The Road to Tibet

Our Jeep cruised along the mountain road at what seemed like a safe speed, probably 40 kph. Safe, of course, is a relative term. A small truck soon appeared in front, slowing us down. Our driver decided to overtake, just as the two vehicles were turning a bend. He sped up and came abreast of the truck. My heart pounded as I looked at the blind corner that we were careering into and the sharp drop beside us down the mountainside. Everyone in the jeep held their breath. Even Penelope shivered from fear. I screamed at the driver the only words at my command that might express my fear: “Man man zhou, wo de mama bu gao xing”, Slow down my mother is not happy! The driver repeated my words (probably trying to understand them) before responding with “Hao de”, Alright. I was not impressed.

We peered out of the window in silence. The alpine forest was periodically broken by waterfalls tumbling onto the road from the snowy peaks above us. Pretty soon the mountains turned brown and became desert-like. It reminded me of the Judean desert. Being in unfamiliar territory, I could easily imagine this to be somewhere in the wilds of Afghanistan. Indeed, we were somewhere in the wilds of China! Below us, the upper reaches of the Yangze river flowed on its way eastwards. The road inclined downwards, and upon reaching the river we crossed a large bridge.
“What are those markings on the side of the road?” I asked our interpreter.
“They mark the distance to Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. 1931 km from here.” So this was the road to Tibet, a place that is off limits to foreigners like me. P looked up at me with one of her cheeky looks. “I bet they wouldn’t stop me at the border” She said. She can be such a smart arse sometimes.

A soldier suddenly appeared on the road, thrusting out a stop sign shaped like a tennis racket. We pulled over. Everyone was asked to leave the jeep and submit passports for inspection. For all of her bravado, Penelope seemed to have suddenly disappeared. Although we were not crossing any official border, we were entering a restricted zone. The stern faced officer watched as I took out my documents. Somehow I wanted to see whether his harsh demeanour was real just a show. I pointed to my camera and motioned that I wanted to take a picture. “Keyi”, Sure, he responded, his face breaking into an enormous smile. It was a wonderful moment of humanity.

We piled back into the jeep and continued on our way. The road rose again and greenery returned to the hills. Flowers of purple and white added splashes of colour. Pine trees gave a beautiful smell and fresh appearance. The temperature cooled. The roads that cut into the steep mountainsides and the valleys that fell away all afforded a sense of grandeur to the experience. And then, almost without warning, here we were, driving above the snow line. The jeep crossed over the saddle of the mountains and we stopped for a photo. We stood at an altitude of 4100 metres. Penelope looked instantly pale from a lack of oxygen and lay down on the car seat. My head went giddy as I walked to higher ground only a dozen metres away for a better vantage point, and I had to stop a few times as I lost my breath.

This was our last stop. It had been a long drive, almost 6 hours. But within 30 minutes we could see Deqin, a dirty little town nestled in the slope of a mountain valley. We took the time to inspect 5 hotels before settling on one recommended in our Lonely Planet guide book. It was cheap and at first glance appeared to be of similar standard to the others we saw. Seeing rest at hand, we checked in.

The TV didn’t work. The toilet tank either didn’t refill or constantly overflowed. The girl from reception had to come and get the electricity switch to function. The bed covers were grubby. The drinking water provided in each room was a shade of something not potable. The lights didn’t work. The rooms faced the street and the tooting trucks that traversed it. The provided soap and toothbrushes were stuck to the bathroom sink. Apparently no guest would dare touch them. Only scalding water came out of the shower. And best of all, (2) condoms were provided free of charge in every room. A sign on the door from the local police made it clear that, amongst other things, “prostitution and whoring” are prohibited.

Other things started to make sense. In one of the hotels I inspected, the young lady who showed me the room was overly friendly in introducing herself. ‘Sophie’ enthusiastically grabbed my hand and gave me a knowing smile. Room prices displayed at the reception of another hotel included “hourly rate”. With nothing much to do here and frequent travellers passing through from Tibet, a bit of private entertainment would be just the ticket.

