In my 15 years consulting in the travel and business sectors across Asia, the most common question I get about places like Ordos is: “Why?” Why would anyone spend billions building a city for nobody? The answer lies in the fundamental structure of the Chinese economy and, to a lesser extent, developing economies in Southeast Asia. In the West, we generally view a house as a place to live. In China, a house is a high-yield savings account made of concrete. With a volatile stock market and strict capital controls preventing money from leaving the country, the average citizen pours their life savings into property.
This insatiable demand met a local government system that needed cash. In China, local municipalities are responsible for a huge portion of infrastructure spending but have limited tax collection powers. Their solution? Selling land. To sell land at high prices, you need a story of growth. You draw a map of a “New District,” promise high-speed rail links, schools, and malls, and sell the land to developers. The developers presell the apartments before they are even built. The money flows in, the GDP target is hit, and officials get promoted. Whether anyone actually moves in is an afterthought.
This creates a bizarre reality where the “Ghost City” is actually a financial success for the people who built it, at least initially. The apartments are sold. They are owned. They just aren’t inhabited. Owners are holding them vacant, waiting for the value to double so they can sell. It is speculation in its purest form. However, as we have seen with the recent collapse of giants like Evergrande and Country Garden, this music is stopping. The debt required to fuel this machine has become unsustainable. We are now seeing the shift from “ghost cities that will eventually fill up” to “rotting cities that will never be finished.”
For the traveler, this economic failure creates a landscape of distinct beauty. You are walking through the physical manifestation of a bursting bubble. It is a museum of capitalism gone wrong. When I arrange itineraries for photographers or urban planners, we treat these sites not as tourist traps, but as educational expeditions. You learn more about the global economy standing in an empty 8-lane highway in Inner Mongolia than you do reading the Wall Street Journal.
If you are looking to add a surreal edge to your Asian travels, these are the three heavy hitters you need to know about. First is Ordos Kangbashi in Inner Mongolia. This is the OG ghost city. Built on the back of a coal mining boom, it was designed for over a million people. For years, it had fewer than 30,000. It features massive, architectural marvels like the Ordos Museum (which looks like a giant metal bean) and a library designed to look like a stack of books. The scale is oppressive. You feel like an ant in a canyon of concrete. Recently, the government forced top schools to relocate there, so it has a pulse now, but at night, the dark towers still loom.
Second is Tianducheng, near Hangzhou. This is the “Fake Paris.” It has a replica Eiffel Tower (one-third the size of the real one), Haussmann-style apartment blocks, and fountains. I sent a couple there for a pre-wedding shoot recently (they wanted Paris on a budget), and the photos are mind-bending. You see elderly locals doing Tai Chi in front of the “Champs-Élysées.” It is a clash of cultures that feels like a simulation glitch. It used to be isolated, but a new metro line has connected it to Hangzhou, slowly eroding its ghostly vibe, so go soon.
Third, and perhaps the most tragic, is Forest City in Malaysia. Located just across the water from Singapore, this was a $100 billion dream by Country Garden. It was marketed to Chinese buyers as a tropical paradise with “freehold” status. Today, it is largely desolate. The duty-free shops are empty. The artificial beaches are eroding. The “vertical forests” on the buildings are turning brown. It feels like a sci-fi utopia that was abandoned after a plague. Unlike the Chinese cities, which are well-maintained, Forest City has an air of decay that makes it genuinely spooky.
Visiting these places requires a different mindset than a trip to Tokyo or Bangkok. You are entering zones with minimal service infrastructure. When I plan these trips for clients, I emphasize “self-sufficiency.” Do not expect 24-hour convenience stores on every corner. Do not expect English-speaking concierges. In Ordos, for example, the distances between buildings are vast—too far to walk comfortably in the heat or cold. Yet, taxis are scarce because there are no passengers to hail them.
You need to rely on technology. In China, you must have Alipay or WeChat Pay set up on your phone before you land. Cash is often not accepted, and without a ride-hailing app (Didi), you will be stranded at the museum. In Forest City, you need to arrange a private driver to wait for you, or use Grab, though wait times can be long. The isolation is real. If you twist your ankle in a park in Kangbashi, there might not be anyone around to hear you scream.
