A photo essay by Joseph Johnson

English teachers have a certain reputation among China expats. Whether or not that is warranted is another question entirely. But I found that teaching in China gave me the opportunity to explore a new country, develop my photography skills, and interact with hundreds of local people in my students. I taught English and Art at a bilingual school in Shanghai from 2013 to 2014. During the academic year, I took a number of informal portraits of students in the classroom, at break time and on school trips. This are a selection of the photographs from that series, ”Students”.

Striking friendship in the Daqing oil fields – by Sam Duncan

I arrived in Daqing, a city in far northeast China famous for its oil fields, at the beginning of September, and the nights were already approaching freezing point. Employed by an “educational consultancy” firm to work as a foreign teacher (basically a money-making scam) in a local combined primary and middle school, I was met by Mike, a Chinese guy who had lived in Ireland for almost a decade and now spoke English as fluently as a leprechaun.

On the cab ride from the bus station to the school, oil pumps sped past, while the sun set behind them in a sky full of billowing clouds. After three years in China I was excited to start a new job in a new city. “It’s absolutely fabulous,” Mike told me about my apartment in his thick accent. “Massive, two bedrooms, the TV is a little old but it’s a Sony and must have cost the owners more than 10,000 yuan. Grand it is.”

When we arrived at the aging six-storey walk-up, I discovered it was the worst place I would ever spend a night in, let alone live in for a year.

On May 27th at the Beijing Bookworm we held the Anthill's second writers night, Scotch and Stories. It was a sold out house (click the link for pics) and we've been drip-feeding the stories onto the hill (those links below). Now the audio is up on Beijing Cream. Big thanks to Anthony Tao for helping to organise the event, and to Beijing Cream and RFH for spreading the word (plus posting my somewhat controversial review of a sexpat memoir a few days before it). Bigger thanks still to all the readers and drinkers who made the night so special.

Without further ado, here's the audio, best listened to with a dram of whisky in hand:

A backpacker's last night in China – fiction by Aaron Fox-Lerner

Ed: This was the final story read out at Scotch & Stories night, accompanied by a peaty Laphroaig 10

The guy I went out drinking with was a hostel buddy, one of those strangers temporarily united with you only in the shared purpose of wanting to party and maybe even get laid if it’s a good night. It wasn’t a good night.

The guy was an American like me, but he spoke Chinese and had been living for five years in Zhengzhou, which is a city in China that must be the real deal, because I’ve never heard of it. I felt like he looked down on me slightly for being just a tourist in Beijing, but we were both there in the common area and I had extra beers and we got along alright. I'd only been in China six days, I hadn't planned on staying long since all I'd heard about China was how fucked up it was, but I figured I should hit up the nightlife on my last day in Beijing before traveling on to Korea.

After knocking back a few beers with him, we go to some bar district and I pull him into the first dive I see.

Flash fiction by Josh Stenberg

Peng was at the door. The famous dumplings were in Shanghai, somewhere, and they weren’t going to eat themselves. The rest of the troops, already assembled, were milling and photographing each other with wall posters of tourist meccas far away, with clocks in the lobby.

I took it as a special favour when Mona Kwan wanted to have her picture taken with me. This was the girl I was trying to sleep with at the time – there was always one back then. Back then? I like to pretend now my life has become more complex. I remember I had an elaborate plan to hive her off from the group, look at that building or mmm, doesn’t that barbeque smell good. We would get lost by accident on purpose. It was nice that our Hong Kong cell phones were out of service here. We could disappear, properly, the way people used to. For once, the theoretical romance of travel might spill over into real life.

As a consequence of this obsession I have no recollection of the famous dumplings. I remember only that Mona would not play footsie with me at the table. Another girl squealed and eyed me incorrectly, and by noon the prospect of me-and-Mona seemed antique.

After lunch we went through the tourist brimstone of Nanjing Road and down to the Bund.