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!
It’s a “long” title, and it was also a “long” journey. We left our hotel at 7 am on the 3rd of January, and I arrived home with feet under the table at 5 pm on the 4th of January. My mind is still on strike and the memories a little vague, but I’ll try and keep going for as long as possible.
Group 1, i.e. the other group, would be leaving at Terminal 1 in Shanghai, and Group 2, i.e. my group, would be leaving from Terminal 2 in Shanghai. There was a small and very select group that were going to do the “extension,” including my friend Eléonore. We managed to get our suitcases into the “system” at the airport check-in. And then through security, which, due to my sports jacket hack, went very smoothly. All we had to do then was to find somewhere for lunch. I had been in a group for the whole tour and headed off on my own to try and find something to eat.
I did find something to eat—tofu and crab, with a bowl of greens because it’s healthy! And a cup of tea was served with my meal. I spotted a hamburger place just next door to where I was eating and alerted the group via WhatsApp. I took my time eating because I could. I don’t like being rushed. Apart from getting onto the plane on time, my only task was to find a gift for my wife that would please her and, at the same time, be very Chinese. I bought tea. Because why not? And the shop looked very luxurious, and I was sure I couldn’t mess it up.
We flew from Shanghai to Beijing, and part I of our trip home was over.
The wait in Beijing seemed to go on forever, and our flight was at 2:40 am local time, which would mean a night flight back to Roissy. Beijing airport is a rather large place where most everything seems to shut at 5 pm. This was going to be a long wait. I resisted the temptation to go and have a “couple” of pints at a bar that was still open but still felt the need to have a drink of something. That something would be a bottle of water. We had our gate and waited for our flight to leave.
As you know, I can generally fall asleep anywhere and at any time. But even for me, this was going to be a tad tricky. I managed to charge my phone thanks to my colleagues and lay down on a bench to try and get some shut-eye. The sports jacket and jumper make a rather good pillow, and I felt slightly more invigorated when boarding the plane.
Maybe that wasn’t a good thing. Anyway, I made my way to my seat, which was at the very back of the aircraft, and tried talking to my neighbour, who asked me if I spoke French. I did, and I could tell she had a plan, that girl. She wanted to be able to have two seats so she could lie down. I asked the hostess if those two empty seats were going to be available, and she took pity on me, saying that they were technically for crew and that if one of the crew asked, I would have to move back and sit with Miss Two Seats.
That sounded very fair, and Miss Two Seats seemed to be happy. I used the pillow for my back, and the blanket was just large enough to snuggle into. Did I sleep like a baby? No, he said, going for the understatement of the year award. No, he did not, but I think he at least managed to snooze, which was good enough. We had breakfast on the plane, which would be my last “Chinese” meal. Part II of our voyage was over.
We landed in Roissy and played everyone’s favourite game—go to the loo, and then on to baggage reclaim. The trombones had been put in with the suitcases and, of course, were the very last things to be put onto the conveyor belt. I have to admit to a rather tense moment when I was wondering if my suitcase would ever turn up. Eventually, it did, and we were reunited. The trombonists were soon reunited with their trombones, but it was all very stressful and a grand moment of solitude for them. We eventually found what we thought was the exit, turned around because it wasn’t the exit, and headed off to another exit to meet our colleagues in Group 1, who had arrived a wee while before us. We were herded along, with Mathilde and Titaua helping us cross the road. You’ve guessed it—we got on the bus, except this bus would be taking us back to Nantes. Part III of our voyage had begun.
My memory was still hazy, and I think we stopped off in the Perche—the place, not the fish, but maybe they had them in the local rivers. I’m not here to judge. We all traipsed into the service station and were greeted by the overpriced sandwiches. Not a chicken foot in sight. It all felt such an anticlimax after the food in China.
We arrived eventually where we had set off from in Nantes. Part III of our voyage was nearly over. Kate and Virginie were there to pick me up, and that hug was particularly tight and lasted quite a while—or so it seemed. Had I missed my family? I will say yes, of course. It will save us many arguments at home!
Part IV of the trip had begun. My wife drove us home through the rain. I entered the house that I had left two weeks earlier. I had been on tour, I had seen things that I had never seen before, I had eaten things that I had never eaten before, and I even managed to save my special Christmas chocolates from the inquisitive looks from the two women in my life. Killian wasn’t there, so Kate had first dibs on which mug she would like. The chopsticks were put away. Tea was made, and the day ended up at home. I was a little tired…
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.
