Two Singers. Two Cities. One Unforgettable Travel Drama.

Sometimes the journey towards joy begins with being told that you cannot go.

I was standing at Dubai International Airport with everything arranged.

Concert tickets: booked.

Flights: booked.

Hotels: booked.

Airport transfers: booked.

Tour guides: booked.

My suitcase was packed, my itinerary was ready, and I was about to travel to China for the first time.

Then the person at the check-in counter looked at my itinerary and said:

“You cannot fly.”

Just like that, my carefully planned journey began to fall apart.

But perhaps I should start with how I ended up chasing two Chinese singers across two concert cities—Suzhou and Hong Kong—and travelling through Shanghai, Suzhou, Bangkok, and Hong Kong to make it happen.

It Started with a Drama

One of the first Chinese dramas that truly hooked me was Hidden Love.

Whenever I watch a drama—or even a film—I tend to become distracted by little details.

Someone leaves the house carrying a handbag and returns without it.

A character is wearing something red, and suddenly the outfit has changed.

Where did the handbag go?

When did the red outfit become green?

These are the kinds of things my eyes notice.

But I also become distracted by music.

Sometimes, in the middle of a scene, I stop following the story because I am listening to the soundtrack.

This song is good.

Who is singing it?

What other songs do they have?

Before long, I had a Chinese-drama playlist on my phone.

I listened and listened. Then I began searching for the singers behind the songs. That was not always easy because many of the titles in the music app were written only in Chinese.

But somehow, with patience and a little help from the algorithm, I found them.

That was how I came to know the music of Yan Renzhong—also known as Ele Yan—and Eric Chou.

I searched for more of their songs. I wanted to know who they were, where they came from, and what else they had created.

I became a little obsessed.

All right, perhaps more than a little.

At around the same time, everyone in my office had been asked to finish taking annual leave before our busy events season began.

In previous years, going home to Indonesia had always been the natural choice. But after Mama and Papa passed away, we no longer had our family home there.

Going back no longer felt quite the same.

Meanwhile, all those Chinese dramas had made me curious about China. The scenery looked beautiful. There were so many places I wanted to see and so much food I wanted to taste.

I began thinking seriously about going.

But I did not want to travel to China simply to arrive, walk around, take photographs, and go home.

I wanted another reason.

A goal.

Then I had an idea.

What if I went to a concert?

Two Concerts, Two Cities

I started searching.

As if the timing had been arranged especially for me, Yan Renzhong was going to perform in Suzhou, approximately a one-and-a-half-hour drive from Shanghai.

Then, only a few days later, Eric Chou was performing in Hong Kong.

Suzhou.

Hong Kong.

Two singers.

Two concerts.

Why not?

I booked Yan Renzhong’s concert first. Even that required faith because the electronic ticket would not be released until shortly before the performance.

Eric Chou’s ticket created another challenge: the physical ticket had to be delivered to an address in Hong Kong.

Thankfully, I had a friend there. She allowed me to use her address and helped arrange for the ticket to be delivered to my hotel concierge.

One by one, everything came together.

I booked my flights, hotels, airport transfers, guides, and transportation.

My original route was Dubai to Hong Kong, Hong Kong to Shanghai, Shanghai back to Hong Kong, and then Hong Kong to Dubai.

It looked perfectly sensible to me.

Apparently, it did not look perfectly sensible to the airline.

“You Cannot Fly”

When I tried to check in at Dubai Airport, I was asked for my Chinese visa.

I explained that, as an Indonesian passport holder, I planned to enter mainland China under the 240-hour visa-free transit arrangement.

But the arrangement required me to travel onwards from mainland China to a third country or region. Because my itinerary took me from Hong Kong to Shanghai and then back to Hong Kong, I did not meet that requirement.

I was denied check-in.

Then came another surprise.

During the frantic discussion about possible alternatives, I understood that I would first need to leave mainland China for another country before travelling to Hong Kong.

I tried calling the airline. I searched for alternative connections.

Could I fly through Kuala Lumpur?

Phuket?

Bangkok?

Anywhere?

The problem was timing. I still needed to reach Hong Kong before Eric Chou’s concert began.

Nothing worked.

So there I was at the airport café, rearranging an international journey that had taken months to plan.

The next direct Emirates flight from Dubai to Shanghai was already full. I had to take a later one, which meant losing precious time in both Shanghai and Suzhou.

For the next part of the journey, I booked another flight from Shanghai to Bangkok and then from Bangkok to Hong Kong.

It made very little geographical sense.

But it gave me a route that, according to what I had been told, would work.

I notified my driver and tour guide that I would be late and rearranged the bookings I could still save.

