Becoming an Uncle – Respect and Community in China


I think the first thing to do is to define what an Uncle actually is. In the West, an uncle is a member of the family, the brother of the child’s mother or father. You can be the cool Uncle, the one that lets the children get away with everything and spoils them. You can be the Uncle who buys them toys that make lots of noise or require a long time to set up, just to get back at your siblings. You can be the responsible Uncle, the one who supports the parents in their parenting role. Then, in English and Irish society, you might also be the Uncle who is a close family friend. And you can be a mixture of all four. Like asking your nephews and nieces to get you a beer from the fridge on a warm summer evening while enjoying a long French-style meal that seems to go on forever.

As you might know, Chinese society is somewhat different from Western, English, or even Irish society. In China, an uncle is someone who has reached a certain age and is expected to be shown deep respect—not just for their age, but also for the wisdom and position they hold in the family hierarchy. The sense of individuality in China is less important than the sense of a collective identity, one shaped not only by Chinese Communism but also by traditional values that predate the Revolution. This collective identity, emphasizing the role of the individual within the larger whole, is especially prominent in China but can be seen, to varying degrees, across much of Asia.

In Chinese culture, the importance of hierarchy and respect for age are fundamental. An uncle is not just a family member; they are a figure who is honored because of their age and wisdom, and their role is tied to the broader family structure. It’s about understanding that personal desires often take a backseat to the responsibilities and duties that come with being part of this collective identity. This is in contrast to the individualism often celebrated in the West, where the role of an uncle may focus more on personal relationships and the joy of spoiling nieces and nephews.

So now we know what an Uncle is in China.  It would appear that I am of that particular age, and obvious wisdom, to be considered an Uncle.  But how did this manifest itself?  I have talked about the love of the Chinese for selfies to mark an occasion or a passing moment.  During Operation Shenzhen Nights, I was made aware of people recording my posterior for posterity.  Obviously the Father Christmas effect. But people didn’t dare to approach me.  I would of course have given in to their demands, as I did after the first Shenzhen concert.  Definitely the Father Christmas effect.  The concert in Huizhou definitely confirmed this.  There was the example of a fellow Uncle who wanted a selfie with him to show the two Uncles together.  Even when thinking back to that particular moment, I feel a certain emotion. It was lovely to give a part of myself and solidify that moment together.  Two men from the same generation looking marvellous together. And let’s not forget the courage shown by the youngsters whilst waiting for our buses to arrive who came up to me and asked for a selfie (to record the moment) with such respect, even bowing gently to me.  I felt very humbled by the whole experience, and it felt like a real privilege to acquiesce. 

Becoming an uncle in China wasn’t something I saw coming, but it’s an experience that has stayed with me. The respect shown towards age and wisdom, the gentle bows, and the formality behind something as simple as a selfie request all highlighted just how different things are from back home. In England or France, my beard might earn me a knowing nod from a fellow facial hair enthusiast, but in China, it put me in a role of quiet authority—someone to be acknowledged with deference.

What struck me most was how natural it all felt, as if this respect was simply part of everyday life. It wasn’t about status, just an understanding of where people fit within the bigger picture. The warmth of those interactions made me reflect on how we see age and experience in the West, where individualism tends to take priority over hierarchy and tradition.

This unexpected unclehood turned out to be a reminder of the importance of connection, respect, and the roles we play in each other’s lives. In China, I became an uncle in the broadest sense of the word—a sign of age, wisdom, and community. I might not carry that same role in the West, but the experience has given me a new perspective on what it means to be acknowledged, respected, and, in some small way, part of something bigger than myself.

China – Shao Xing to Xian Ju


Welcome back to China. It is the morning of the 2nd of January. The whole tour seems to have flown by, and my memory is already hazy. I remember going around Shao Xing, and I remember the concert in Xian Ju, but beyond that? Not much.

I don’t usually black out, even after a drinky-poo, but it feels like I forgot to press Control+S. No saves to rely on. Bugger. Maybe it’s the thought of going home tomorrow? The dread of the parenthesis closing?

Strangely, I wasn’t even fed up with sharing a room with Corentin, and bus rides with everyone were still enjoyable. Definitely bizarre. It can’t be Blue Monday yet!

Anyway. The previous evening, while I was exploring the park, some of my colleagues had stumbled upon a scenic residential area—just the kind of place I’d love to capture in my last shots of China. This wasn’t the posh China of Shenzhen; this felt like a more “authentic” part of town.