Welcome to Deqin, a predominantly Tibetan town where some of the locals can’t understand Mandarin. Despite the friendliness of the locals and their obvious interest that I stay to play, I decided that it would have the pleasure of my company for exactly one night, before I moved on to greener pastures.

Awesome Beauty

It looked like a piece of cardboard, bobbing up and down in the water far below. I was standing high above it, maybe 20 metres away, on top of an enormous rock. Yangtze river rapids exploded all around me. This is Tiger Leaping Gorge, one of the most stunning places I have ever been.

Joining the ranks of numerous others, I hiked the cliff-top path of the gorge for a couple of days, taking good care of my footing. I watched the Yangze from a giddying distance as it flowed with great dignity along the bottom of the gorge. Small hillside villages of the Naxi people provided food and accommodation on the way. Abundant waterfalls crossed my path. The weather was very hot. To cool down, I meditated on the snowy peaks towering above me at high altitude. It seemed to help.

Penelope was with me of course and was awe struck, as I was, by the immense beauty of it all. We took hundreds of photos of each other and of the gorge. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t concerned; her legs are more wobbly today than when we first met and I didn’t like the fact that to get a good photo, she kept taking a step back on the narrow goat path we were following. Just a small step in the wrong direction would have been fatal. It was a long fall. Unlike Australia, I doubt that China has an advanced search and rescue team for travellers. And if they do, all resources would certainly be tied up with earthquake rescue missions currently taking place in the Sichuan province. Penelope accepted my concerns and treaded lightly.

As I surveyed the gorge, the slippery waterfalls we needed to walk through along the narrow clifftop path and the rough stones that lended themselves to a sprained ankle, I kept thinking of whether I had chosen the right travel insurance company.

Having completed the hike, we rested overnight at a guesthouse halfway down the mountain before descending next morning to the water flowing beneath. It was a hard climb down. Local villagers have installed ropes and cords to help visitors with their balance, as well as a few wooden bridges and disconcerting ladders.

We made it to the bottom. A local village woman stood watch as I climbed onto Tiger Leaping Rock, the legendary rock that a tiger once used as a stepping stone when leaping across the gorge. The rock was steep, and losing one’s balance could have frightening consequences. I was surrounded by the thundering river (see photo) and was pleased that the village woman was there to make sure things were ok. P and I took our photos. It was spellbinding.

Another French tourist asked me about the body that the village woman had showed him. “Body?” I shouted back above the screaming water. “Down there” he pointed. I again looked down, this time laying down on my stomach so as to anchor my body to prevent myself from falling. P couldn’t hear our conversation and I thought it better that way. Peering over the rock edge I saw it, bobbing up and down. A man’s body, naked, caught in a rock crevice with other flotsam and jetsam. I hadn’t noticed it before because it had looked like a piece of cardboard. I quickly turned away and called to the village woman. From what I could understand from her explanation, the body had washed downstream two days earlier. I did not understand why it was naked. “Who will take it away?” No-one she said. What about family? We don’t know if he has any, she replied. The people with me took photos and we were all shocked that the woman had proudly pointed out her find without taking any steps to deal with it.

I thought about how safe I had felt seeing this woman supervise us tourists. Now I realised that if something happened to me, it would have passed unnoticed.

After the arduous climb back up to the main path, those with me contacted a local hostel and showed them the photos. We were assured the police would be notified.

The entire incident raised so many issues for me. Attitudes to death. Approaches to safety. The role of the authorities. Adventure. Adventure travel. Who was that poor fellow, lying there in the water for days on end? A local? A hiker? Where were his clothes? What is my responsibility towards him? What would I have expected from him had the tables been turned?

I vowed to consider the import of these issues as we left the gorge and made our way north to a new town, new sights and new issues.

Getting High

It's funny how different it is when you travel with someone. You suddenly have so much more to worry about.

I just wanted a quiet breakfast, but Penelope kept talking about Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. Don't get too excited, I said, we are near Tibet you know. It's not a good place to go wandering off.

But of course P is a little flakey sometimes. I had just gone off to buy some mineral water when poof ! - she vanished.

As it happens, little P could see the snow capped peak of the mountain from out hotel and simply walked towards it in a daze.