But the reward is solitude. In a world of over-tourism where you have to fight for elbow room in Venice or Kyoto, a ghost city offers silence. You can set up a tripod in the middle of a boulevard and take a 30-second exposure without a single car ruining the shot. It is meditative. It forces you to confront the sheer ambition of humanity and the hubris that comes with it. Just remember to respect the few locals who do live there—security guards, cleaners, and the brave pioneers trying to make a home in the void.
Navigating ghost cities requires precise logistics. Don’t get stranded in the middle of nowhere.
Get Your Detailed Travel Itinerary Now!This is the fundamental question that confuses almost every Western traveler and economist. To understand the “why,” you have to look beyond the idea of supply and demand as we know it. In China, the creation of these cities is less about housing people and more about financing the government and fueling GDP growth.
The Fiscal Revenue Trap: In most Western countries, local governments (cities/counties) make money through annual property taxes. If you own a home, you pay the city every year. In China, there is effectively no recurring property tax for residents. This means the local government has very little recurring income to pay for schools, police, and roads. Their primary way to raise massive amounts of cash is to lease land to developers for 70-year terms. This “land transfer fee” can account for 40% to 50% of a local government’s revenue. To keep the lights on, they *must* sell land. To sell land, they must zone new cities.
The GDP Tournament: Local officials in China are often promoted based on their ability to generate GDP growth in their region. Construction is the fastest way to pump up these numbers. Digging a hole adds to GDP; filling it with concrete adds to GDP. Whether or not someone lives in the building is a problem for the future; the construction activity creates immediate economic statistics that look good on a report.
The Investment Vehicle: On the demand side, Chinese citizens have one of the highest savings rates in the world, but very few places to put that money. The stock market is seen as gambling (and highly volatile). Interest rates in banks are low. Capital controls prevent them from easily buying US stocks or London real estate. So, real estate becomes the default “safe” asset. People buy apartments in these new cities not to live in, but to hold, expecting the price to rise. It’s like buying gold bars, except these gold bars are 30-story concrete towers. As long as prices keep rising, the ghostly nature of the city doesn’t matter to the investor—until the bubble bursts.
Safety is a nuanced concept when talking about ghost cities. If you are asking about violent crime, muggings, or theft, these are likely some of the safest places on Earth. If you are asking about environmental or logistical safety, there are real risks you need to prepare for.
Crime is Non-Existent: In places like Ordos Kangbashi, the city is fully staffed with police and covered by China’s extensive CCTV network (Skynet). Because there are so few people, a criminal would have nowhere to hide. The “eyes on the street” are electronic. You can walk around with expensive camera gear at 2 AM and be safer than you would be in London or New York. The few people who are there are usually government workers or maintenance staff.
The “Silent Hill” Risk: The real danger comes from isolation. In Forest City (Malaysia), for example, parts of the development are poorly maintained. You might encounter packs of stray dogs that have taken over construction sites. There are open manholes or crumbling pavement in the unfinished sections. If you get hurt, help is not nearby. There are no bustling hospitals with English-speaking staff in the immediate vicinity of some of these failed projects.
Logistical Danger: The biggest risk is getting stranded. I have had clients visit remote developments outside of Tianjin who realized too late that taxis do not cruise empty streets. If your phone battery dies and you cannot use a ride-hailing app, you are physically stuck miles from civilization. There are no payphones, and the few passing cars will not stop. Always carry a power bank, download offline maps, and have a pre-arranged pick-up if you are venturing into the deeper, less populated zones. Also, be aware of the water and food situation—bring your own, as shops may be expired or non-existent.
Ordos is the “Crown Jewel” of ghost cities and is surprisingly accessible if you know the route. It is a fully functioning municipality, just weirdly empty. Here is the step-by-step logistics plan I use for my clients.
Getting There: The easiest way is to fly. You want to book a flight to Ordos Ejin Horo International Airport (DSN). There are direct flights from Beijing (PEK or PKX), Shanghai, and Xi’an. The flight from Beijing is short, about 90 minutes. Alternatively, you can take a train, but be careful. Ordos has a massive train station, but it is often quicker to fly given the distances in Inner Mongolia. If you are coming from Mongolia proper, there are buses, but I don’t recommend them for comfort.
