, the interior municipality of Chongqing, located on the rusty banks of the Yangtz River, uncannily resembles a lawless early-century port-of-call of maritime merchants, hardened dock laborers and waterfront brothels.

An overnight stay in a small hotel on the outskirts of China's largest, and hottest, city, turned into a midnight brawl after a polite request on my part to ask three obviously drunk men loitering in the hallway to settle down, was met with a hostile response.

A push on their part led to a not gentle shove on mine, sending one of the menflying back into his two friends. The next few moments were a feral blur, and for a short time I laudably held my own. But six bare fists can infallibly do more damage than two. The tough guys retreated into the night, leaving me breathless and battered.

The police arrived thereafter and took me to the Public Security Bureau to get a statement. It was determined that the hotel security guards failed to serve their purpose, and it was also found that the hotel did not follow strict municipal protocol in copying the three perpetrators' identification cards before accommodating them, which would have assisted the police in their investigation.

This meant that it was my right under Chinese law to demand an immediate financial settlement from the hotel proprietor—for my troubles, you see—though it hardly made up for the bang up job those inebriated gentlemen did on me.

To be sure, the aforementioned incident is an isolated one, with a great majority of expatriates being lucky, or not, to see so much action during their stay in China ("I was overcharged!" seems to be the leading complaint).

With only one police officer for every thousand residents in a population of 1.3 billion, and more than 40 percent of mainland precincts having fewer than five officers, compounded with a general lack of funding, resources or state-of-the-art technology, China's police ought to be commended for maintaining an impressively low national crime rate.

Let there be no mistake: Xinhua News Agency has reported that there were twice as many reported criminal cases in 2005 than in 1990, and six times that of 1980. But compared to hyper-violent icons of the wild West such as Los Angeles and New York, it is no wonder that China is witnessing an increasing number of foreigners residing in its gleaming municipalities. China remains one of the statistically safest countries to visit, and the rest of the world would do well to take notice.

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a November edition of Beijing Review magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

NO FOREIGNERS ARE ALLOWED!
What would compel a vacant guesthouse to turn away a paying guest into the night?
By TOM CARTER
Beijing Review

Anyone who has spent time in the People's Republic of China is obviously aware of the sheer number of hotels and sundry boardinghouses located in even the smallest city.

What patronizing Western travelers frequently encounter at the front desk, however, is a sudden expulsion by the proprietor conveying in Chinese that NO FOREIGNERS ARE ALLOWED!

What would compel a vacant guesthouse to turn away a paying guest into the night?

The answer is found in a longstanding police statute that prohibits the majority of these establishments from accepting non-Chinese guests or risk the penalty of a fine; only guests with Chinese identification may patron an independently run boardinghouse, called luguan.

Considering no Westerner could meet such a requirement, what this restrictive policy translates into is a concerted effort to urge foreign travelers to stay at more expensive, government-designated hotels.

Following the nation's accession into the World Trade Organization, metropolitan cities such as Beijing and Shanghai, along with the country's most popular holiday destinations, have eased their lodging restrictions to accommodate greater numbers of overseas tourists. But anyone intent on regional travel will be hard pressed to locate an appealing choice of legitimate budget accommodations outside the major cities.

Indeed, having passed through the most remote parts of China on my extensive journey across the country, this writer recalls spending many an uncomfortable night on a Chinese sidewalk or train station floor after being turned away from its only affordable lodging.

A strict budget prohibits me from frequenting any hotel with a room rate higher than 30 yuan, which dramatically reduces my chances of ever finding legitimate accommodations. One night in a three-star hotel is equivalent to a week's worth of frugal travel.

Lest one draw comparisons to myself with a stray dog, I might add that I'm not always so submissively destitute.

I vividly recall a recent experience in Yinchuan, capital of Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region in the northern interior. With only two accommodations to choose from in the immediate vicinity-an overpriced luxury tower or a simple guesthouse with dormitory-style rooms and a shared water closet-I of course sought the latter. As it was, the unapologetic front desk clerk would not admit me.

I looked and did not find the requisite posted official notice stating that foreigners were unwelcome; perhaps she was just intimidated by any interaction with a non-Chinese. I put up a good argument until a police officer was called to intervene. The officer summarily sided with the hotel.

In an act of good diplomacy, the kindly police officer not only escorted me to another hotel, but also paid my tab.

Grateful as I was, I pressed the police officer for an explanation of this policy of excluding overseas visitors from certain hotels. His only explanation was "Luguan are not safe for foreigners."

There may be some truth to this. The average boardinghouse, located in the less appealing neighborhoods that invariably surround transportation hubs, are dimly lit, unsanitary and inadequately constructed of mere particleboard. Nor are the typical luguan guests always the most upstanding of character.

Revenue generated by China's hospitality industry is annually estimated at 300 billion yuan, accounting for 2.5 percent of the country's burgeoning gross domestic product. The Beijing Olympics in 2008 and Shanghai's World Expo in 2010 are expected to make China the largest global tourism market in the next decade.