By then, it was late at night.

I moved to the Emirates terminal and waited until I was allowed to check in. When the self-check-in machine accepted my booking and printed my boarding pass and luggage tag, I was relieved—but still nervous.

Would someone stop me again at the gate?

Because I could not enter the departure area until closer to my flight—unless I had access to a lounge—I opened my laptop and booked a transit lounge.

That lounge became a small mercy in the middle of the chaos.

I took a shower. I ate dinner. I found a sleeping pod and rested for a few hours. Then I had breakfast and prepared to try again.

At the final document check, someone questioned me again.

Where was my visa?

How did I know I could use the transit arrangement?

I explained that I had found the information on the Emirates website. I also told her that my new onward destination from Shanghai was Bangkok.

She checked the system.

Dubai to Shanghai.

Shanghai to Bangkok.

Finally, I was allowed to board.

I immediately messaged my driver and tour guide.

“I am boarding. See you in a few hours.”

Puji Tuhan… Thanks be to God.

I was going to China.

My First Step into China

 

When I arrived in Shanghai, immigration asked where I planned to go.

I said I was visiting Suzhou to attend a concert and would spend the rest of my time sightseeing.

That was the truth.

I was allowed through.

After all the uncertainty, simply placing my feet on Chinese soil for the first time felt like an achievement.

My airport driver was waiting for me. He took me to my hotel near the Oriental Pearl Tower.

It was already after midnight, and the city outside was dark. I had no idea what to expect.

The hotel was spotless and filled with technology. At one point, a robot delivered a fruit basket to my room.

A robot!

I was delighted.

Unfortunately, my delayed flight had reduced my time in Shanghai to less than a day. I wanted to wake early and enjoy breakfast, but my body had other ideas. After the airport drama and overnight journey, I was exhausted.

I woke only in time to prepare for my driver.

That day, my guide took me to the Oriental Pearl Tower, where I stood on its glass observation deck and looked out over Shanghai. We also visited the Shanghai History Museum and Yu Garden, followed by the lively bazaar surrounding it, where we ate xiaolongbao for lunch.

I also ordered a traditional Chinese name stamp.

Before the trip, I had wondered what my name might be in Chinese. The name I had been given was He Jia Yun, so that was the name I chose for my stamp.

We visited the historic HSBC building and walked along Nanjing Road, one of Shanghai’s best-known shopping streets.

For years, I had watched Chinese dramas from my sofa. Now I was standing among the towers, gardens, streets, and food that had first made me curious about the country.

The journey had begun because of a drama.

By then, I was walking through its scenery—and unknowingly starring in a travel drama of my own.

By evening, we were supposed to leave for Suzhou, but road restrictions meant our driver could not reach us immediately.

There was nothing we could do but wait.

So I suggested dinner.

If I ate before leaving Shanghai, I would not need to search for food after arriving late in Suzhou.

“What would you like to eat?” my guide asked.

“Hot pot.”

Of course.

I had come all the way to China. I wanted to know what hot pot in Shanghai tasted like.

Suzhou—and the First Concert

We reached Suzhou late that evening.

The hotel unexpectedly upgraded me to a one-bedroom suite. I showered, prepared my clothes, did a little ironing, and tried to rest.

The following morning, I finally had the Chinese hotel breakfast I had been waiting for: congee, eggs, steamed buns, and several other delicious things that still make my mouth water when I remember them.

The hotel had placed a clever little sign on each table. Once you had taken your seat, you simply flipped it over to announce:

“Sorry, I’m taken.”

I thought that was very smart.

A different city meant a different guide.

That day, we visited two of Suzhou’s celebrated classical gardens: Lion Grove Garden and the Humble Administrator’s Garden. Both form part of the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Classical Gardens of Suzhou.

The gardens had once belonged to private worlds. Within their walls, rooms, courtyards, rocks, water, plants, and carefully framed views came together to create entire landscapes in limited spaces.

One of them felt especially intimate—not like an enormous palace, but like a private residence containing a small world of its own.

Walking through it, I felt as though I had stepped directly into one of the Chinese dramas I loved.

I could almost imagine the characters appearing around a corner.

 

 

Drama, drama, drama.

As we continued through Suzhou, I noticed many young people dressed in beautiful traditional clothing and posing for photographs around the city. They were not actors or performers—just ordinary visitors enjoying the experience.

One young woman kindly agreed to take a photograph with me.

I would have loved to dress in hanfu too. Unfortunately, we had a full day ahead and I still had a concert to attend that evening.

There simply was not enough time.

Perhaps next time.