Where to Stay: This is the fun part. You can stay in 5-star luxury for the price of a Motel 6. I highly recommend the Crowne Plaza Ordos. It is a massive, palatial hotel that often feels completely empty. The breakfast buffet is huge, the rooms are modern, and the staff are bored and happy to see you. Another option is the Royal International Hotel. Avoid small guesthouses; in this region, they may not be licensed to accept foreigners.
Getting Around: This is critical. Public buses exist, but the routes are long and confusing for non-locals. Taxis are present but can be hard to flag down on the street because they congregate at specific spots (airport, hotel). You must have the Didi app (China’s Uber) installed and linked to a payment method (Alipay/WeChat Pay). Without Didi, you cannot move around efficiently. The city is built on a scale for cars, not pedestrians. Walking from the Museum to the Government square looks close, but it’s a 40-minute hike across concrete.
Best Time to Visit: Avoid winter (November to March). Inner Mongolia gets brutally cold, with temperatures dropping to -20°C. The wind cuts through the empty streets. The best time is late summer or early autumn (August/September), when the weather is mild and the stark blue skies make for incredible photography.
Forest City is a fascinating and tragic case study because it represents the export of the Chinese “Ghost City” model to another country, with disastrous results. Located in Johor, Malaysia, right next to Singapore, it was conceived by Country Garden, one of China’s largest developers.
The Pitch: The idea was to build four artificial islands with a futuristic eco-city for 700,000 people. It was marketed almost exclusively to upper-middle-class Chinese buyers. The selling point was: “Buy a luxury home here for 1/4 the price of Singapore, get a Malaysian long-stay visa, and send your kids to international schools.” It was supposed to be a paradise with vertical gardens, no cars on the surface level, and duty-free shopping.
The Crash: Two things killed it. First, the Chinese government cracked down on capital outflows around 2017. They essentially forbade their citizens from spending money on overseas property to stop currency flight. Overnight, the target market evaporated. Second, the Malaysian government changed its tune, expressing concern that the city was becoming a “colonial enclave” for Chinese nationals, creating political friction.
The Current State: Today, Country Garden is in a deep debt crisis (defaulting on loans). Construction has slowed to a crawl. Only a fraction of the islands are built. The “duty-free zone” is largely full of empty shelves and cheap alcohol shops catering to day-trippers. The condos are mostly dark at night. Because it was built on reclaimed land, there are reports of structural settling and cracks. It has become a destination for “ruin tourism,” where people go to see the ambition and the failure. It is a place of silence, crumbling greenery, and security guards watching over empty sales galleries.
The term “Ghost City” implies a permanent state of death, but in urban planning, it is often just a phase. We have seen several high-profile examples of ghost cities that eventually “woke up” and became thriving metropolises. It is a race between population growth and debt interest.
The Pudong Model: The most famous example is Pudong in Shanghai. In the early 1990s, when the Lujiazui skyline was being built, international economists mocked it. They called it a field of empty skyscrapers, a “monument to vanity.” They said nobody would move across the river from the historic Bund. Today? Pudong is the financial heart of China. Real estate there is some of the most expensive in the world. The government simply built the infrastructure 20 years before it was needed, and the country grew into it.
Zhengzhou New District: This was the poster child for ghost cities in 2010 (featured in a famous 60 Minutes report). It was a sea of empty towers. Today, it is a bustling hub with over a million residents. How? The government connected it with high-speed rail, moved provincial headquarters there, and Foxconn (the iPhone maker) built massive factories nearby. Jobs brought people. The ghosts were exorcised by employment.
The Failures: However, not every city is a Pudong. Remote cities built far from economic hubs, like some in Gansu or outskirts of Tianjin (Yujiapu), are struggling. If there are no jobs, people won’t stay. Furthermore, China’s demographics have changed. The population is shrinking and aging. There are fewer young people to buy these millions of empty apartments. This suggests that the “Ghost Cities” of the 2020s might not be as lucky as the ones from the 2000s. They may remain empty forever, serving as concrete monuments to a bygone era of explosive growth.
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