Qi Fei descended slowly beneath the surface, the water temperature murmuring softly past her ears. Coral reefs unfolded before her like a crystalline palace, and tropical fish darted by her shoulders. This was the moment she had looked forward to most on her journey—scuba diving. In Egypt, it cost her just 70 yuan. The same experience in China would easily run three or four hundred.
Half a world away, Bai Wei opened her eyes in a post-operative recovery room. For the first time in her life, she could see the outlines of distant buildings with her bare eyes. Her LASIK eye surgery had cost just over a thousand yuan.
Since Egypt’s central bank lifted currency controls on March 6, 2024, the Egyptian pound has undergone extreme volatility—plunging nearly 40% at one point and hitting a historic low of 50.55 pounds to the dollar. By 2025, the pressure hadn’t eased. Against this backdrop, the purchasing power of the Chinese yuan surged unexpectedly.
“It felt like we were spending RMB to grab bargains across the world,” Qi Fei and Bai Wei recalled. The phrase they used—roughly meaning “milking global deals with Chinese money”—has become common among travelers exploiting the exchange rate gap.
Goldman Sachs recently revised its 12-month forecast for the USD-RMB exchange rate from 7.35 to 7.00, predicting a gradual long-term appreciation of the yuan. The pace of this shift will still hinge on trade dynamics between China and the U.S. While many Chinese tourists remain focused on saving for domestic trips—worrying over hotel rates and airfare—others in the know have quietly taken advantage of the favorable rates to venture abroad. In 2025, the yuan’s appreciation against several currencies made overseas travel feel like it was “on sale.”
Notably, the yuan gained strength against the Japanese yen, Malaysian ringgit, and Turkish lira, dramatically lowering travel costs to these countries. Data shows that for every 1% drop in the yen’s value, the number of Chinese tourists rises by 1.5%. Meanwhile, countries with weaker currencies and generally lower prices—such as Egypt and Uzbekistan—have emerged as high-value, niche destinations.
This wave of “budget-friendly outbound travel” driven by currency shifts is reshaping not only where Chinese tourists go but also how they travel. Traditional, tightly packed group tours are being replaced by lightweight, flexible, and decentralized services. In this new model, customized itineraries are booming, driving up demand for local guides, language assistants, and on-the-ground support. In response, travel platforms are pivoting, offering modular service packages—shifting from bundled tours to “build-your-own” experiences.
What began as a tightly budgeted trip abroad has, thanks to exchange rates, expanded into a longer, richer, more immersive journey. For a younger generation increasingly drawn to “quality living,” travel is no longer just about movement or photo ops—it’s become a testing ground for a different way of life.
RMB Strength Fuels New Travel Value
“We spent 33 days in Egypt and only spent about 10,000 yuan per person,” Qi Fei said with a smile.
It was her first time setting foot on the African continent. From Cairo, she traveled south through Luxor and Aswan, then on to the Red Sea towns of Hurghada and Dahab—all on a self-guided trip. She tracked her expenses precisely: under 50 yuan per night for accommodation, 5-yuan street pita sandwiches, and 10-yuan Starbucks lattes. “The value-for-money was almost unreal.” She hadn’t been chasing a shoestring budget, but the combination of a favorable exchange rate and low local prices naturally stretched her budget far beyond expectations.
More and more Chinese travelers like her are using the RMB to unlock longer, richer travel experiences. Chen Xi, who had just finished her master’s degree less than a year ago, initially planned a short vacation to Xi’an, A popular tourist destination in China, due to budget constraints. But then, as she put it, “it was just too cheap to resist”—she ended up flying to Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, earlier this year. On February 3, 2025, the yuan hit a local high against the Malaysian ringgit, making the entire trip unexpectedly cost-effective.
For a four-day, three-night trip, she and her friend spent less than 5,000 yuan each. They stayed at a five-star resort, indulged in seafood feasts, went snorkeling, watched monkeys and fireflies, and strolled sunset beaches. She compared it to similar experiences in second-tier coastal cities in China like Hainan or Xiamen, where the cost would easily be double.
These seemingly personal decisions to capitalize on “exchange rate arbitrage” are underpinned by a steadily recovering outbound travel market. In 2024, Chinese mainland residents made about 150 million outbound trips—a 40% increase from 2023—keeping China the world’s largest source of outbound tourists. Outbound travel spending reached $250.6 billion, up 29% year-on-year, reflecting a growing appetite for international travel among Chinese consumers.
On her first night in Kota Kinabalu, Chen Xi checked into the city’s most luxurious hotel—the Shangri-La Resort. She remembers the moment she opened the door: ocean breeze rushing in, a balcony facing the sea, fire pits, music, and swaying trees below. The room, around 45–50 square meters, was modern and well-equipped, including breakfast and a gym pass. By her estimates, a similar stay in China would cost over 3,000 yuan. She paid half that. Over the next few nights, she moved to a four-star business hotel across from the city’s biggest shopping mall, just a 10-minute walk to the pier. “You just couldn’t find this kind of deal in Sanya (a coastal city on China’s Hainan Island),” she said.
