In her first few days, Nina thought that getting to know China meant visiting its temples, museums, mountains and major cities. Then she began noticing the little things—the ones that don’t always make it into guidebooks.
Very modern hotels that sometimes lacked an obvious place to hang a towel. Queues that seemed to follow different rules. Umbrellas and long sleeves worn to keep the sun away. Enormous crowds, yet surprisingly clean spaces. Traffic where a honk didn’t necessarily mean anger, but rather: “I’m here, watch out.” Scooters appearing from every direction, and pedestrian crossings that demanded more inner calm than any meditation exercise.
At the table, water was often served warm. Breakfast could mean noodle soup, while a phone was simultaneously a map, a wallet, a translator and a window onto the world.
Nina had come to China to photograph it, and occasionally discovered that China was photographing her. Girls approached her with curious smiles, offering compliments or asking for her “autograph”. Children came over to practise their English, while older brothers and sisters looked after the little ones with an ease that said something about family before anyone needed to explain it.