Today, we were giving a concert in Huizhou (clue in the title, as always) and needed to be ready for the buses at 10 a.m.—a thoroughly civilised hour for a gentleman like myself. The journey would take us about 90 kilometres, another day of life on tour spent bussing around. Victor, the oboe player, kindly put my suit in his suiter, leaving me to carry only my instrument and camera. What a pleasant young man. As people drifted down from their respective floors, we gathered in the hotel lobby, a mix of sleepy faces and quiet anticipation.
Off we went. Was I with the young, trendy crowd today? Not at all. Always leave them wanting more. Instead, I decided to spend the day with my “girlies” from my Cholet days—Eléonore, Titaua, and Mathilde—along with Catherine, another first violin. It was a calmer group, slightly olde9r than the twenty-somethings at the back, which suited me just fine.
Once underway, we learned our first stop would be a lake before heading to the evening’s venue. A leisurely stroll around a lake? I wasn’t thrilled at the idea. Am I coming across as a misanthrope? Moi? Really? But when we arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. The lake, surrounded by hazy sunshine, was breathtaking—quintessentially Chinese with pagodas, temples, and bamboo groves. The entrance gate itself was a work of art: a grey, ornate roof atop white columns, with traditional calligraphy adorning the sign above. It was beautiful, and I felt unexpectedly happy to be there.
The walk would be leisurely, which was ideal for me. The trees and bamboo offered some welcome shade and acted as a diffuser for my photographs, and I knew this was definitely going to be a good day. I saw our friends’ Chinese boyfriend and Chinese girlfriend going through the same rigmarole as they had in Shenzhen’s Window on the World, which I still find amusing!
There were groups of Aunties and Uncles, as the Chinese call older people, sitting on benches looking out across the lake at various pagodas and temples. It was one of those places that breathes calm. I like calm.
I sat down to join the girls for lunch, but I had already eaten, yet they insisted I partake of their picnic, which I did with pleasure. They really are good to Uncle Ian. They joked about hiring a pedalo and going around the lake. Mathilde’s foot was hurting her, so we decided to take the shorter walk back to our rendezvous point, letting Eléonore and Catherine explore the long way round. We even joked about hiring one of the electric golf cart-type buggies to get around. You may have noticed that I haven’t talked about selfies yet.
Well, at the table behind was an Uncle and Auntie who wanted to take a selfie with us—first it was the two uncles together, then everyone! I was getting a taste for all this. The attention is definitely validating and made us feel amazing. Yes, made me feel very special, especially when you see their smiles. It’s not like being adulated by adoring fans, but more like appreciating and celebrating your presence in China. It is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
We crossed the lake using the walkway and going through the decorated walkway with its traditional Chinese style. Everything felt Chinese, but in a more classical way. The architecture, the building styles, the plants—even with the bamboo being a feature—as well as the white hump-backed bridges. I was having a special moment with Mathilde and Titaua as we gently made our way back to the bus, and even though it wasn’t the scenic route, you could be mistaken for believing it was. The views were amazing…
Taking in the light coming through the trees, and sparkling on the water. It was beautiful, and I was so happy to be there amongst longtime friends. Titaua moved on ahead, and I stayed to accompany Mathilde and her bad foot.
She had put on a brave face the day before, chasing around Shenzhen with the girls. It had gotten so bad that Titaua had to accompany her back to the hotel in a taxi. She didn’t want to put anyone out, and I found myself seeing her in a new light. Maybe that’s what this tour was really about—seeing people in a new light and discovering facets of them you’d never noticed before. When you’re on tour, the masks we all wear tend to slip, and the inner person shines through. It’s human nature to put on a front—I’m certainly guilty of it, especially with my own ongoing struggles with mental health. But during the tour, I felt I could let that mask drop. It was liberating in a way I didn’t quite expect.
Back at the rendezvous, I was captivated by a coconut and sugarcane juice stall—a moped with a shop grafted onto its back. I didn’t partake but saw how the backlit scene looked very poetic and couldn’t resist taking a picture. I’m glad I did.
The younger crowd soon returned, with Corentin (aka Sir Fanny Magnet) and Paul (“Duck Tongue” Trouillet) basking in their fan club’s adoration.