And it was stunning, as you’ll see later in the photos—filled with all the quintessential imagery of China: round entrances leading to inner courtyards, red lanterns preparing for the Chinese New Year, fish drying under the rafters, boats drifting along the canals, humpback bridges, mopeds zipping past, and an old lady eating her rice for breakfast. Even Confucius was there—his wisdom guiding us through the streets.

I had heard about this little quarter at dinner the night before. My colleagues had waxed lyrical about it, so off I went, camera in hand. Now, you know my sense of direction—getting lost, or at best, off track, is inevitable. I was told: “Turn left outside the hotel, walk about ten minutes, and you can’t miss it.” Which, of course, is exactly the kind of thing I do miss.

But not today. For once, my terrible sense of direction didn’t fail me—God must have been smiling on me that morning.

All of a sudden I was there, walking around with my camera at the ready remembering to take colour photographs because my wife had asked me to.  I meandered through the street watching the morning rituals, people clearing their throats and spitting on the ground, better out than in, people eating their rice for breakfast.  The place seemed to be waking up gently, and the mopeds taking their passengers to work and not driving too fast either.  

There was one moped that thought he could make it over the bridge in one go.  He tried a few times, but obviously it wasn’t going to happen, because it would have made a wonderful photograph.  The man got off the thing, and walked it across the bridge and seemed to appreciate my clapping him over.  Encouragement is as universal as something very universal.  

I kept wandering around with no fixed idea of what to do or see.  I could see a kettle boing for the tea, and felt a slight pang of jealousy.  I was of course, tealess.  I reached the outside of the quarter, and just headed back in at the sign.  I had seen a wicker chair which would have been perfect for my afternoon snoozes.

As I came back in, people seem to have awoken from their slumber, and the small shops started to open.  There were all kinds of things for sale.  Chinese New year decorations, clothes that were lovely but might have been a tad small for my more rotund frame.  There were shops selling brooms and pans.  It was definitely buy local…

As I left for the last time and having taken my phtoographs, I passed Sarah, a fellow photographer, who had obviously awoken slightly later then myself.  We of course said good morning and wished her luck with her camera.  

I mozied on down, back to the hotel to pick up my suitcase and horn, getting ready for the trip to Xian Ju.  And this is where my memory goes a little fuzzy, like my camera out of focus. I remember the concert, sure, but everything else? It’s like my mind just pressed pause. A temporary freeze-frame.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How the mind works in these moments. Maybe it’s the thought of the long journey home—the “parenthesis” closing, as it were. The feeling of something coming to an end, but not quite ready to leave. That lingering moment between chapters, when you’re not sure if you’re truly finished yet.

But then again, I’ll leave that for next time. Perhaps when I’m home, looking back on these images, I’ll see it clearer. For now, though, I can’t remember a thing—not for the life of me.

China – Shenzhen Day 3


A Day Off in Shenzhen – Rest, Reflection, and Culture

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After a late night chat (you know how it goes on tour – what happens, stays on tour), I decided to treat myself to the luxury of a lie-in. And it was just what I needed. This felt like our mini-break during the tour – a sort of weekend off. It was well deserved. Life on tour can be demanding, and the emotional investment involved can really take its toll. Corentin and I both got up at the same time, and he was off to join the others in the big city. As for me, I was having a day to myself with my little companion – the X100F. Just the two of us.

So, what was the plan for the day? Well, I was hoping to visit a spa for a massage to sort out my legs. I’m not exactly fond of pain, but thought it would do me good. I have arthritis in my right knee, and although the weight loss has relieved much of the pain, my left knee has been compensating, and my left calf was starting to feel like it was on the brink of tearing. Not ideal. I had found a few places on TripAdvisor, one of which had a rather dubious reputation – apparently, not only offering massages but also “happy endings.” Definitely not for me. I did find a more refined option with a solid reputation for wellness. Perfect. All I had to do now was find it.

As I left the hotel, I bumped into Jennifer Courcier, our soloist and guest star. She still has an amazing voice – if you caught last week’s concert post, you would have heard it. If not, well, go have a listen now. I’ll wait…

Starbucks and Cultural Contradictions

Good, wasn’t it? Doesn’t she sing beautifully? Jennifer mentioned she was heading to the beach but first needed a coffee fix. Starbucks was nearby, so off we went for a caffeine hit. Now, whenever I hear the word “Starbucks,” the phrase “basic bitch” comes to mind. I never know what to order, so, with a bit of help, I discovered that “ordinary” coffee is actually a double espresso. My anxiety was starting to rise as I tried to make the choice, but I finally settled on the “Yunnan” blend. The Chinese barista prepared it with such care that I almost felt like royalty. Things were already looking up.

