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If anyone looked uneasy or refused, we moved on. If we didn’t know the language, we’d motion at the camera and secure a nod before releasing the shutter. After China, we began to think twice about photographing locals just because we could. If you don’t like having your picture taken without permission, assume others won’t as well. Our experience in China showed us how photo-taking can go over the line, and taught us to be better at respecting privacy and personal space.
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The celebrity-obsessed culture prevalent in many parts of the world can desensitize us to what it’s like to be on the other end of the lens. Having your every move documented gets old, and quickly. We weren’t the only ones to draw attention in China-people with blond hair, blue eyes, red hair, or freckles were dealt a similar lot-but the scrutiny was overwhelming. Cameras were held so precariously close to my son’s hair that I’m sure there are photos out there in which you can count the strands. People reached out to touch their heads all the time. The boys’ mini Afros may as well have been unicorn horns. There are tall people in China, but locals seemed genuinely impressed with our height, sometimes even using hand gestures for emphasis. My husband, Ish, is about six foot, I’m 5′ 8”, and our sons are big for their age. The sight of the six of us chatting in the street set off a camera frenzy big enough to draw shopkeepers out to gawk.
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The American mother-daughter duo said that we, too, were the first they’d seen in the country. We were in China for 30 days, but it wasn’t until our last week, in Yangshuo, that we saw another black person. People were staring at us-and snapping pictures.Īs we looked around, we realized that there were things about our family that made as many as 20 people at a time stand in line to get their photo taken with us: We had taken shelter under the cover of one of the arched gates and were waiting for our guide to arrive when we noticed something.
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The next morning, our bad mood was emboldened by torrential rains-but after a harrowing ride with a cab driver to whom speed limits were merely suggestions, we finally arrived at the Forbidden City. Within a few hours, we were already wondering if our plan to spend a month there had been a huge mistake.
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Of all the countries we’ve visited as a family, the hardest, by far, was China.Ī series of missteps on my part meant that, after a 13-hour flight, we found ourselves in a very non-touristy part of Beijing, at a “hotel” that was more like a businessman’s rental apartment.