Qi Fei had a similar experience in Egypt. She once stayed in a guesthouse for just 30 yuan per person, clean enough to go barefoot in the bathroom, complete with private toilet and air conditioning. She also tried out a seaview room—just over 100 yuan a night—with sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains onto tiled floors, and the Red Sea glistening outside.
Most unforgettable was a classic “all-inclusive hotel”: whitewashed buildings nestled among neatly planted palm trees, two pools, a garden, and warm yellow lights in the evening. For 140 yuan per night, the rate included breakfast and dinner for three people. The buffet spread featured steak, grilled meats, vegetables, and fruit.
Price differences in food left the most vivid impressions. In Egypt, Qi Fei often ate a kind of street pita stuffed with fava beans, meat bits, and vegetables—just 3 yuan. A box of fresh strawberries cost only 2 yuan. A hot latte at Starbucks ran slightly over 10 yuan—less than half the price of a typical Chinese location. When she felt like switching things up, she’d grab a KFC fried chicken meal that was nearly identical to the one back home—but for just over 20 yuan, less than half the price in China.
In Malaysia, Chen Xi’s most memorable meal was a creamy prawn dish during an island-hopping excursion. Each prawn was nearly the length of her arm, tender and rich, and just 20 yuan apiece. “In Hong Kong, where I work,” she said, “a prawn that size would easily cost close to 100 yuan—each.”
When it came to shopping, the contrast in prices was even more tangible. When Yang Qi traveled to Japan, the yuan-to-yen rate hovered around 1:21, meaning a 100-yen item cost just 4.7 yuan—effectively turning Japan’s ubiquitous “100-yen shops” into “4-yuan stores” for Chinese tourists. Browsing vintage markets in Tokyo, she often came across secondhand clothes or knick-knacks priced at 100 yen. “It was like opening blind boxes in the city.”
During major clearance seasons in department stores, she once snagged a light jacket for just 5 yuan. This kind of pricing disparity became even more pronounced in luxury shopping. In Tokyo’s upscale Ginza district, she noticed that bags from brands like LV and Celine were typically 15%–20% cheaper than at Chinese counters. Factoring in tax refunds, “what used to be pure window shopping suddenly became souvenirs you could actually afford.”
The continued weakening of the yen is the hidden force behind this price magic. Since 2022, the exchange rate has slowly dropped from its highs to around 1:20 by 2024. The shift has amplified the psychological sense of “cheapness” and driven a surge in “shopping tourism.”
Of course, “cheap” doesn’t mean friction-free. In Cairo, Qi Fei once encountered a taxi driver who hiked the fare mid-ride, and in Luxor, she was repeatedly approached by street vendors. But she gradually figured out how to handle it: agree on a price up front, be firm, and the moment she showed resolve, things usually improved. “They’re not necessarily trying to scam you,” she said. “They’re just testing your limits.”
As travel becomes less about checking off destinations and more of a life experiment, what emerges between currency gaps and price differences is a lifestyle that’s more economical—yet far from cheap.
Eye Surgery as a Souvenir
More and more outbound Chinese travelers are beginning to see the “exchange rate gap” as a structural opportunity—not just to save money, but to access previously high-barrier experiences at a much lower cost.
Bai Wei had originally planned a conventional trip to the Middle East and North Africa. But while scrolling through social media for pre-trip tips, she unexpectedly came across a packing list that included “laser eye surgery” as a must-do in Egypt. That was the first time it occurred to her: a surgery that normally costs tens of thousands of yuan in China could actually be an “add-on” to a trip.
Her journey spanned a month and a half, from Dubai to Alexandria, then south through Western oases and the Nile Valley. She scheduled the procedure in her first stop, Alexandria. In China, popular procedures like SMILE and LASIK typically cost around 15,000 yuan, while implantable contact lens (ICL) surgeries start at 20,000. The most expensive package at the hospital she chose in Egypt cost just 7,000 to 8,000 yuan and included pre-op tests, the surgery itself, and follow-up visits.
The entire process went more smoothly than she had expected: from registration and eye exams to diagnosis and surgery, everything was completed in under two hours. Most communication was in English. Although she didn’t understand all the medical terminology, the steps were clear and efficient. She described the procedure as “an effortless upgrade”—like stumbling upon an unexpected gift in the middle of a trip.
