An ode to urban density

After 7 years living there, here's my goodbye to Shenzhen

Anna Duan
Anna Duan
Sep 6, 2018 · 8 min read
Boats docked in Shenzhen bay at dusk

At last, it's September 2018 and I'm in Philadelphia starting my freshman year at UPenn. Right now it’s 1AM and, sitting in the mahogany and brick basement of Wharton’s Huntsman Hall, low-key homesick and possibly actually sick from the sub-arctic conditions of America's aggressively air-conditioned buildings, I figure there’s no better time to write about the city I just left.

I refuse to acquiesce to the classic going off to college, I’ll miss this place and everyone so much post. That, I think, doesn’t do justice to my home for the past seven years, a city that’s seen me mature (ideally), sneak outside at questionable hours, and revel in the wonders of urbanism. Instead, I'd rather say goodbye the way I know best: by writing about some of the people and places I've encountered that make Shenzhen special to me.

View from atop Mount Nanshan, Qianhai district in background

To be clear, I initially despised the city. Moving there in 2011 from Rockville, Maryland, I thought the city was a slum compared to the fresh-cut lawns and colonial brick townhomes of American suburbia. This feeling lasted some time, hence my 2015 Taking a Whiff of Shenzhen's Pungent Surroundings article for now defunct news site, The Nanfang.

Luohu business district, overlooking construction worker residences and commercial buildings

Eventually though, my scorn for the chaotic melange of angry taxi drivers and streets which were always suspiciously wet wore away. And over time, the enveloping density of the city grew on me. The busy clusters of civilization beneath the sky of high-rises, from run-down remnants of Shenzhen’s old flour factories in the Qianhai area to the mass of migrant tenements in the downtown Luohu district, began to draw me closer with their eclecticism and their contrast from the tidy expat bubble where I lived.

Perhaps this initial attraction was superficial; just an angsty teen falling to the allure of the frontier beyond warning signs and wire fences and the mildewy alleys between handshake buildings laced with electric wires and clotheslines. Whatever my initial motivation, my ventures into the dense, wet, and fragrant nooks and crannies of Shenzhen have revealed to me a multitude of unheard yet fascinating narratives making up this melting pot of a city. Without further ado, here are a few pieces of Shenzhen as I know it.


Baishizhou Urban Village/白石洲城中村

Baishizhou is among the few neighborhoods remaining from Shenzhen’s fishing village days just over thirty years ago. Come nightfall, it resembles photos of Chinatowns of long past, with red LED signs touting roast goose rice and clothing strung hazardously between buildings.

Baishizhou streetview at night

Inside the handshake buildings, so-named for their proximity to each other, apartments, rooms, and even individual beds are up for rent. On the buildings’ exterior, neon, hand-calligraphed posters offer the various living spaces for a mere third of outside rates.

Posters advertise rental spaces in Baishzhou’s tenements. These prices change nearly monthly.

Housing millions of migrant workers and young entrepreneurs who otherwise could never afford to live in Shenzhen proper, Baishizhou forms a diverse, low-cost haven tucked in the booming Luohu district. But like much of the city, it’s an area in flux. Word of the government’s plans to redevelop the area has been circulating for years.

As I chat with a woman selling watermelons, she says that she longer dares to make large orders or rent a shop. Other shop owners are also ready to pack up and go at a minute’s notice. Nobody knows when the dreaded red notice with the word 裁, or demolish, will appear on their doors, mandating the destruction of the village.

But, she says, looking at her stand and smiling wryly, it’s good money for now.

A makeshift watermelon stand is set up beside the street

Boardwalk Migrant Workers

Rapid urbanization and migrant culture make up two central aspects of Shenzhen’s identity and history. One catches a rare glimpse of the interplay between the two on construction sites.

Last winter, to my delight, a length of the boardwalk stretching along the bay outside my school became a construction site as the city decided to renovate its waterfront park.

The beginning of the boardwalk renovation project, taken from inside Shekou International School

After watching its progression over the course of many stimulating math classes, I slipped out into the site one day at lunchtime. Stepping over shrubs and hoses, I strike a conversation with a man working on the landscaping.