Another selfie session ensued with the younger crowd having selfies with the young Chinese crowd. Corentin, aka Sir Fanny Magnet, and Paul “the Duck Tongue” Trouillet had obviously told their fan club of their imminent arrival. But unexpectedly, that same younger Chinese crowd came up to me asking very shyly if they could have photos with me. I don’t know if it was the Uncle Ian legendary charm or the Father Christmas effect; it certainly left me feeling even more wonderful!
Yes, I think you might have guessed by now, but it was back onto the buses, and off to the venue. I had certainly been inspired for this concert by the kindness and bienveillance of the local population. I would have to make this a performance to remember. And indeed, it was!
Good morning, Dear Reader. Now, I know from the photos below you will find it hard to believe that it was actually Christmas Day! I didn’t believe it either. But it was! We were about to get to know the routine of our tour. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty: Get up, skip breakfast, get on the bus, stop off at a service station along the way, buy snacks and water, get to the next city, get to the hotel, drop off luggage, go to a restaurant for lunch, hand over our passports, get the keys to our room, inspect our rooms, get a quick shower, get into concert attire, get to the venue, rehearse, and get used to the acoustics of the venue. Then, get back to the hotel, eat, go to bed, and repeat. This was to be my life for the next two weeks. Oh, and get some photographs to show you, my Dear Reader.
We had been warned that the seats on the bus had been decided and there would definitely be no changes. Final. End of story. Out of the question! Don’t even think about it! So, of course, my roommate Corentin decided to raise a massive hoo-ha about the whole situation and at our December concerts, started dropping slightly unsubtle hints, which were to continue in the SBL China WhatsApp group.
Christmas Day came around, and on our bus was Corentin. The little bugger had succeeded and worn down Madame le Président. So not only was he to be my roommate for the tour, but also my bus mate. He was happy! As was I. He’s an amiable boy and also good company. He looked after Uncle Ian very well during the tour. His enthusiasm, albeit sometimes tiring, was infectious.
As the Boy Scout I once was many, many moons ago, I had learned the importance of “being prepared.” For our first service station stop, I knew they don’t use cards as we do. Apple Pay etc., are not used either. But it wasn’t a problem as I had Alipay. I knew there was something about scanning a code or being scanned, and that payments could be done this way. I was ready. I had done everything correctly. But, as in most military campaigns, no plan survives first contact. The bloody thing wasn’t working. I had had my daily happy pills, so I didn’t feel the need to panic, even though my heart was racing. I created another account, and it worked from there on in. I was still furious, though. Those snacks looked amazing. Although the chicken feet might have been a bit of a challenge—not your first idea of a tasty snack… Ah well. The youngsters at the back took pity on Uncle Ian and let him taste some of their snacks. Certainly different, slightly more spicy, and not like what you might find in a French service station, with their legendary overpriced sandwiches…
We eventually arrived at Yongzhou, and we were shepherded into our hotel. We dropped off our bags and crossed the road to the restaurant. On the way over, one of our bassoon players had a funny turn and ended up visiting a Chinese hospital ER. Not what we were hoping for, but we saw him later that day, and everything was a lot better, though he was still being watched over. We were all very worried about him, but all we could do was pray, hope, and not worry. He was in good hands.
The restaurant was in a shopping centre. Lunch? When I say lunch, I mean banquet. We were seated at enormous round tables, though I thought that taking on the role of Arthur might be overdoing it a tad. In the middle of this huge round table was a circular glass tray, where, as if by magic, dishes laden with Chinese food would appear. The drink served with the meal was jasmine tea, which was very nice too and felt so very refined. Then somebody said the magic word: Beer! Surprisingly, smiles appeared on our faces too! I’ll tell you a little more about that later on…
The food, of course, was amazing, and I started feeling that I could get used to this—and of course, I did… At the end of the meal, the Corentin love machine went into action, and he was covered with Chinese ladies of all ages vying to get a selfie with him. It was then that I dubbed him Sir Fanny Magnet! He was very happy with his new name and fame. So that’s what it’s like taking one for the team! Bless his cotton socks.
Then it was my turn. Walking to the restaurant, I had noticed a shop selling goat’s milk products, and the ladies inside seemed overjoyed to see us passing by. They were even more buoyed up when we passed by them again! They asked me if they could take a photo of me with a small bottle in hand. I, of course, acquiesced as one must, and I have the feeling that my Chinese modelling career was just about to take off. It was also most amusing, and certainly flattering. I felt amazing. The Corentin for the more mature and discerning Chinese lady… The others laughed as they passed by, taking photos and giggling. But why on earth not? You have to get into the swing of things!