At lunch, my guide introduced me to local dishes, including mandarin fish in a sweet-and-sour sauce and cold prawn noodles.

Then we visited a silk museum and factory.

Inside the museum, I saw a magnificent imperial-style robe made entirely from silk. Its stitching and intricate embroidery had been completed by hand.

It was an extraordinary example of the skill and patience involved in traditional silk craftsmanship.

This was also where I may—or may not—have been persuaded into buying some very expensive silk bedding.

But it was soft.

It was light.

It was irresistible.

And when else was I going to visit China and buy something like that?

I bought it.

No regrets.

My original idea was to have the bedding shipped to Dubai, but the factory encountered difficulties arranging the delivery. Instead, they gave me a complimentary suitcase so I could carry it myself.

It was a generous solution, although it also meant that I was now travelling with an additional piece of luggage—and would eventually have to pay for the extra baggage at Shanghai Airport.

Later, because Suzhou traffic could be heavy, my driver insisted on taking me directly to the concert venue. I had thought it was close to my hotel, but it was actually about thirty minutes away.

Once there, I faced another challenge: finding the correct entrance without speaking Mandarin.

I was directed from one entrance to another and then another.

Eventually, I found someone wearing an event-organiser uniform and tried asking him in English.

He understood me.

Thank goodness.

I found my seat.

It was almost at the very top of the arena—the affordable option, because I would not have called myself a die-hard fan. I simply wanted to experience Yan Renzhong’s concert.

Like everyone attending, I received a synchronised LED light stick shaped like his emblem. During the performance, it flashed and changed colour with the music, turning the audience into part of the show.

Beside me sat a young man who looked as though he might still have been at university.

Naturally, I tried speaking to him in English.

“My English is not very good,” he told me.

But that did not stop us.

He used a translation app. I used Google Translate. Thankfully, my phone battery was still alive.

Slowly, we began to talk.

He asked where I came from.

“I am Indonesian, but I live in Dubai,” I explained.

Then he asked how I had discovered Yan Renzhong.

I told him that I loved his songs.

“I don’t understand Mandarin,” I said, “but I love the music.”

Perhaps that is one of the most beautiful things about music.

We may not understand every word, but we can still recognise longing, tenderness, joy, heartbreak, and hope. Music does not always need to be translated. Sometimes, music becomes the language itself.

There we were—two strangers from different countries, speaking through our phones, brought together by songs that had already crossed the language barrier for us.

 

 

Then the lights dimmed.

Yan Renzhong appeared onstage.

From the opening scene, the production was spectacular.

After everything it had taken to get there, I was finally sitting inside my first concert in China.

He was wonderful live—energetic, engaging, and even better than I had hoped.

I took photographs. I recorded a few videos. I danced.

I was happy.

I had arrived as a curious listener who had chosen one of the least expensive seats.

I left thinking that, if the opportunity ever came, I would happily see him perform again—perhaps next time in another Chinese city.

When the concert ended, my driver collected me and took me back to the hotel. He told me to rest because he would return only a few hours later to drive me to Shanghai Pudong Airport.

I decided not to sleep.

If I fell asleep, I was not confident I would wake up again.

Instead, I packed slowly, showered, watched television, and made coffee. At around three in the morning, my faithful driver returned.

I still do not know when that man slept.

But I remain grateful for him.

The Long Way to Hong Kong

At Shanghai Airport, I checked in for my flight to Bangkok.

The woman at the counter looked at my itinerary.

“Your final destination is Hong Kong?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you fly directly from Shanghai to Hong Kong?”

I stared at her.

I explained that, while rearranging everything in Dubai, I had understood that I needed to travel through another country before going to Hong Kong.

Later, an immigration officer asked me exactly the same question.

“You can fly directly to Hong Kong. You don’t need to go through Bangkok.”

By then, what could I do?

The new tickets had been purchased. My luggage had been checked. The journey had already begun.

I also had to pay for the additional suitcase containing my silk bedding.

So I flew from Shanghai to Bangkok before doubling back towards Hong Kong.

During the Thai Airways flight, something sprayed inside the cabin irritated my throat—or perhaps exhaustion had finally caught up with me.

I began coughing. My throat became painful and itchy, and swallowing hurt.

Then my flight from Bangkok was delayed.

Of course it was.

I had already lost so much time, and Eric Chou’s concert was that evening.

Eventually, I reached Hong Kong and found the driver I had booked.

He turned on the music in his Tesla.

An Eric Chou song began to play.

“Do you like Eric Chou too?” I asked. “I’m going to his concert tonight.”

He told me that he had attended the first night of Eric Chou’s concert. I was going to the third and final night.

