travel diary – IJM Photography

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…

Welcome, dear reader, to another round of “what happens on tour, stays on tour.” So, where were we? It was the morning in Foshan. I had time to go out and explore before the drive to Shenzhen.

I would wander the streets and just take the odd photo. At the moment I’m doing an intermittent fast to try and help me lose some of the extra baggage I’m carrying around my tummy and part of that is having a window of when I can eat and when I can’t. That morning I decided to not be so hard on myself.

I was thinking about Killian and my tummy and just “popped in” to a local supermarket which was definitely on the super side. As I passed each aisle I was thinking about how Killian would have felt seeing all the produce. It was going to be impossible to fit a 25kg bag of rice in my suitcase so that will have to wait. I left, with regret, but still kept going on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a shop specialising in blueberries—or Myrtilles, as we call them in France. There are one of my major food weaknesses, and when at home they have become the new Smarties. Yes, I eat them by that handful. The gentleman at the till spoke wonderful english, and I ordered a glass of mixed up berries with ice. I was going to get those anti-oxidants and that yummy juice. I was happy. On the way back to the hotel, some of the youngsters passed me by. They had been to Starbucks. Well good for them. I had had my juice and felt far more superior, and healthier!

It would be a mere 135km by bus to Shenzhen. I was going to remain antisocial (is this a character trait?) and just chill. Shenzhen is one of those places that is huge. We seemed to be driving in its suburbs forever. Out of the window we could see Hong Kong, where a lot of us would have fancied going but it was not to be. It was like seeing a Christmas present and it being taken away before you can unwrap it.

We arrived at the hotel and I thought, “well this will do for the next four days…” and indeed it would! We traisped up to our room and it was fine! Maybe not as modern as some of the others that had obviously been refurbished. We were on the more “classic” floor. But it was for sleeping in, and those pillows again. Wow!

Now, let’s get this out of the way: I’m still a “big” man. Like many of us, I carry around a hefty complex about my body. Even though I’ve lost some weight, I’m still too self-conscious to deal with the horror of getting changed in a room full of less rotund gentlemen. Silly, I know, but those of you who’ve been there will understand. Anyway, there I was, looking halfway decent—or at least as much as my concert attire would allow. But I am not just Big Uncle Ian. I’m also a horn player with a few years of practice under my belt. I help keep my section together, and I know they can depend on me when needed.

When we pulled up to the venue, the sheer size of the theatre was a bit overwhelming—in the best possible way. I can’t speak for the others, but when I arrive at a venue, I like to take a moment to soak it all in. First, I park my instrument in the wings, safe from the risk of being knocked over by an overzealous stagehand, then I step onto the stage to breathe in the atmosphere. You know, just to get a sense of the place.

A long banner in Chinese draped across the front balcony greeted us. It looked very official, like the kind of thing you’d expect at an international summit. Nearby, neatly stacked boxes of red flags caught my eye. It reminded me of a joke I once cracked about my son’s ex-girlfriend: “That girl had more red flags than the Chinese Communist Party Convention.” But these flags, though? They were no joke—definitely more on the serious side of things.

Looking up, I couldn’t help but marvel at the rigging. Lights and decorations were everywhere, hanging in their designated spots, all set to work their magic later. The whole setup was impressive—so much so, I hadn’t even properly stepped onto the stage yet.

When I did, I looked out at the sea of seats waiting to be filled. The thought of all those Chinese bums soon occupying them was enough to make anyone feel a touch nervous. But this is what we’re here for, isn’t it? You’ve got your program, you’ve done your prep. All that’s left is to get out there and play. Do, don’t think. Just blow…

We were to perform the same concert as the previous one. That doesn’t change. What does change is the audience and the way in which they interact with your music. When Jennifer sang her “I Love You China” song, it was as if the audience needed permission to sing along. Once given, they sang perfectly, and just like that, they were on our side.

Corentin—sorry, Sir Fanny Magnet—leapt up for the waltzes and had as much success as ever with his growing fan club. That poor boy just gives and gives, and when there’s nothing left, still keeps giving, much to the delight of the many Chinese lady fans. Fortunately, he was accompanied by Paul (the duck tongue) Trouillet and two lucky ladies from the orchestra. Sharing is most certainly caring, and these two just give, give, give, and share, share, share.

As always, during the interval and before and after the concert, the staff put out fruit, tea, and bottles of water for us. As you know, I’m not a big drinker, but I make sure to drink at least two litres of water and eat plenty of fruit and vegetables daily. It keeps me regular. I had been missing both my water and fruit rations, so I stuffed myself with fiber for my gut. They might not do water, but they certainly do do wonderful tea—and that was a lifesaver.

Corentin, the poor boy, was going through coffee withdrawal symptoms. You see, we all have our troubles to deal with!

After the concert, our familiar routine awaited us: the bus, the restaurant, and eventually bed. Or so I thought—Corentin had other plans. I had eaten with my Cholet friends and learned that the boy wanted to try his hand at Mahjong. It’s a game where four players sit at a table, and to win, you need to form pairs of tiles and a sequence of tiles. I had joined my Cholet friends for an after-meal beer to discuss our plans for the upcoming visit to Shenzhen. Once we had made our plans, we headed down to the Mahjong table to see how our favourite Walzer was faring.

By the time we all went to bed, that boy had won three out of four games! Luckily, no money was changing hands, but we did learn that huge debts can be racked up playing this game. The Chinese do like their betting.

Talking of giving, and sharing, here is recording of that night’s concert. Featuring Sir Fanny Magnet et Paul “Duck Tongue” Trouillet dancing and lapping up the attention…