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.