China reflections – IJM Photography

The tour is over. The bags are unpacked, and things are settling back into their usual rhythm at home. But even though I’m back, part of me is still in China—still thinking about the streets of Shao Xing, the energy of Shenzhen, or the moments shared with the orchestra. The journey may have ended, but it hasn’t really left me.

Reflecting on the Journey

From the moment I landed in Changsha to the final farewell in Shanghai, this trip was a series of moments—some I expected, and some I didn’t. The hustle and bustle in Shenzhen, the streets of Shao Xing, the quiet hills of Xian Ju, and the meals shared with colleagues between concerts. It wasn’t just about the places. It was about the little things—a gesture of hospitality, that mutual respect between musicians, or just watching the world go by.

This trip wasn’t just about playing concerts, it was about learning and adjusting. It was about connecting with people, understanding their way of life, and how we relate to one another in those brief encounters.

The Photographer Without Film

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t travel with my usual film cameras. The Fujifilm X100F was the only camera I had with me, and while I had mixed feelings about it at first, it became a good fit. There was no hesitating over which shot was worth the price of a roll of film. It was just me, the camera, and the present moment.

Not every moment needed to be captured. I found myself slowing down and soaking things in—sometimes shooting quickly, sometimes just letting the moment pass. It wasn’t about having everything on film; it was about experiencing it fully, even without the lens in front of me.

Respect and Connection

One of the most memorable things about this trip wasn’t the landscapes or the buildings—it was the people. Everywhere I went, I felt a deep respect and sense of community. It wasn’t about being given titles like “Uncle” or anything else. It was just how people engaged, how they saw me as part of something.

The concerts themselves were a reminder of this—the public wasn’t there for rehearsals, but they were there for the concerts, offering energy and appreciation. Music, like photography, is about presence. It’s about sharing a moment with others, and that’s something I’ll never forget.

Coming Home

Returning home after a trip like this always feels a little strange. The familiar feels slightly unfamiliar at first—the quieter streets, the slower pace. But there’s comfort in returning, and yet, it’s hard not to feel that shift in perspective. Things seem different now.

The Final Frame

So, what remains from all of this? The photographs, of course. They’ll hold the moments, the details, the things I might forget over time. But beyond that, it’s not just about the photos. It’s the way travel shifts your perspective and makes you notice the small moments—the ones that don’t always get captured in a frame.

This series was meant to document a tour, but it ended up being more than that. It’s a reflection on the journey itself, on photography, on what it means to truly be somewhere, to connect with others. The tour might be over, but this story isn’t done yet. And whenever the next journey comes, I’ll be ready to pack my bags again.

I have been posting these articles in the WhatsApp group made for the people on the tour, and people’s feedback has been amazing. What came out the most was the feeling of revisiting the tour through the photographs and how that made people feel. And if you make somebody feel something with an image, then you’re off to a good start. The other comment was, “Oh, I didn’t see that!” And that is part of our role as photographers, to record what people don’t see… My reputation as a photographer seems to have surpassed my reputation as a beer drinker, which is good, because I hardly drink a drop anymore. My reputation as a writer seems to be well established too.

So not only am I seen as a hornplayer but also as a photographer, a writer, and a sensitive soul instead of the gruff bear that sits at the back of the orchestra and makes farting sounds with his instrument. Quite the step up really!

New Year’s Day

I am glad to report that today was a lot more successful than the day before. New Year, New Me? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. After a good night’s sleep, I was feeling almost human and Corentin explained last night’s quid pro quo. Phones without batteries, people calling me and I must have been on “do not disturb mode.’ The girls asked why I hadn’t called them too, as they would have said where they were. Look, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter, except it did matter, but there was nothing I could do about it. Can’t change the past, it’s too late, can’t change the future, it hasn’t happened yet, so live in the present moment. Probably a better idea to try and make the best of the day as humanly possible.

Today’s trip by bus, leaving at midday, was a welcome change. The next town was only 40 miles away, which made the journey feel entirely manageable—and, more importantly, it gave me the time I needed to move my little booty and try and find something for Kilian. He had asked me for cooking chopsticks and I thought I would bring back some nicer model like the ones we had been using in restaurants during the trip. Corentin told me about his visit to the market just down the road, and gave me directions that even I could follow. With my suitcase packed I was off camera in hand, and with a sense of renewed confidence.

On the way I crossed paths with Anne, one of the percussionists who wanted to go and get some Chinese bowls like the ones we had been using in the restaurants but knew exactly what she was after. So off we both went to the market. I’m going to use a phrase that I used on Foshan. A “joyeux bordel!” The market was on the ground floor of a building that rose about as high as our expectations. So pretty high. As you will see in the photos there was stuff everywhere and each shop looked as if it morphed into the next one. If you had ever wanted to start a restaurant business, they could cater for every single one of your needs. They had stoves, kitchen tools, woks of all shapes and sizes, cookers designed specifically for woks. All kinds of crockery to put said food into and serve it to your guests. I could hardly believe my eyes. You could buy sound systems, display cabinets, even those electric Mahjong tables that we saw in Shenzhen. It was extraordinary, and it was full of people buying and selling. Everyone back home always decries the made in China, but over 1billion people be wrong? I was very impressed by the whole thing, and seeing things that we I thought of my son straight away who, like me, is a bit of a foodie and who loves cooking. All we really need is somebody who loves doing the washing up afterwards and we’d be onto a winner…

We both managed to find what we were looking for so all in all today was turning out much better than the previous night’s fiasco. This success and eventual pleasing my son just put me in a positive mood for the day. I got back to the hotel room to pick up my case and instrument and stow away my latest additions to the family cooking utensils. And it was sunny ,and it was a relief to feel something fresh, something clear. What more could you ask for? It felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The change in mood from the night before was undeniable—subtle but meaningful. After a rough start, today was a quiet triumph. Finding the market, picking out those perfect cooking chopsticks for Kilian, and stepping into the sunshine felt like small victories, but they added up to something more significant. It wasn’t a grand transformation, but it was enough to shift my outlook for the day.

New Year, new me? Maybe. But I’m taking things one step at a time. For now, I’ll settle for the fact that, for once, things felt a little more bearable. And in a world that so often feels overwhelming, that, in itself, is enough. Sometimes it’s the smallest wins—the unexpected moments of clarity—that make the biggest difference.

As the bus carried us to the next town, I didn’t know what the rest of the day would bring. But, for once, there was a quiet sense of relief—small steps that didn’t feel like setbacks. It wasn’t a grand victory, but for today, it was enough. Sometimes, it’s the smallest wins that make all the difference.