“Was it good?” I asked.

“Amazing,” he said.

He understood immediately why I was so anxious to arrive on time.

It was raining heavily, and he promised to do his best to get me to the hotel as quickly as possible.

Then, at a traffic light, his Tesla stopped and would not restart.

It happened twice.

At that point, I could only think:

After everything else, am I really going to miss the concert because a Tesla stopped at a red light?

But we reached the hotel.

Puji Tuhan… Thanks be to God.

At reception, I explained that I had a reservation but needed to go directly to the concert. I asked whether they could kindly keep my luggage and told them that I would return later to complete my check-in.

My friend had left my concert ticket with the concierge. I collected it, knowing how close I was now to finally making it.

I rushed downstairs, booked a car, added a generous tip, and headed towards the stadium.

Near the venue, traffic stopped moving. Crowds of people were walking towards the concert, so I asked whether I could get out and continue on foot.

I found the gate.

I found my seat.

About five minutes later, the concert began.

I had made it.

Puji Tuhan… Thanks be to God.

The Concert I Chased

 

 

Even on the third and final night, the arena was full.

Eric Chou performed from a stage in the centre, surrounded by the audience on every side. Wherever people were seated, they remained connected to the performance.

He was wonderful, although the experience was very different from Yan Renzhong’s concert.

His songs are mostly ballads, so instead of dancing, we listened and sang along.

If I had to choose, I preferred the upbeat energy of Yan Renzhong’s concert.

But that was not really the point.

The point was that I had chased two concerts through denied boarding, rewritten itineraries, midnight transfers, document checks, delayed flights, an irritated throat, heavy rain, and a Tesla that did not always feel like moving.

And I had reached both of them.

After Eric Chou’s concert, another challenge waited: finding my way back to the hotel.

The queues for taxis were enormous.

Then I remembered the advice from my airport driver—the man who had already attended the first night of the concert.

“Don’t take a taxi after the concert,” he had told me. “Take the MTR.”

My phone battery was almost dead, and I did not want to depend entirely on a translation app.

I walked around asking:

“Can you speak English?”

“Can you speak English?”

Finally, a group of young concertgoers said yes.

They showed me where to buy my ticket, which train to take, and how many stops I needed to travel.

That night, for the first time, I learned how to use the Hong Kong MTR.

I found my station, chose the correct exit—eventually—and walked back to my hotel.

All around me were young concertgoers.

I felt as though I might have been the oldest person there, and possibly the only Indonesian.

But I was there.

That mattered.

A Pause in Hong Kong

I had planned to stay in Hong Kong for three days.

I met my friend, went for dinner, and visited Sneakers Street in search of white trainers. I did not find the pair I had imagined, but naturally, I still came home with a pair.

Meanwhile, my cough continued.

I bought medicine, including Chinese remedies suggested to me, but my throat remained painful.

Still, somewhere between the concert, the cough, and the next travel drama, I managed to give myself a quieter moment.

I went to a spa and had a massage.

At the end of the treatment, I was served a cup of tea and a small snack. Beside them was a card carrying a message in Chinese:

Return to the origin and return to the present.

I loved it.

Perhaps that is also what travelling does for me.

It takes me away from the familiar, but somehow brings me back to myself. Through what I see, touch, smell, hear, and taste, I remember what makes me feel alive.

For a little while, sitting with that cup of tea, I was no longer chasing a flight or a concert.

I was simply present.

One More Change of Plan

 

 

Then my friend gave me more news.

Super Typhoon Ragasa was approaching Hong Kong.

My flight from Hong Kong to Dubai was cancelled.

At first, I panicked.

I felt as though another travel drama was beginning.

I had thought that flights might continue despite the weather. But my friend explained that when a serious typhoon reaches Hong Kong, it is not only a matter of difficult flying conditions.

Flights are cancelled.

Public transport may stop.

Businesses close.

Much of the city shuts down.

Suddenly, the cancellation made sense.

Thankfully, the airline refunded the cancelled flight, and I managed to rebook my journey for two days later.

My friend had to work from home during the typhoon, so I invited her to stay with me at the hotel. We bought food before the city closed, reheated our meals in the microwave, and were given plenty of drinking water.

For two days, Hong Kong stopped—and so did I.

In a strange way, the typhoon gave my body something it desperately needed: time to sleep.

I was still coughing, but at least I could rest. And because my friend was there, we had time to catch up while she continued working.

Being stuck in Hong Kong during a typhoon is probably another story on its own.

When the worst had passed and the city began moving again, I walked to St. Margaret’s Church, not far from my hotel.

