The Incredible Lightness of Being

"Undies. Socks. Quick dry shirts. Laundry powder. Toiletries. What have I forgotten?" I asked aloud. I looked at the unzipped bag that I was packing. Penelope was sitting at the computer trying to back up some of her files to a USB memory stick to bring to China. "Don't forget that good-quality hair conditioner" she said. "That cheap moisturiser you could get at the supermarket in Israel makes my fur stick together". True enough, but the brand that she likes makes my hair look grey.

Raincoat. Sun hat. Sleeping tablets. Multi vitamins. Thongs (flip flops) for the shower to prevent tinia. I decided that on this trip we would travel as light as possible. I picked up my tallit and tephillin bag, hesitating. They would certainly add to the payload. And let’s be honest, do I really put on tephillin every day? Penelope looked up at what I was holding and our eyes met for a second. She knew what I was thinking and smiled knowingly; feeling a pang of guilt, I put them back in the pack.

Laptop. MP3 player. SLR camera. Compact camera. Memory cards. Mobile phone. Electric shaver. Five different battery chargers. "And you thought that the tephillin was heavy? With all that electronics buff, you'd better make sure that you have good travel insurance". I flicked her an insurance policy that I had taken out on the Internet. The coverage seemed good. Let's hope there is no trouble if I need to make a claim. The last thing I need is a cuddly koala telling me "I told you so".

Guidebook. Writing materials. Handy phone numbers. Passports. Tickets. "Alan, can you show me how Skype works please. I want to make voice calls on the Internet while we are away". Thank God. Penelope can use the hotel phone to chat with friends like there's no tomorrow. Thankfully, computer talk is cheap.

People always say how wonderful it is that I can just get up and go when ever I want. But they don't realise all the preparation that it involves.

First night hotel reservations. Order special airline meals. Apply for a visa. Prepare sandwiches for first day after arrival. Clean up the house. Return library books. File tax reports. Buy foreign cash. Get prescriptions for emergency medication. Obtain doctor’s note for prescription medicine that I am carrying to show it is legitimate.

Penelope watched me rushing around the room. “Oh Alan, stopped being so stressed. You’ve done all the main stuff. And anything you forget to bring we can buy in China. They do have shops you know!” By way of illustration, she holds up a ‘bedside shopping card we found at a Chinese hotel, offering for sale last minute items that guests may have forgotten to bring. I looked at the list and laughed, relaxing. She’s a clever little one that Penelope.

Stay tuned…

The Passover Story

I sat at the Passover Seder where we were retelling the story of the ancient Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. An excitable Penelope sat beside me firing questions left, right and centre:

"Why did we just sing that song? Why did you dip those leaves in the saltwater? Who’s paying for all this? Why did you just pour the wine again? Why did you just hide a piece of Matza? Why is this night different from all other nights? Why did God bother to take the Jews out of Egypt? Why did he get them in there in the first place? That wine is making me dizzy! Why didn't the Egyptians just turn on the light during the plague of darkness? Why would it ‘have been enough for us’? Why are you leaning the left? -- ouch -- you are squashing me! What time will the real food come? Do you really do this every year? Why do people outside Israel do it twice?"

Penelope was also seated - on the other side - next to a lovely young woman who helped her read through the Haggadah. In all, the atmosphere was both solemn and jovial.

I was pleased that Penelope had agreed to join me tonight. The Passover story is an epic. (I should know - I saw it at the cinema when I was a kid. Moses had an American accent and his spokesman, Aaron, didn't say a word). The whole saga covers so many issues: travel preparation (matza baking), foreign cultures (the fabulous court of Pharaoh and incredible Egyptian architecture), xenophobia (foreigners were always made slaves!), pagan belief systems (court magicians, pharaoh worship), modes of transportation (foot, horse drawn carts, military chariots stolen from the film set of Ben Hur), issues of identity and more. It is, essentially, the introduction to a great travelogue. Indeed, I am confronted with these exact issues whenever I travel. It was my hope that, by participating in the retelling of the Passover story, Penelope would see where my strong sense of identity and wander-lust come from.

I tried to explain it in a way she could understand. "So you see, we came to Egypt 3000 years ago just as a big family that had lots and lots of kids. But it was through the experience of being enslaved, and then liberated, that all the family descendents became a nation. They now shared a common experience and were developing a national future."

I looked down at P to see whether she understood the import of my explanation. To my chagrin, her focus seemed to be elsewhere. A brown coloured sticky patch stuck to her short snout. "This haroset stuff is great," she said. "Did you know we have eucalyptus leaves with a similar cinnamon taste? It's one of my favourites. I don't know about your matza though. You guys must have a strong tummies. I reckon too much of this stuff and I might get stuck up a tree!"

I just sat silently for a minute knowing that P would have to relate to this evening's proceedings on her own level, even if it was shallow. Then, however, looking up at me with those big black eyes, she said something that really touched me. "I think I know you a little by now. You really see yourself as if you were there all that time ago, as if God had taken you, personally, out of Egypt. That's a great thing. You have a powerful link with your Jewish origins. And I am sure you don't want to be the one to break that link. You want to pass it on to the future. I get it, Alan, I get it."