We sat on the terrace and chatted. I’d been mentoring one of my younger horn players to help him out of a funk. He had recently switched mouthpieces to improve his upper range but went back to his old one. Classic horn player existential crisis. If you know, you know. Jennifer had witnessed one of my coaching sessions and seemed quite impressed by the process. Maybe I did know a thing or two about teaching after all.

The coffee was excellent, and so was the company. We chatted some more, staying off the topic of music. Who wants to talk shop when you can get to know the real person? It humanises them, and Jennifer shared the story of how she became a professional singer, her journey to this point. We eventually parted ways, and I popped back into Starbucks to buy a couple of mugs for the children. One less thing to argue about back home.

Solo Adventure – Exploring the City

I managed to find the metro on my own and bought my little green ticket. The attendant asked where I was going and showed me the map. I couldn’t make sense of it, so out came my phone to zoom in on the stop I needed. I suddenly felt very old, yet thoroughly modern.

On the train, I just watched people, even managed to get a photo or two. My destination? Window to the World – a theme park where you can see replicas of monuments from around the world. I wasn’t going to pay for the full experience, as I’ve already seen many of the real monuments during my travels, but it seemed like good material for photography.

I’ve mentioned before the cultural differences between France and China, but this next observation took me by surprise. Let me introduce you to our characters: Chinese girlfriend and Chinese boyfriend. Chinese girlfriend is the picture of elegance, effortlessly fashionable, her makeup and hair flawless. Chinese boyfriend, by definition, is the photographer, capturing every moment to make his girlfriend look like a top model. She strikes a pose, usually demure and poised, while he stands there, holding the handbag, looking less than graceful. After a few snaps, she sends him back to retake the shot, and they repeat the process at every new location.

I could understand the desire to control one’s image, especially in a location that might seem exotic for a Chinese person, just as a pagoda in Europe feels exotic for us. In some ways, I must seem a bit exotic to them, too. Later, I learned that some people had been taking photos of me without approaching. It might have been a respect thing, as I was a bit older than them.

I wandered around, watching society unwind on a Sunday outing. It felt good to be alive. But then, it was time to head to my massage.

The Google Maps Mishap

I knew the spa wasn’t far away, but that’s where I made the mistake of trusting Google Maps in China. Let’s just say it’s not the most reliable way to get around here. It led me in the wrong direction, and before I knew it, I was walking the streets, getting increasingly lost. But in moments like these, you often find unexpected shots because you’re paying attention to everything, frantically trying to orient yourself. I eventually found my way thanks to a kind gentleman at a hotel who pointed me in the right direction. I was back on track.

The Deep Tissue Experience

Arriving at the spa, I was greeted by dimmed lighting, tea, and a comfortable chair to relax in. I chose a deep tissue massage that would last an hour – pure self-care. I was told there was a short wait, so I took the opportunity to edit some of my photos from earlier in the day. I was offered more tea by the receptionist, who made sure I felt well taken care of.

When it was my turn, I was shown to the massage room and instructed to change into the disposable undies and bathrobe. Let’s just say, as a bigger guy, I was given their largest robe, and it was definitely on the small side. The little lady who came in to perform the massage had no hesitation in digging her elbows into my back with surprising force. She asked if the pressure was okay, and honestly, it felt like her elbows were massaging so deep that they had gone right through me. The pressure was definitely intense, and despite whincing a little, I said the pressure was fine, lying through my back teeth. She worked through my back, shoulders, and calves, and though at times it felt a “little” too much, I could feel the benefits immediately. They don’t call it deep tissue for nothing!

Recharging and Reflection

After the massage, I was feeling thoroughly relaxed, though not quite “recharged” yet. It would take a couple of days before I truly felt the benefits, but it was already worth it. I was pampered with more tea, biscuits, and nuts – twice! I couldn’t fault the service.

Next, I popped into a shopping mall near the hotel, hoping to find a silk tie for my outfit. Dark jeans, nice shirt, and sports jacket – I looked quite dashing, if I do say so myself. But the price of the ties wasn’t going to work for me, I’m fine with a little luxury now and again, but everything within reason…

A Humorous End to the Day

I took the tube back to the hotel, but of course, I foolishly tried to use Google Maps again to navigate. That was a mistake. I ended up lost. As my phone battery started running low, I sent a WhatsApp message to Corentin, who suggested I take a taxi and sent me the address in Chinese. I was perfectly safe, but definitely lost. Eventually, I hailed a cab, showed the driver the address, and thanked him for saving me. When I told him how awful Google Maps was in China, he just smiled. The fare wasn’t much, but the relief of getting back to the hotel was priceless.

As the great man himself once said, “All’s well that ends well.”