With between 50-100 million inbound tourists every year, those on business or of the affluent leisure set will be happy to spend 400 yuan and up per night on a branded mid-market hotel, which is still considerably less than in the West.

China's National Tourism Administration and adjunct agencies have heretofore been more concerned with revPAR (revenue per available room) growth than the ethics of forcing someone to either spend ridiculous sums of money for a bed or sleep in the streets.

Yet ultimately the administration will need to address the equally impressive number of budget-conscious travelers in the People's Republic-students and independent backpackers with a limited travel allowance intended to stretch from the Yellow Sea to the Himalayas.

Until the police lifts the overprotective policy of prohibiting them from patronizing the same affordable accommodations that Chinese nationals are entitled to, foreigners in China will be dissuaded from provincial travel upon the simple realization that there is nowhere affordably priced for them to sleep.

###

Tom Carter ofSan Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a December 2006 edition of Beijing Review magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

The Phenomena of Collective Travel
By TOM CARTER
Beijing Review

"What could possibly compel them to do something so… wrong?"

This was the question posed by a group of expats sitting around a youth hostel in scenic Huangshan Mountain, China's beloved mountain range in Anhui Province, discussing the legions of tourists who had disrupted their 72-peak excursion.

As the foreign travelers retell it, what was supposed to have been a heavenly respite turned into an out-and-out circus replete with megaphones, flags and the congestion of untold numbers of tourists with the inopportune desire to see the same thing at the same time.

"We could barely walk up the narrow steps because there were too many tour groups, we couldn't see the view past their florescent hats and we couldn't even hear the birds because of all the noise," complained the foreign travelers.

Such a scene is of course commonplace in China, where 1.3 billion people must contend with both limited time and space during the country's few and far between national holidays.

But where Western travelers, not unlike their world-exploring forefathers, pride themselves on independence, requiring little more than a backpack and a point in the right direction to circumnavigate exotic new countries, the historically communal Chinese tend to have quite a different perspective on travel.

"We like to go where everybody goes," said one Chinese tourist when prompted to explain the disorder of collective travel. "If there are no crowds it means it's not a good place to visit."

An alternative explanation of the chaos that orbits China's favorite attractions is the government's authoritative instruction of where and when the populace may travel, preferring brief, intensive bursts during the national holidays rather than a steady flow.

This quarterly policy may make for impressive economic reports (though Xinhua News Agency reports a growing disfavor with the eight-year-old Golden Week holiday system), but it creates a havoc that is all of dissuading foreigners from extensive travel in China.

Indeed, every summer scores of Western backpackers are stranded in Shaanxi's provincial capital city of Xi'an, home of terracotta warriors, waiting indefinitely for train tickets back to Beijing, often resulting in missed return flights home. The blame for this calamity lies with the tour group companies themselves, who purchase large blocks of tickets (often in advance through personal connection with train station officials), leaving nary a hard seat available for the independent traveler.

And what of the more noticeable effects of those traveling en masse to China's wonderland attractions. To be sure, Jiuzhaigou National Park in Sichuan is a site not to be missed, where emerald lakes reflecting a vertical alpine forest blazing in the autumn with crimson and gold make this protected region the country's premier travel destination.

Unfortunately, what visitors will dauntingly meet with at the park's entrance is a concert of tour buses piercing the surroundings with deafening blasts of their horns and vomiting black exhaust (contributing to Jiuzhaigou's own environmental downfall), while streams of red and yellow hat-wearing, litter-tossing tourists noisily follow a flag-waving guide shouting instructions into a loudspeaker.

When pressed for an elucidation of the social and ecological consequences of collective traveling, a local tour operator rejoins fiscally, "I provide guaranteed transportation, accommodations and discounted entrance tickets, all in one package. Without tour group companies like mine, traveling in China would be impossible!"

To the foreign observer, such logic is the bane of China's heritage, with intrusive tour groups appreciating neither the splendor nor history of the site but rather in a seeming rush to take a snapshot in front of a character-engraved stone before dashing back on their buses to the next site.

But for the Chinese, the constipation and the urgency are indicative of a culture categorically limited in both time and space, where itinerary replaces independence and processed convenience is preferred over pleasure.

"The national holidays are my only chance to spend with my family and see my country," exclaims a Chinese businessman from Beijing on his way to the Yunnan old town of Lijiang, China's third most popular holiday destination. "With a tour group, I don't have to plan, I don't have to worry, I don't have to think."

###

Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.

This article originally appeared in a October 2006 edition of Beijing Review magazine.

Purchase China Portrait of a People online
View the Chinese portraits video on YouTube
Read this China photojournalism interview
Also check out Tom Carter's super-cool China postcards

Add Tom Carter to your Facebook

Hong Kong, city of life and lights
By Tom Carter (Beijing Today)
Updated: 2006-11-14 09:26

Hong Kong! The legendary Chinese city of life and lights, where millionaires rub shoulders with fresh-off-the-boat immigrants, skyscrapers overshadow shanties and class division are as dramatic as the neon that illuminates it all.

Located on the southernmost banks of the Chinese mainland and pressed agains