He says he’s from Hunan province and arrived in Shenzhen a month ago. Drawing upon stories about the exploitation and abuse faced by rural migrant workers and the hazardous working conditions I saw on the site, I gingerly ask him about his experience here.

I brace myself for stories about the ugly side of the construction industry. My subconscious mind prepares a sympathetic nod and a look of condolence.

Instead, furrowing his brow, he squints out towards the expanse of ocean beyond the bay. He tells me he came out to see more of the world and to experience life beyond his village. As he’s getting old, he says, he wants to challenge his mind and body.

Another man speaks of the opportunities in the city, and how the extra money has changed his family’s lives. He adds that he imagines the city will change tremendously in the next few years.

Both tell me they would recommend anyone back home to come out here and experience the city for themselves.

As I digested their words, I cringed at my ignorant preconceptions and lack of perspective; at the pity I felt for these workers despite only having seen their living and working conditions from afar.

As I saw, these people are dignified and hopeful, drawn to the city’s promise of opportunity and new experiences. This narrative is rarely told, subsiding to the more sensational news headlines of abuse or workplace injuries occurring on construction sites. But it should be, for these men and women are the people at the frontlines of Shenzhen’s rapid urbanization.

Old Residential Architecture

There’s something distinctive about the older high-rises built in the city's business districts during the late twentieth century. Because of the nature of the Chinese government, some overzealous officials would intervene in construction projects with their own ideas for the buildings. In many cases, they strong-armed developers into designing the buildings to their liking

The product of these clashes between developers and politicians reflects on the bizarre facades of many downtown buildings, where extreme density meets odd proportions and shapes. Today, these buildings are widely scorned as the physical embodiment of government overreach and bureaucracy. They are dismissed as the ugly predecessors of Shenzhen’s gleaming skyscrapers and monumental convention centers; an early, brutish stage in the evolution of contemporary Chinese architecture.

But, looking closely, one sees that there’s more to them.

In a cluster of pink high-rises in Luohu district, I see the interaction between Shenzhen’s initial efforts to modernize with its attempts to grapple with its rapid expansion.

Commercial and residential cluster in downtown Luohu. Gleaming glass and irregular shapes are common in the buildings of this district.

Style-wise, they allude to 1920s western Art Deco architecture, and in form, they reflect the city’s need to house a growing population (hence the joining of three towers into a single massive residential building).

Shekou, too, sees its fair share of odd apartment complexes. In Old Shekou, there is a type of building resembling a hybrid between the old tenements of Baishizhou and the modern apartment buildings around them.

Marked with rust stains, missing tiles, and cagey, dripping AC units, their yellowing facade speaks of neglect and age. All that and their painfully awkward proportions resulting from an overabundance of tiny windows makes them an eyesore for passerby.

An apartment complex in Shekou, the southern part of Nanshan district

But look at them out of context. Tilt your head back, and the endless rows of éclair-shaped balconies tease the eye skywards, their pale tiles in bold contrast with the brilliant blue backdrop.

At an angle and from a distance, their overwhelming visual density fades into a soothing rhythm of shapes, coerced by harsh, long bands of white into an oddly mesmerizing and unified geometric structure.

Viewed in isolation, their appearance bears little resemblance to the worn apartments one sees when approaching the complex face-on from the street.


For all of this and more, thank you, Shenzhen.

This is where I found my passion for studying cities. Shenzhen’s density, which I once hated, is what allows it to harbor the range of people, buildings, and spaces which ooze with stories of human hope, resilience, and diversity. This city has taught me to find beauty within chaos and about the importance of perspective.

Though reluctantly dragged there, I’m more inquisitive and openminded for it.

And now, I’d better get on my way because unfortunately, Huntsman Hall is no longer 24/7 and instead closes at 2AM and the security guard is starting to give me stink-eye. Skrrt

Brick and Pavement

I capture and pick at little figments of the cities I visit, focusing on buildings, streets and neighborhoods.

Anna Duan

Written by

Anna Duan

Aspiring urban planner, casual powerlifter, freshman at Penn. I enjoy writing about cities, food, and society.

Brick and Pavement

I capture and pick at little figments of the cities I visit, focusing on buildings, streets and neighborhoods.

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