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Since the fall of communism, Český Krumlov has transformed from relic to hotspot—but has it lost its authentic appeal along the way?

The Czech capital of Prague is known the world over for its storybook beauty, manifesting most dramatically in the towering gothic facade of the St. Vitus Cathedral and the sprawling tableau of red rooftops visible from atop Petřín Hill. Yet just over 100 miles away is another sparkling jewel in the Czech Republic’s crown: Český Krumlov, a city of only 13,000 residents whose 13th-century castle and picturesque riverbanks have brought it not only recognition as a UNESCO World Heritage site but also an increasing influx of tourists that now threatens its very identity.

Former Czechoslovakia’s communist regime, which lasted from 1948 to 1989 before it was ushered out by the Velvet Revolution, left much of Český Krumlov in disrepair. Yet the city’s neglected state lent it a sense of mystery and charm. In the years since, Krumlov—much like the country’s capital, Prague—has been transformed into a tourist wonderland, with historic buildings being renovated and revitalized and ensuing increases in tourist income bolstering the city’s economy.

City streets. Hindol Bhattacharya. CC BY-SA 2.0

As the city has changed, so have the demographics of its visitors. In an interview with Radio Praha, Krumlov’s mayor, Dalibor Carda, explained that an initial boom of Austrian and German tourists after 1989 gave way to an influx of Americans, many of whom settled in the city indefinitely. Today, for locals—whether native-born or transplants—the off-season is a thing of the past, with tour groups flooding the city on a year-round basis. “[I]f you want to have a pristine Krumlov,” writes Jan Velinger in a piece for Radio Praha, “you have to get up very early to ever have its romantic streets, or overlooking castle, ramparts to yourself.” Fed up with the unrelenting crowds, locals have largely migrated to the outskirts of the city, resulting in an exodus of local businesses: Bakeries, hardware stores, and family-owned shops are now difficult to find, having been replaced with bars, restaurants, and hostels catering to short-term visitors.

One of Český Krumlov’s bars, popular among tourists. kellerabteil. CC BY-NC 2.0

In some respects, Český Krumlov has moved to mitigate the encroaching tendrils of tourism, notes reporter Chris Johnstone, pointing to a ban on advertising and the exclusion of cars and buses from the city center. Moreover, just this June, the city established a tariff on buses in an effort to regulate the influx—up to 20,000—arriving each year. The plan is the first of its kind in the Czech Republic, although Salzburg and other Austrian cities have imposed similar measures. Now, all buses rolling into Krumlov must book in advance, navigate to one of two designated stops, and pay the toll of CZK 625, approximately $28.

Tourism has inspired not only legislative changes, but also works of art—as in the case of “UNES-CO,” a 2018 project by renowned conceptual artist Kateřina Šedá. Responding to the profound impact of visitors on the distribution of local populations, Šedá conceived of a work that involved relocating a group of individuals and families to the heart of Český Krumlov for three months at the height of the tourist season. The participants were provided with starter apartments and jobs “on the basis of what Krumlov most needs,” which Šedá deemed to be “the pursuit of normal life.” The title played on the city’s status as a UNESCO World Heritage site and on the Czech words “unést” and “co,” meaning “take away” and “what,” as in “What do visitors get out of this place?” Šedá, whose work often involves social themes and who is famed for relocating an entire Czech village to London’s Tate Modern in 2011, stressed that the project was not intended to be a show for tourists, but rather a social experiment.

Houses along the banks of the Vltava River. P. N. CC BY-SA 2.0

On the opposite side of the artistic spectrum, Huawei—the Chinese electronics behemoth currently facing scrutiny from the U.S. for potential security issues—announced in January that it would build an exact facsimile of Český Krumlov at its headquarters. The Huawei campus, which lies just outside of Shenzhen in the city of Dongguan, will also count Granada, Verona, Paris, Budapest, and Bruges among its plethora of reconstructed European cities. “I heard about it when they started preparing it,” commented Cardo. “The fact that they [are] building it without at least contacting the city does not sit well with me.”

The Krumlov replica may well draw more Chinese tourists, who already represent the largest segment of visitors to the historic city. Yet for embittered locals, the mini-city could be a grimly apt representation of what their home has become: a mere palimpsest of its original iteration, and a cautionary tale depicting how capitalism and tourism can spur unwelcome transformation.

China has begun ambitious plans to end extreme poverty in the country by the end of 2020. Although well-intentioned at first glance, the campaign’s integrity has been called into question.

Southwest China. wnstnsmth. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Aiming to end extreme poverty by 2021, the Chinese Communist Party’s 100th anniversary, President Xi Jinping has launched mass relocations of entire villages in rural southwest China. Over 6,600 members of the Yi ethnic minority group have already been uprooted to custom-built towns commissioned by China’s government.

According to Sichuan province’s party secretary Peng Qinghua, about 80 billion yuan, equivalent to $12 billion, has already been spent to relocate 1.4 million residents. The freshly built towns consist of almost 400,000 homes and approximately 70,000 miles of roads.

These mass relocations seem to contradict Jinping’s original strategy of “Targeted Poverty Alleviation” that he announced in 2013, which in theory would focus on helping individual families through an organized registration system. Now the Communist Party has changed its plan, announcing that ending extreme poverty is impossible without targeting entire communities.

Since millions of rural residents have already been uprooted, many are concerned that the Chinese Communist Party may have a hidden agenda. Specifically, residents fear that mass relocations are intended to force out minority groups to consolidate power among the Han population, China’s predominant ethnic group. The move has come with lifestyle changes for residents, many of whom have received jobs such as babysitting and plantation labor in China’s metropolitan areas. There exists a generational disagreement among residents as well. Older residents have expressed dissatisfaction with such sudden shifts in land ownership and daily routines, while the younger generation seems somewhat more open to the changes.

Part of the government’s funding has focused on upholding the Yi language of Nuosu with support for TV shows, local newspapers and bilingual programs.

This action by the government toward the Yi minority contradicts its previous statements made in favor of entirely erasing minority languages. For instance, the government judged that the language of the Uyghurs is “out of step” and should be replaced with Mandarin.

The government keeps no secret that its poverty reduction initiative intends to promote fundamental social change. Lin Shucheng, party boss for the rural Liangshan prefecture, states that mass relocations are aimed at dissolving what he calls “outdated habits,” such as poor personal hygiene and immoderate dowries.

Although the campaign has been successful at eliminating extreme poverty, the government’s authoritarian measures and contradictory mandates keep residents wary of the future.