Q: There’s one incident in particular: a peasant riot that you photographed and which almost got you arrested. Tell us about that.

A: To be caught up in a proletarian uprising – something both foreign and Chinese reporters in China rarely even hear about, due to rapid suppression of information, let alone eye-witness – was extremely frightening but probably one of the book’s most powerful images. I was subsequently “implored” by the local police to hand over all my photos, under penalty of incarceration, but a couple have managed to slip into the book [winks mischievously]. I'm still in China and would like to be able to leave without a trip to the clink, so it’s not something I can talk about in further detail, nor can we make the photo public until the book is on the shelves.

Guangdong

Q: Guerilla-style documentary photography is something you are obviously proud of. Someone said you have “turned mundane daily life in China into a work of art” but one reviewer wrote that your photographs are “an assault on ordinary people who should be left alone.” What's your take on such extreme responses?

A: Which one was the criticism? [Laughs] Actually, I prefer the term ‘street photography’, because that's exactly what I do. I'm out pounding the pavement from 6am to 6pm every day, learning about the culture through observation and interaction. Many photojournalists cover their assignments as quickly as possible so they can remove themselves from the elements, but I revel in the elements. I don’t have any technical or artistic preconceptions to my photos. The whole idea of spending an hour setting up a shot and then photoshopping it to death afterwards is not what I'm about. I just capture life as it is, then move on. If the picture turns out crooked, so what! Life is crooked! I have no desire to make something palatable, even if it means not getting on Getty. On the other hand, any of my photos that are considered beautiful I credit entirely to my subjects. They are the ones who deserve the compliments.

Q: China really is a vast country to explore, and you have been to every corner of it – 33 provinces and over 200 cities and villages. Travelling for a living sounds like a life of leisure, but what’s the reality?

A: You know, for all the tourism I’ve promoted for China with my photos and travel articles, you’d think the CNTA [China National Tourism Administration] could at least have comped my hotels. But the truth is I’ve never received a cent in financial backing. During the two years I spent travelling across China, I slept in 15 RMB [2 USD] flophouses with particleboard walls – which are illegal for foreigners to stay in – with the occasional youth hostel or night on a bus station floor. I taught English for two straight years beforehand so I could save up to travel, and I really had to pinch my pennies to make it last. The upside is that my insolvency resulted in experiences that staying at the Sheraton could never produce.

Yunnan

Q: All travellers are running away from something. What's your excuse?

A: I come from a long line of nomads – my mother a Danish immigrant of good Viking stock and my father a hybrid Panamanian-Cuban-Italian – so drifting is in my blood. It’s my dream to travel the world, take pictures and write about it. I have no intention of succumbing to that thirty-something syndrome of settling down. The world is my home. 

Q: So what day-to-day difficulties did you encounter during your marathon journey across China?

A: You mean hour-to-hour difficulties. My photos might excite a lot of potential tourists, but I'm not going to sugar-coat the reality of actually travelling in China. The consensus among backpackers is that China is probably the single most challenging country in the world to navigate. Aside from the obvious language barriers, you have 5,000-year old customs and extreme cultural differences that can be quite vexing for the typical westerner. Most of these nuances are not something that you can catch on film; travellers have to discover them for themselves, and that’s part of the fun.

Sichan