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A global connection
Torin Boyd Rapport / For The Times
Wholesalers inspect frozen tuna at the early morning auction at the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, where prices are set while much of the world sleeps. The weaker dollar encourages New England fishermen to sell stocks of coveted Atlantic tuna in Japan, where they receive the more valuable yen. Audio slideshow >>>
Wholesalers inspect frozen tuna at the early morning auction at the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, where prices are set while much of the world sleeps. The weaker dollar encourages New England fishermen to sell stocks of coveted Atlantic tuna in Japan, where they receive the more valuable yen. Audio slideshow >>> (Torin Boyd Rapport / For The Times)
Men in rubber boots are swinging axes in the ice mist of the Tsukiji fish market. Frozen tuna skitters and slides across the warehouse floor, white slabs looking nothing like the delicate red flesh that will be sliced and rolled onto pretty plates in the sushi bars of Moscow, Berlin and Los Angeles. auction on the Tokyo waterfront; it is the moment when the tuna harvest meets the calculations of international financial markets. Much of the world sleeps when prices are set on a fish that has become as precious to the sushi business as gasoline is to drivers. dollar. The greenback was a reliable icon for decades, but its dramatic decline over the last five years is creating a world of winners and losers in the callous math of commerce, where the cost of a fish dangling from a hook in Asia is one man's profit and another's misfortune. Beginning before dawn in Tokyo on Monday, The Times followed the dollar around the globe until the sun set in North Hollywood.
The low dollar keeps Japanese seafood buyers happy. It encourages New England fishermen to sell stocks of coveted Atlantic bluefin tuna in Japan, where they can be paid in more valuable yen. currency to offset high oil prices and shrinking fish stocks. His company will send buyers to Boston this year to guarantee the inventory.
"If the Americans get a good catch, we'll go in August," he says, leaning back in his chair as company accountants tally the day's take. "We have to seize the opportunity while the dollar is still down."
Similar strategies are devised countless times a day. Scribbled into ledgers, typed into computers, flashed onto tote boards, the dollar's travails are an enduring, unpredictable narrative. currency, others revel in the rewards its shrinking stature offers, yet they are all connected to the world's most recognizable symbol: George Washington's face on a swatch of green.
Yiwu, China
In a region of china that manufactures Christmas for much of the world, Du Xiufeng is not a jolly man. He once made $62,000 selling 120,000 snowman stockings to Wal Mart. Much has changed in the two years since, and Du, who speaks through clenched teeth and has become as thin as his wallet, can't even turn a penny profit on such orders anymore.
The dollar has fallen so fast against the yuan in recent months that Du winces at the currency rate updates arriving on his cellphone. Last October, he won an order to make 150,000 travel blankets for Target. Du calculated that after production costs he'd a earn nickel profit on each. But the adjusted exchange rate wiped out the entire $7,500 he was hoping to pocket.
"Di, di, di" down, down, down, he says in his warehouse in Yiwu, a city in eastern China's Zhejiang province. "Every falling cent is like cutting flesh from me."
Hundreds of factories here, many of them no more than home workshops, make Santa hats, Christmas tree ornaments and other holiday decorations. The owners and seamstresses are battered by market whims: Beijing has allowed the dollar to fall 14% against the yuan since 2006, which has forced some factories to close and others to fire workers. Du has let half his 120 employees go while contending with surging oil prices and the escalating cost of materials.
He used to take Sundays off, visiting teahouses and driving with his wife and 6 year copy cartier love lock old daughter in their BMW sport utility vehicle. No more. Now it's 11 hour shifts, seven days a week. He shuttles between his cluttered warehouse, a small sewing shop in the city and a bigger operation in farmland 60 miles away. He sits in front of a computer trying to make the numbers work. They don't.
"The pressure's getting bigger and bigger," he says, moments after his cellphone announced that the dollar had fallen another notch. "It's cruel, isn't it?"
Noida, India
Smoking a pipe in an inner sanctum reached through two electronically locked doors, Asoke K. Laha heads an army of software engineers whose ingenuity knows no national boundaries. Eyes fixed on hundreds of glowing computer screens, they write the programs that help companies such as Universal Studios and Amtrak keep their operations running smoothly. reliance on such small to medium sized IT companies propels India's booming economy. But that connection also leaves the companies vulnerable. With 90% of its business from American clients, Laha's Interra Information Technologies earns nearly all its money in dollars. Yet the company's rent, salaries and transportation costs are in Indian rupees. With the fall of the greenback, many firms are faced with dropping revenue. headquarters in San Jose. The firm's Indian operations grew from a few rooms in Laha's New Delhi home to two floors of an office building in an industrial park in Noida, a burgeoning satellite city.
The dollar's plunge halved Laha's profit and forced him to lay off 20 employees. The currency hasn't fallen as far as he had feared, but these are uncertain times in an industry interlaced with the American economy.
"If there is another 15% drop, lots of companies will die," Laha says. "You have to wait for the storm and hope for the best."
"Competition is so cartier baby bracelet replica fierce that there's no room to increase the rates," he says. "I say I increase the rate and they say, 'Sorry, I'll go to someone else.' "Thousands copy baby cartier bracelet of miles away from the Indian heat, workers shiver in near freezing temperatures in the oil fields of Siberia.
Ravil Mukhamedzyanov earns $1,500 a month pumping oil for the Lukoil West Siberia company. He lives in one of those company neighborhoods that dress up the fact love screw bracelet that he's in the middle of nowhere in a town, Kogalym, whose name roughly translates as "death trap." Mukhamedzyanov is troubled by the bumps and blips befalling the dollar.