I blinked for a minute at P's comprehending words. Yes, she did get it. My eyes teared for just a moment, and I pretended to have copped a splash of horse-radish. “Waiter,” I cried out, “what's this bitter herb doing in my soup?" The waiter looked at me blankly. "Backstroke," he replied nonplussed, before heading back to the kitchen. Everyone's a wise guy.

P watched this exchange, giggling. “Let me finish what I was saying.” she continued. “It also means you must suffer from incredible guilt. How can you decide who you are when it has been determined by someone else? Your need to preserve a 3000 year old experience means that unless you follow your heritage in every way, you will feel like traitor. The human condition is all about the individual finding his or her own way in this world, experimenting and developing a sense of self identity. For Jews, this means temporarily betraying your heritage and the link that you have been charged to pass on. So all Jews must, necessarily, suffer from an element of guilt."

Something had inspired this outburst by P, and I wasn't sure what. I wanted to ponder the lesson P had learned from Passover. After the meal we recited the Hallel service, praising God for all he has done for us. We have an auspicious history, one to be proud of and, indeed, reckoned with. I have always been proud of being Jewish. Do I feel guilty? Not consciously. And yet…

I turned to P to object to her comments. All I could see was a small grey furry rump. P had fallen over fast asleep with an arm still reaching into the haroset bowl. I should have warned her that the recipe includes wine.

By passing out, Penelope had truly entered the spirit of the Passover Seder. Her comments provided me with food for thought and I promised myself to ponder them more.

This Passover has been spent in Melbourne where P and I have been recovering from an emotional Mosaic hiking trip. Over the next few days we will be making our way back to Hong Kong, the jump-off point for our next China adventure.

Stay tuned…

Olympic Fever

Olympic fever is rising.

The clock is counting down (quite literally - as you can see) and the full implications of the upcoming Olympics are hitting the news.

Readers keep writing to ask if I will be in Beijing for the Olympic games later this year. The answer is simple: No.

Let’s start with the fact that I do not watch sports, so why bother going.
But it’s not just sports, I hear you say, it is a spectacle!

Well, yes. Try getting a hotel room when the rest of the world has booked one online. And those coming are happy to pay top dollar. Prices increase drastically as demand rises. Backpackers don’t like that. While the Olympics are about competition, that is not something I am interested in competing in.

Transport will be a logistic nightmare. Even now, I have been on trains where specially trained Rail Staff pushed lines of people into subway carriages already stuffed to the gills. These guys literally went to the back of the line and pushed waiting passengers with their shoulders. I stood waiting for a train, watching this happen on another platform. Suddenly, the people around me became a solid block that was forced into a carriage. I was literally lifted off the ground and gravitated into the carriage. People inside winced in terrible pain. Had I not been wearing a pack on by back and another on my chest I would have suffered serious injury.

Taxis on the other hand are generally a pleasure. The drivers tend to be courteous, the taxis are clean, and the metre talks to you in English when activated. There are exceptions; not all taxis are wonderful. I am considering sharing such stories with you, my friends, on another occasion.

Fancy looking stores bearing the “Beijing 2008” Olympic logo can be found all over Beijing and to a lesser extent elsewhere in China.

But Olympic implications are broad and visible everywhere. The streets are being cleaned up. Construction is going on everywhere. Ancient suburbs are being ripped down for highways and new, uniform apartment buildings. A few weeks ago, Beijing opened the largest airport in the world. I have just been reading about it. Built to look like a dragon, it apparently took 50,000 people 4 years to build on an area previously occupied by 10 villages.

Be proud: El Al airlines will be one of the first airlines to make permanent use of it.

All this belies much greater motivations. China has been a sleeping beauty, its isolated economy gently waking up over the last 20 years. Today it has well and truly woken, and is having a ravenous breakfast. The Chinese economy is growing at incredible speed. Everything today seems to be made in China. “Product of ROC” can even be found printed on Kiddush cups and saucers in Jerusalem. (Funnily enough, I have not found export quality goods for sale in China, only garbage products for local consumption. Everything I have bought locally has a life span of ten minutes. Maybe I have not been looking in the right places).

The Olympics are an incredible opportunity for China to advertise itself economically. Think of it like a huge trade fair. Billions are being spent on infrastructure. The country wants to put on a friendly face, to attract foreign investment. The economy is booming, affluence is increasing. In Beijing, I heard that 1000 new cars hit the streets every day. I can attest to sitting on highways that feel like car parks. To feed all this, China is buying up energy resources from all over the world.

Is all this change extending outside Beijing? I have only seen enthusiasm for the Olympics at major tourist sites, where those coming for the Olympics are probably expected to visit on a whistlestop tour.

And, as always, the Olympics are affected by other weightier issues that I will intentionally refrain from discussing here. Anyone wishing to immerse themselves in this side of things need only start by looking at the general media.

The Olympics are a showcase, an economic opportunity, an introduction to international acceptance. And fair enough - after all, that's part of the point, isn't it?

The casual tourist is usually happy that because of the Olympics, more people speak a bit of English. But those with their ears and eyes open will feel the rumbling underneath of a stirring dragon.