Whenever I travel, I try to find a church and make time to pray.

After everything that had happened, I wanted to give thanks—for reaching China, for making it to both concerts, for travelling safely through every change of plan, and for all the people who had helped me along the way.

I also prayed for health, protection, my family, and God’s blessing over whatever came next.

Then it was time to go home.

I checked and rechecked my new flight booking.

This time, I upgraded myself to premium economy.

Part of the reason was the additional suitcase containing the silk bedding. Rather than pay another separate excess-baggage charge, the upgrade gave me a more practical baggage allowance.

The other reason was my health.

I was tired, coughing, and worried about disturbing the people around me. I thought a more comfortable seat would help me recline and sleep during the long flight.

That was the plan.

Naturally, another small drama was waiting for me.

I could not get an aisle seat.

I was seated directly in the middle.

And then I discovered that my chair would not recline.

I had upgraded so that I could rest more comfortably, only to spend the entire journey sleeping upright.

Before take-off, I prayed.

I asked God to help me sleep and not cough or sneeze throughout the flight.

Somehow, even sitting upright in a chair that refused to recline, I slept for most of the journey. I woke only to eat and sneezed perhaps once.

The moment I arrived in Dubai, my lungs apparently decided they had been patient long enough.

I began coughing properly again.

But I was home.

Safely.

Puji Tuhan… Thanks be to God.

More Than the Concerts

The entire journey was supposed to be carefully planned.

Instead, it became a collection of denied boarding, changed flights, immigration questions, airport lounges, unexpected expenses, helpful strangers, delicious food, missed sleep, heavy rain, an extra suitcase, a typhoon, a non-reclining premium-economy seat—and two concerts I refused to miss.

It had begun with a Chinese drama.

Then, somewhere between Dubai, Shanghai, Suzhou, Bangkok, and Hong Kong, it became a travel drama of its own.

Yet I would not exchange the experience for anything.

Regardless of how much I spent or how many things went wrong, I remain deeply grateful.

I am grateful that I stepped into China for the first time.

I am grateful that I saw Shanghai and Suzhou, tasted the food, walked through two UNESCO-listed gardens, and discovered how beautiful China could be beyond the screen of a television.

I am grateful for the drivers, guides, hotel staff, friends, concertgoers, and strangers who helped me at exactly the right moments.

I am grateful that music allowed me to connect with someone even when we did not share a spoken language.

And I am grateful that whenever one route closed, another one appeared.

The concerts gave the journey a destination.

But the journey gave the concerts their meaning.

 

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🌿 Be-Bulb Reflection

Travelling is often a pilgrimage for me.

Of course, I enjoy seeing what other countries have to offer. I love discovering new scenery, food, customs, and ways of living.

But travelling is also one of the ways I return to myself.

We learn from what we see.

What we touch.

What we smell.

What we hear.

What we taste.

Sometimes, we plan a journey so carefully that we begin to believe the plan is the only possible way to reach our destination.

Then life says no.

The flight is denied.

The route changes.

The clock keeps moving.

Your body becomes tired.

The weather turns against you.

And suddenly, reaching the thing that brings you joy requires far more courage than you expected.

That journey taught me to trust my instincts—but also to remain flexible.

When one way closes, there may still be another.

Sometimes, we need to be creative.

Sometimes, we need to be patient.

Sometimes, we need to ask strangers for help.

And sometimes, we simply have to keep moving while trusting that God will provide the next opening.

Being brave does not mean never feeling afraid.

I was afraid many times.

I worried that I would not enter China, that I would miss the flights, that I would arrive too late for the concerts, that I would become seriously ill while travelling alone, and that I would not know how to get back to my hotel.

But courage can be as simple as taking the next possible step.

Book the new flight.

Find the right terminal.

Ask the question.

Get on the train.

Accept that the chair will not recline.

Keep the faith.

I began that journey chasing concerts.

But somewhere between Dubai, Shanghai, Suzhou, Bangkok, and Hong Kong, I discovered that I was also chasing a braver version of myself—one who could face the unexpected, accept help, find another way, and still remain grateful.

Music crossed a language barrier.

Strangers became helpers.

A typhoon became a chance to rest.

And a small message beside a cup of tea reminded me:

Return to the origin and return to the present.

We are fortunate to live in a time when we can travel and see the world.

So be adventurous.

Be happy.

Enjoy the journey.

And be ready for the next stop.

Joy does not always wait for us somewhere safe and convenient.

Sometimes, we have to be bold enough to chase it.

Be. Adventurous.

Be. Creative.

Be. Brave.

Be. Present.

Be. Grateful.

Keep the Faith.