"I don't know exactly how that affects me, but I have a gut feeling that it does," he says. "And I don't like it."About cartier necklace plating gold juste un clou knockoff Latest mode press present Notice
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Torin Boyd Rapport / For The Times
Wholesalers inspect frozen tuna at the early morning auction at the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, where prices are set while much of the world sleeps. The weaker dollar encourages New England fishermen to sell stocks of coveted Atlantic tuna in Japan, where they receive the more valuable yen. Audio slideshow >>>
Wholesalers inspect frozen tuna at the early morning auction at the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, where prices are set while much of the world sleeps. The weaker dollar encourages New England fishermen to sell stocks of coveted Atlantic tuna in Japan, where they receive the more valuable yen. Audio slideshow >>> (Torin Boyd Rapport / For The Times)
Men in rubber boots are swinging axes in the ice mist of the Tsukiji fish market. Frozen tuna skitters and slides across the warehouse floor, white slabs looking nothing like the delicate red flesh that will be sliced and rolled onto pretty plates in the sushi bars of Moscow, Berlin and Los Angeles. auction on the Tokyo waterfront; it is the moment when the tuna harvest meets the calculations of international financial markets. Much of the world sleeps when prices are set on a fish that has become as precious to the sushi business as gasoline is to drivers. dollar. The greenback was a reliable icon for decades, but its dramatic decline over the last five years is creating a world of winners and losers in the callous math of commerce, where the cost of a fish dangling from a hook in Asia is one man's profit and another's misfortune. Beginning before dawn in Tokyo on Monday, The Times followed the dollar around the globe until the sun set in North Hollywood.
The low dollar keeps Japanese seafood buyers happy. It encourages New England fishermen to sell stocks of coveted Atlantic bluefin tuna in Japan, where they can be paid in more valuable yen. currency to offset high oil prices and shrinking fish stocks. His company will send buyers to Boston this year to guarantee the inventory.
"If the Americans get a good catch, we'll go in August," he says, leaning back in his chair as company accountants tally the day's take. "We have to seize the opportunity while the dollar is still down."
Similar strategies are devised countless times a day. Scribbled into ledgers, typed into computers, flashed onto tote boards, the dollar's travails are an enduring, unpredictable narrative. currency, others revel in the rewards its shrinking stature offers, yet they are all connected to the world's most recognizable symbol: George Washington's face on a swatch of green.
Yiwu, China
In a region of china that manufactures Christmas for much of the world, Du Xiufeng is not a jolly man. He once made $62,000 selling 120,000 snowman stockings to Wal Mart. Much has changed in the two years since, and Du, who speaks through clenched teeth and has become as thin as his wallet, can't even turn a penny profit on such orders anymore.
The dollar has fallen so fast against the yuan in recent months that Du winces at the currency rate updates arriving on his cellphone. Last October, he won an order to make 150,000 travel blankets for Target. Du calculated that after production costs he'd a earn nickel profit on each. But the adjusted exchange rate wiped out the entire $7,500 he was hoping to pocket.
"Di, di, di" down, down, down, he says in his warehouse in Yiwu, a city in eastern China's Zhejiang province. "Every falling cent is like cutting flesh from me."
Hundreds of factories here, many of them no more than home workshops, make Santa hats, Christmas tree ornaments and other holiday decorations. The owners and seamstresses are battered by market whims: Beijing has allowed the dollar to fall 14% against the yuan since 2006, which has forced some factories to close and others to fire workers. Du has let half his 120 employees go while contending with surging oil prices and the escalating cost of materials.
He used to take Sundays off, visiting teahouses and driving with his wife and 6 year copy cartier love lock old daughter in their BMW sport utility vehicle. No more. Now it's 11 hour shifts, seven days a week. He shuttles between his cluttered warehouse, a small sewing shop in the city and a bigger operation in farmland 60 miles away. He sits in front of a computer trying to make the numbers work. They don't.
"The pressure's getting bigger and bigger," he says, moments after his cellphone announced that the dollar had fallen another notch. "It's cruel, isn't it?"
Noida, India
Smoking a pipe in an inner sanctum reached through two electronically locked doors, Asoke K. Laha heads an army of software engineers whose ingenuity knows no national boundaries. Eyes fixed on hundreds of glowing computer screens, they write the programs that help companies such as Universal Studios and Amtrak keep their operations running smoothly. reliance on such small to medium sized IT companies propels India's booming economy. But that connection also leaves the companies vulnerable. With 90% of its business from American clients, Laha's Interra Information Technologies earns nearly all its money in dollars. Yet the company's rent, salaries and transportation costs are in Indian rupees. With the fall of the greenback, many firms are faced with dropping revenue. headquarters in San Jose. The firm's Indian operations grew from a few rooms in Laha's New Delhi home to two floors of an office building in an industrial park in Noida, a burgeoning satellite city.
The dollar's plunge halved Laha's profit and forced him to lay off 20 employees. The currency hasn't fallen as far as he had feared, but these are uncertain times in an industry interlaced with the American economy.
"If there is another 15% drop, lots of companies will die," Laha says. "You have to wait for the storm and hope for the best."
"Competition is so cartier baby bracelet replica fierce that there's no room to increase the rates," he says. "I say I increase the rate and they say, 'Sorry, I'll go to someone else.' "Thousands copy baby cartier bracelet of miles away from the Indian heat, workers shiver in near freezing temperatures in the oil fields of Siberia.
Ravil Mukhamedzyanov earns $1,500 a month pumping oil for the Lukoil West Siberia company. He lives in one of those company neighborhoods that dress up the fact love screw bracelet that he's in the middle of nowhere in a town, Kogalym, whose name roughly translates as "death trap." Mukhamedzyanov is troubled by the bumps and blips befalling the dollar.
"I don't know exactly how that affects me, but I have a gut feeling that it does," he says. "And I don't like it."
The Wall