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 to Hangzhou


New Year’s Eve

That last night in Shenzhen was going to be a short one. We had to be in the lobby at 6:30 a.m. the next morning, and I still had laundry to do. I managed it—though without an iron, my shirts weren’t as sharp as I’d have liked. Luckily, I wasn’t the only last-minute person; a few colleagues joined me. Doing laundry can feel tedious at the best of times, let alone on an unfamiliar machine with instructions in Chinese. Google Lens to the rescue! Thankfully, the dryers used pictograms instead of script. By 1:30 a.m., the task was done and dusted.

Feeling proud of my late-night accomplishment, I returned to my room to pack my suitcase, leaving only the electronics and CPAP machine for the morning. With just a few hours of sleep, I was up and ready to go, looking presentable enough to head to the lobby.
The lift opened to a procession of bleary-eyed colleagues—some visibly worn out, others trying to fake energy, and a few annoyingly chirpy. You can guess which category I fit into. We boarded the bus to the Shenzhen airport, where the process of travel began.

At the airport entrance, we went through the initial security check. I couldn’t help but wonder about its effectiveness—if someone wanted to cause harm, the entrance seemed as vulnerable as anywhere else. Still, the process felt routine, and the crowd was patient. We checked in, dropped off our luggage, and received new labels for the domestic flight to Hangzhou. Knowing we’d miss breakfast, our organisers provided us with brown paper bags containing a banana, a small brioche, and a yoghurt drink. Not the most substantial meal, but sometimes “enough” is enough. There is a joke about that: “Why is just one egg for breakfast sufficient for a Frenchman? Because one egg is un oeuf…”

Leaving Shenzhen was tinged with sadness. I’d enjoyed my time there—the bustling city, the open and welcoming atmosphere, and the superb weather all left a good impression. I also appreciated just having a weekend off to myself to reflect on this China experience. We were at the halfway point in our tour, and it felt like we were slowly moving back towards our more mundane existence back home—a bit like the Sunday night blues. I regretted not being able to visit Hong Kong across the bay, as leaving the mainland would have invalidated my work visa. Despite that, Shenzhen felt like a place I’d love to revisit—a city that put me at ease.

At the airport, we sleepily boarded a bus to our plane. The drive across the tarmac seemed to take forever, weaving through runways and passages. Finally, we boarded the aircraft. It was a Chinese domestic airline, and like with Air China, I couldn’t fault the service. I could, however, fault the passenger in front of me, who reclined their seat as far back as possible. Deciding to pick my battles wisely, I opted for the high road (and multiple trips to the loo, courtesy of the Sprite they kept plying me with).

The flight was short compared to the long-haul journeys to get to China, so I endured the discomfort with grace. At baggage reclaim, I silently prayed for my suitcase to appear—and eventually, it did.
We were herded onto our respective buses and driven to our hotel. You’re probably getting into the rhythm of touring now. Yes, that’s right! Dropped off at the hotel, then off to a restaurant for lunch. This time, the regional differences were evident—spicier dishes and more vegetables. Sitting with the girls and Catherine, I enjoyed the meal, even relishing the chicken feet.

A musician and his wife at a nearby table seemed less impressed. They talked about missing French cheese and looked at me oddly as I tucked into the local fare. I won’t repeat my thoughts at the time, but let’s say they weren’t complimentary.

Some impetuous, and adventurous souls decided to explore that afternoon before heading back to change for the evening’s rehearsal and concert. Corentin was one of them, and later told me about the sights he’d seen. I decided to rest instead and have a nice cup of the complimentary tea. I like rest and a nice cup of tea. I needed to rest and have a nice cup of tea.

We headed off to the venue on foot! Again, a wonderful welcome making us feel at home. Fruits ready for us as well as tea. Yummy. We had our New Year’s Eve concert, and the audience loved it. A very satisfactory evening, and definitely the high point of the evening. All we had to do now was to get back to the hotel, get changed, freshen up, and head off for our evening meal, and our New Year’s Eve party!

The concert had gone wonderfully, and there was a sense of satisfaction as I made my way back to the hotel. The evening had unfolded perfectly, and I was proud of the performance. But that satisfaction quickly slipped away as the night wore on.
I should have been looking forward to the evening ahead—a celebration, a New Year’s Eve party. But instead, frustration took over. I’d been told the restaurant was a short walk away, but somewhere along the way, things had changed, and my lack of direction—along with a memory that failed me—left me in a bind. It was one of those moments when everything felt wrong, and my patience had all but evaporated. The restaurant where we had had lunch was empty and the lights were off upstairs where I expected to eat.

The thought of the party, the noise, the forced cheerfulness, made my frustration grow. I didn’t want to join in, not when I was feeling so irritated and defeated. I was basically furious. The exhaustion from the long day only amplified my mood. My inner voice couldn’t have been clearer: “Fuck this for a game of soldiers.” I was done.

Instead of ringing in the New Year with everyone else, I did the one thing that felt right—I went to bed. I wasn’t in the mood for any celebrations. It wasn’t just about the confusion with the venue; it was the cumulative weight of the long day. As midnight approached, I just didn’t care.

I should have been looking forward to the evening ahead—a celebration, a New Year’s Eve party. But it wasn’t to be.  Things just went from bad to worse.   I’d been told the restaurant was a short walk away, but somewhere along the way, things had changed, and my lack of direction—along with a memory that failed me—left me up the proverbial creek without a paddle. It was one of those moments when everything felt wrong, and my patience had all but evaporated  The restaurant where we had had lunch was empty and the lights were off upstairs where I expected to eat. I was basically furious at my own incompetence and ineptitude.  My inner voice couldn’t have been clearer: “Fuck this for a game of soldiers.” I hated myself.

Instead of ringing in the New Year with everyone else, I did the one thing that felt right—I went to bed. I wasn’t in the mood for any celebrations. It wasn’t just about the confusion with the venue; it could well have been the cumulative effect of a very long day. As midnight approached, I just didn’t care.

Kate said she would call at midnight but instead I called her, hoping to find a moment of calm ad reassure her that all was well in the world. Speaking with her helped, but only because I had to make the effort to mask my frustration, not wanting to burden her with my mood. That effort, though, was enough to steady my emotions, if only slightly.  That girl knows how to calm down her old man.

No sooner had I ended the call than there was a knock at the door. And just like that, my brief reprieve was shattered by Eléonore, Mathilde, and Titaua with a bottle in hand, ready to ring in the New Year. I opened the door, still in my boxer shorts, and offered a clipped “Happy New Year.” They probably didn’t expect it, but it was all I could muster. Sometimes, you just want to fall off the face of the earth.

Not the best of evenings, but considering what had happened, what did you expect? Can’t be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed every night.