Chinese New Year – IJM Photography

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.

It had been a relaxing day. I’d emptied my mind by wandering around Shenzhen, taking colour photos for my wife, editing them on the go with Lightroom CC on my phone—all the power of Lightroom, neatly packaged for mobile. The afternoon had been just as easy-going. I could get used to this.

Corentin, Monsieur Lover Lover, and Paul “the Duck Tongue” Trouillet had decided that, since we weren’t performing that night, we’d head out for a bit of fun. Thus, Operation Shenzhen Nights was born. They’d planned everything down to the last detail. The walk to the tube station was about a kilometre, and even with my gammy knee, it was doable.

So, off we went—a whole group of us—to the Shenzhen tube. Along the way, we passed bustling restaurants where people were already seated for dinner. We walked by a pet shop where people were cuddling kittens. At least, I hoped it was just a pet shop and not a restaurant! The kittens were adorable.

The Saturday night energy was in full swing, with people out for meals or simply strolling. We were about to do much the same.

First, the journey into town. Entering the tube station, I was relieved to see all the signs in both Chinese and English—a lifesaver, as my Chinese still needs work. Passing through a baggage and body scanner was certainly out of the ordinary, but I quickly got over it. People often talk about personal freedoms in China, but it didn’t faze me in the least.

We bought our tickets—or more accurately, small green plastic disks that you scan to access the platform. Then came the stairs, and that’s when my gammy knee started to let itself be heared. Fortunately, there was a lift, which would have been a shame not to use. When the train arrived, I managed to grab a seat, camera ready to snap photos of the metro ride.

About an hour later, we reached our destination, where Operation Shenzhen Nights would truly begin.

Corentin, always as eager as a five-year-old at the zoo, practically bounced with excitement. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I tried to keep up, though one day I’ll have to explain the “pace of the slowest man” rule to him.

As we exited the tube, we were greeted by a sea of lights, red lanterns swaying overhead in celebration of Chinese New Year, and professional TikTok setups. These weren’t just quick phone clips—this was full-scale production, complete with lighting and sound. I still don’t quite get TikTok, but they sure seem to.

Paul and Corentin were already eager to dive into the street food, and it wouldn’t be the first stop of the evening. Skewers with all kinds of “supposedly” edible things lined the stalls. I was fine with chicken and octopus but drew the line at scorpions and crickets. Maybe next time I’ll embrace my more adventurous side.

The place was packed, with street restaurants everywhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a shop selling mineral water and bought a litre. I felt much better after hydrating. I knew it would mean a bathroom hunt later, but I threw caution to the wind. “Bugger it,” I thought. Some risks are worth taking.

The night was buzzing with energy—smells, sounds, and lights everywhere. Red lanterns swayed overhead, casting a warm glow as the city geared up for Chinese New Year.

Paul and Corentin thrived in the chaos, eagerly planning their next round of snacks while some of the group veered off to McDonald’s for a quick bite. As we waited, we soaked in the atmosphere. When the others rejoined us, I was already with my camera taking shots of a city that seemed to be in perpetual motion. Operation Shenzhen Nights was rich with everything that mattered—good company, questionable snacks, and memories destined to linger long after the evening faded.

We continued walking, and the boys ended up finding tofu in sauce, which they let me taste. I must learn how to cook tofu like that at home. But again, I drew the line at eating durian. “It can have a rather pungent smell,” he said, going for the understatement of the year.

As we left the main drag, the goal was to find a watering hole. And we did! More beer, and a last chance to have a bit to eat. I kept it simple with my food choices, but one of the group tried roasted silk worm chrysalids. Definitely interesting, but it turned out to be one of the less than tasty things of the evening.

The youngsters wanted to go to a nightclub, an idea which wasn’t really for me at nearly 53 years old. I’m not a fan of nightclubs and haven’t set foot in one since the early ‘90s. Still not a fan 30 years later. The elders of the group headed out for a beer, and the more adventurous of them had rice wine—or rather, rice alcohol. I ended up chatting to one of them until half past six in the morning. He had things to get off his chest, and I entered Uncle Ian mode.