In Alexandria, many Chinese exchange students work part-time as local guides. Post-op care could be arranged in advance via social media at negotiable prices. In larger cities like Cairo, there are also Chinese-speaking doctors familiar with Chinese tourists who offer all-inclusive services. A niche but well-formed service ecosystem is quietly emerging around the concept of “medical tourism on the go.”
A similar story played out with Qi Fei’s diving itinerary. As an experienced independent traveler, she made diving in the Red Sea the centerpiece of her 33-day trip, focusing on Hurghada and Dahab—two cities with rich diving resources. Her first dive in Hurghada cost just 70 yuan and included an instructor, gear, and boat transport. But the brief, standardized nature of the experience left her wanting more.
After moving on to Dahab, she enrolled in a full certification course for just $40 USD. The course was more thorough, the instructor more experienced, and her time underwater greatly increased. Immersed in the vast blue, surrounded by coral reefs, she felt both tranquility and a deep, immersive freedom.
Chen Xi, who works in Hong Kong, also had her first snorkeling experience in Kota Kinabalu. She had long heard that Sai Kung in Hong Kong offered good snorkeling, but even excluding equipment rentals, the round-trip metro fare alone would cost nearly 100 yuan. In contrast, the island-hopping snorkeling tour she joined in Sabah included four boat and car transfers, a guide, and instruction—for just 300 yuan. Renting a snorkel and mask added only 50 yuan more—or you could bring your own gear.
What travelers are consuming isn’t just scenery and food, but new skills and identities. On social media, “learn as you travel” is becoming a growing trend: activities like skiing lessons, horseback riding, scuba diving, and golf—traditionally expensive skill-based experiences in China—are suddenly within reach at many destinations.
In countries with favorable exchange rates like Laos and Egypt, one-on-one horseback riding lessons often cost less than 60 yuan, a tenth of the typical price in China. Sports like skiing and golf also benefit from lower land and labor costs abroad, offering low-barrier packages that include instruction, equipment, and unlimited practice time. These experiences are no longer just for the rich and idle. For many young Chinese travelers, they’ve become tools for “retraining the self” while on the road.
Exchange Rates Are Reshaping the Travel Market
Exchange rate differences are reshaping the supply and demand structure of China’s travel market, not only shifting travelers’ destination preferences, but also redefining the models of tourism products and the logic of service delivery.
A number of non-traditional destinations are emerging as attractive alternatives simply because “the RMB goes further.” Chen Peng, a travel industry professional, noted that compared to long-haul tours to Europe—often starting at 20,000 yuan—Egypt’s price advantage is striking: an 8-to-13-day all-inclusive tour covering flights, accommodation, and meals costs just 10,000 to 15,000 yuan per person. Compared with long-distance domestic tours to places like Xinjiang or Tibet, “traveling abroad can sometimes be even cheaper.”
Meanwhile, the travel expectations of China’s new generation of consumers have clearly diversified. Traditional activities like snorkeling in the Red Sea or cruising the Nile remain popular, but more travelers are now specifically requesting free diving, desert hot air balloon rides, and even cosmetic procedures. “We’re getting more and more inquiries like ‘can you find me a reliable dive instructor?’” said Chen. Travel agencies are gradually shifting roles—from group trip organizers to resource integrators.
As more Chinese travelers move away from rigid group itineraries, services such as local guides, translators, and private drivers are becoming essential components of the independent travel experience.
In Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, Chen Xi noticed that a fairly mature supply chain already exists for these services. They can be pre-booked via Chinese online travel platforms such as Tmall and Ctrip, or arranged in person at local piers and transit hubs. Prices typically hover around 300 yuan per day. Most service providers on Chinese platforms are second-generation Chinese Malaysians—fluent in Mandarin and familiar with Chinese service standards—while those working with local companies may be native Malaysians but are generally well-trained and easy to communicate with.
The surge in demand for such services is backed by data. According to Ctrip, overseas private car services saw a 204% year-on-year increase in transaction volume in 2024, with forecasts expecting an average annual growth rate of over 30% for the next three years. A large number of overseas Chinese have joined this industry with their personal vehicles, forming a grassroots network of “local helpers” that includes language support, transportation, sightseeing guidance, and shopping assistance.
In regions with dense Chinese communities—such as Japan—this model has become even more developed. Mandarin-speaking driver-guides have become a standard resource for Chinese outbound travelers. These services not only significantly reduce language and cultural barriers, but also revitalize employment and business structures within local Chinese communities, generating spillover economic benefits.
Travel is no longer just about movement and sightseeing—it increasingly resembles a rehearsal for a desired lifestyle. The expanding purchasing power of the RMB abroad is enabling richer, more immersive experiences while quietly reshaping the travel service ecosystem into something more fragmented and diverse. For China’s younger generation, low prices are not merely a draw, but a gateway—allowing them to “test out” distant lifestyles in an affordable, accessible way.
Editor: LQQ
