This should come with the important caveat that I’ve only spent limited amounts of time in China, and that I haven’t seen the whole country. Nonetheless, I’d like to share my observations with you.

Already during my first trip, I felt that something was a bit off. At first it was difficult to put my finger on it, suddenly exposed as I was to this new culture, full of surprises and stimuli, but eventually the dust settled and I knew what was wrong. Compared to the anthill of Tokyo, or the human tsunamis that fill the streets of Delhi and Agra, Beijing felt rather quiet and roomy. 

Of course some pushing and pulling accompanied many of my trips by metro, but besides that, I was never entirely convinced that Beijing was a large city. I didn’t have to wait in line at any temple, nor did I brush against other pedestrians while strolling through a brightly lit commercial area. Sometimes I was the only client having lunch or dinner, with the napping staff surprised and maybe a bit annoyed at my sudden intrusion.

Walking around the downtown cluster of skyscrapers at seven in the morning or ten in the evening, maybe four or five windows were lit up. I wondered where China’s crowds were all hiding, or why they refused to flip on the lights to enjoy their cereal or late night football game on the tele. No traffic congested the streets, and no one wagged their finger as I illegally crossed at a red light. 

Recently I spent a day in Shanghai, and walking around this enormous city at eight in the morning, the streets were silent and spotless. Every once in a while a soundless electric scooter whirred past me, but otherwise I saw very few people, and almost no cars. The city was so impeccably clean that I feared my Mom had cleaned it while expecting visitors. Then too, she insists the house looks like a real estate advertisement; unlived in. 

To find youthful vigour and energy I took the metro to 1933 Old Millfun. This concrete, brutalist slaughter house had been renovated into a modern space housing galleries, museums, coffee shops, and more. Or so I had read online. I’d been to similar redevelopments on my travels, and always felt stimulated and curious at the outcome. 

Curious indeed. The place was completely deserted. Tape across the windows, chains to keep the doors locked, but still half a dozen bright screens advertised the shops and occupants of the building, and the elevators moved up and down without complaint. Through glass doors I saw the forgotten desks, monitors, and coffee machine, all under a fine layer of powdery dust. I took some pictures of the eerie brutalist building, and left in a hurry.

I am not entirely convinced 1.4 billion people actually live in China. Or they’re all playing hide and seek, and I lost the game.