The lady responsible for my bourgoning China top modelling career…
Back at the hotel, I got showered and changed into my concert suit and looked rather dashing, if I don’t say so myself. After the success of my photoshoot post-lunch, I was still on a high! Off we went to the concert venue for the evening’s performance. It was all very impressive, as was the welcome by the theatre staff. The actual stage was huge, and for the afternoon rehearsal, everything was ready for us. We just had to walk on stage and play. I could definitely get used to this. I even managed to get a few photos, including a short series of the boss playing Gabriel’s Oboe from the soundtrack of the film “Mission.” Not the impossible one, I hasten to add.
It was during this rehearsal that I got to know our soloist, Jennifer Councier, a little more. That girl’s voice is amazing and fills up the whole amphitheatre. She’s an absolutely wonderful singer.
The concert went very well, and the audience was on grand form. When Jennifer sang the Chinese song, we had only played the first two bars when the audience joined in. Can you get any better than spontaneous audience participation? Probably not. Apparently, the Chinese love a Viennese waltz by Strauss. They were also tickled pink when Corentin and Catherine, one of the first violins, and another couple of dancers went into the audience to waltz around. That poor boy got far too much attention. But he seemed to love every minute of it, judging by the grin on his face when he came back to join us on stage. The audience lapped up each piece of music, and their reception of our music was something I’m not going to forget for a long while. After our “Christmas” concert, we got back on the bus to go back to the hotel and eat. I know, more delicious food.
We were to eat at a different restaurant that evening. The food was amazing, and the place had a feeling of being a place for the locals too. Not just that, but they had beer too. Alipay had decided to work. Uncle Ian was about to have a “sesh.” Our colleagues drifted back to the hotel for a well-earned sleep. Uncle Ian was having a grand time of it. Uncle Ian was very happy about Alipay working, and the bonhomie was infectious, so much so that a table of Chinese lads offered me a beer and wished me a Happy Christmas. It certainly was turning out to be a very Happy Christmas. Now, these lads had a box of beer by their table and quite a few bottles on their table. They were having a great night. After our French colleagues left us, we invited them over to share some merriment. I wouldn’t describe myself as a drinker, but I will say that I have a knack for downing a beer at a rapid rate of knots. By the end of the night, our new friends for life, and of course, bosom buddies, were starting to feel a little wobbly on their legs. Corentin made me promise that I would just have one last beer. So one last beer it would be. He seemed a little terrified of the way the soirée was heading. He’s such a lovely boy for worrying about Uncle Ian… He managed to drag me away from our new friends and got me back to the hotel. Was he saving me from our new friends for life, or was he saving them from me. Only time will tell. I think the key phrase to the evening was “as happy as a pig in shit.”
Our new friends for life. Thank you Corentin for allowing me to use these images! The poor buggers didn’t know what hit them…
Beer, you see, has a special kind of magic to it. There’s something about it, something fundamental, that bridges gaps and makes two men from opposite corners of the world feel like old friends. Wine might carry elegance, and liquor can be quicker, but beer? Beer is no-nonsense. It’s a drink that demands little more than appreciation for its simplicity.
There’s a quiet dignity in a cold bottle, clinking against a glass, that says, “We’re here, we’re sharing this moment.” In a way, it carries a sense of noblesse, a kind of unwritten rule of hospitality: come, sit, have a drink, and let’s talk without pretense. There’s no rush, no grandiosity—just two people connecting. In the unlikeliest of places, beer brings people together, like a bridge that spans cultures and backgrounds.
I don’t mean to sound too lofty about it, but there’s something wonderfully egalitarian about beer. No matter where you’re from—be it France, or far-flung places like China—a beer is always the same. And, like some sort of unspoken contract, it helps dissolve differences.
Of course, there are jokes about beer that always float to the surface in these moments. Take, for instance, the old Irish joke about the “Irish queer”—and by this, I mean someone who prefers women to beer! It’s a bit cheeky, a bit irreverent, but in those rare moments when the last sip of beer is shared, it feels just right. Nothing can quite compare to the camaraderie that forms over a few cold ones, whether you’re bonding with a colleague or making a new friend halfway around the world. It’s this pure, unspoken connection that beer uniquely brings, and in that, it’s a drink that transcends.
And on these very wise words, I will leave you until the next installment…
IJM Photography 