Tour of Japan 2025: day 3

But hey, I’m awake! And ready to meet Sanne for breakfast, or is it lunch? Brunch? Who knows. My body, convinced it’s 3 a.m., wonders why I’m eating rice with chopsticks.

Over coffee we go through the day’s plan. Today’s the day: the first concert of the tour, at Symphony Hall Osaka. On the program: Wagenaar, Prokofiev, and Dvořák. And for the first time, we’ll be performing with pianist Bruce Liu. Once the coffee has soothed our jet lag and the schedule is set, it’s time to hop on the bus.

On the ride to the hall I sit next to double bassist Arjen Leendertz. I ask him what makes a tour special for an orchestra. He thinks for a moment and then says: “You don’t just share the stage—you share the journey, the hotels, the nerves of a new audience and new acoustics. It’s those shared experiences that really strengthen the bond between us.”

I look around the bus. A violinist dozes with his head against the window. Someone else is showing a cat video to the colleague next to them. There’s quiet laughter, conversations, silences. It feels intimate, familiar—like one big family, only with bows and jet lag.

Once we arrive at Symphony Hall, the atmosphere shifts. The hall is imposing, with tall wooden walls and perfect acoustics. As the orchestra sets up, I walk briefly across the stage, asking here and there how people are feeling. Most answers range from “tired” to “a little more tired.” Some are already past the jet lag, others are feeling it hit today. And no wonder: there’s just one rehearsal, from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m., and then the doors open for the audience. Tight schedule, little room to breathe. Yet despite it all: lots of energy. People are laughing, snapping selfies, sneaking in quick hugs and jokes.

Backstage I hear whispers about “a sweet note in the bathroom.” Curious, I go take a look. And there, next to a rose in a vase, sits a handwritten message from Japan Arts, our Japanese partner: “We warmly welcome you back.” A small gesture that feels like a warm embrace amid the chaos. Japan Arts plays a vital role in this tour; without them, we wouldn’t be here.

Then, when Lahav Shani and Bruce Liu step onto the stage, everything changes. It’s as if someone dims the lights and switches on focus. Suddenly, all is sharp, concentrated. The first notes of Prokofiev fill the hall and, just like that, I’m no longer on a stage surrounded by people but in an entire world of music.

After the dress rehearsal, it’s immediately time to clear the stage for the audience. Tension builds, sheet music rustles, and the jet lag… it watches contentedly from the wings, sipping a cup of green tea. Because yes, one three-hour rehearsal followed directly by a concert? That’s a challenge. But exactly the kind of challenge this orchestra thrives on.

As the orchestra takes the stage and the concert begins, Sanne and I retreat behind our screens. Backstage, armed with a laptop, a hard drive, and a half-charged camera battery, we’re ready to edit the day’s footage into a story. Every now and then we peek through the little backstage window. The music is everywhere—speakers even carry it into the bathrooms. And somehow, it sounds magical even there. While I tap away at my keyboard, deleting and rewriting sentences, my mind wanders. Could I ever grow tired of this? Eight performances of the same program… maybe. But not today.

Afterwards, smiling faces stream off the stage. Amid a jumble of instrument cases, garment bags, and quick hands, breakdown begins. Everyone knows: the stage must be cleared within ten minutes. Instruments are handed off to the transport team for the journey to Nagoya. Quick change, and onto the bus!

On the ride, the concert is discussed with excitement—at least by those still awake. At the back of the bus, silence reigns: the first victims of the post-applause crash. There, jet lag claims its victories, softly snoring.

Back at the hotel, Sanne and I decide to make something more of the evening. We first retreat to our rooms to edit footage of the concert and rewatch the interview we recorded earlier with Bruce Liu. Not only is Bruce a brilliant pianist, he turns out to be a particularly kind and humble young man. The video is still in editing, but one thing is certain: he made an impression!

At sunset we meet again in the lobby and decide to visit Osaka Castle Park, one of the city’s most famous spots. The park is a green oasis with ponds, cherry trees, and views of the impressive Osaka Castle—built in the 16th century by the legendary warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi as a symbol of a united Japan.

After a walk through the park we go looking for dinner. Google Maps leads us down an alley. It’s dark, quiet, and looks more like someone’s backyard than a restaurant street. We hesitate, but walk on—until suddenly a voice calls:
“Hey! The entrance is here!”

The smell of spices drifts toward us as we step into a tiny African eatery. My stomach isn’t quite convinced (“Is this breakfast or dinner?”), but my nose quickly overrules it. Jet lag or not: this smells far too good to resist.

We’re ushered into what feels like a little hut. A guitarist plays live music, children dance between the tables, and stickers cover the walls. We strike up a conversation with a friendly waiter and tell him we’re part of an orchestra. He’s enthusiastic and says it’s a pity we aren’t playing another concert in Osaka. To make sure he won’t forget us the next time we’re in town, I stick an orchestra sticker on the bar. And just like that, we’re immortalized in a hidden African restaurant in Japan—exactly where no one would expect us.

After dinner we find our way back to the hotel, thanks to Sanne’s travel instincts and a Google Maps that, this time, did point us to the right alley. Tired but content, we push through the revolving door—where, to our surprise, quite a few orchestra members are still wide awake. Jet lag clearly has its claws in the group. Red eyes stare wide open, heated philosophy fills the lobby couches, and someone suggests a midnight snack run to 7-Eleven. “Just in case we get hungry later.”

When we admit we didn’t have sushi or ramen but African curry for dinner, we’re met with laughter. “So you literally traveled to the other side of the world, only to eat in the wrong direction again?” someone teases. We laugh, step into the elevator, and slowly rise toward our rooms.

Day three was a success. And though jet lag may strike mercilessly at some, it hasn’t managed to take down the talented musicians on stage—at least not yet. That moment is being saved for the day after tomorrow. Or the one after that. Or maybe after the eighth round of Dvořák.

Text: Maxime de Bruin