She is inherently good at climbing, and by the time she reached a height of 4500 metres the Alpine Police had already got wind of an intruder.

Luckily, one of them had been transferred from a detachment in the town of Xian, where he had met P on what you might recall was her last run in with the law, involving an incident with the Terracotta Warriors.

Anyway, she had already passed out for 15 minutes from altitude sickness by the time she was found, so a good dose of oxygen and a friendly smile from the cop were a nice welcome back for her. She got a real high from that.

I have pleaded with her to rest now for a couple of days. All this excitement is too much for me.

Aftermath

[Pictures - memorial for earthquake victims - Lijiang, NW China]

The Israeli accents were not difficult to identify in the dingy little common area of the hostel. I introduced myself. “Where are you travelling?” I asked. “We just arrived from Chengdu”. Chengdu, the large city 60km from the centre of last week’s earthquake. They had flown into Chengdu after the event occurred. “The city itself is safe – there did not seem to be any infrastructure damage. But believe me, you won’t stay long after going through aftershocks for a few nights.

Another couple of guys I met told me the same story. “We were on the train when it happened. But we made it to town. We stayed there a few days. Life goes on you know. But many tourist attractions have closed down.

The TV here seems to have 24 hour reports of rescue efforts, as well as coverage of international support for China. This includes aid from that little renegade, Taiwan. English TV has a hokey political forum that has been discussing thawing in relations with Taiwan. It eerily mimics those commentators on Israel TV who analyse ad nauseum almost anything that happened that day vis a vis Israeli – Palestinian “peace” negotiations; as if some major breakthrough had occurred. Am I just being cynical? Experience would suggest not.

I checked in my bags at the airport ahead of my flight to Lijiang, near the quake affected Sichuan province. A grating horn noise blared and everyone around me bowed their heads. 5 Minutes silence for the dead, part of a declared 3 day period of mourning. For me, a minute of silence is an Israeli experience. In this context it brought me in touch with humanity as whole.

I hear that the last time a major earthquake hit China, in 1976, about 900,000 people died. Who in the West knew? Or cared? I heard about it after the Tsunmai in Indonesia. Today China is holding the world’s focus. The 2008 Olympic games. Protests about Tibet. The importance of Chinese economic stability for the world economy. Chinese people are no longer insignificant. And here too I relate to them. Because just like Israel, they are both needed and vilified, by the World media.

As luck would have it I was seated on the plane next to a couple from my home town in Australia. We spoke of how moving the Chinese response has been to the earthquake. The Chinese are a very strongly nationalist bunch, very brotherly in their outlook. The conversation took us elsewhere. Comparisons were made with Israel, which the couple had visited and very much support. We also spoke of the dawn service held annually for Australian military casualties. All three of us had attended the service only 1 month ago in Australia.

After landing yesterday in Lijiang I read my emails. I received a message from friends in Chengdu who had enthusiastically invited me to visit them. Don’t come. Many aftershocks. The Government is warning of disease in the province from dead bodies still being hauled from the rubble.

I left my hotel for a short evening walk. The town is famous for its annoying abundance of tourists blocking the small streets. But the place is relatively quiet following the earthquake. Despite this, the town square was packed with people holding candles for a memorial service. The candles were placed in little boats and sent floating down the river. It was all very emotional.

Foreign tourists have their own business to attend to. Hostel discussions revolve around amended travel plans; “We were going to go to Tibet. Do you know if it will reopen to foreigners?”. “Forget Chengdu, you know, after the earthquake. I will have to fly to Shanghai”. “I was going to be here 6 weeks but the new, pre Olympic visa requirements may mean I have to leave early”.

The bottom line I that I am a tourist. That means that while trying to connect to local events, I too am required to amend my plans and arrange my visas.

I am planning a foray further towards the Tibetan border. Let us see what tomorrow brings.

Dragon River

It was 5pm when I strolled down to the river bank, Penelope in tow. The frogs were already barking their presence. The last of the ever present bamboo rafts carrying Chinese tourists floated gently past. Some passing villagers called out “Bamboo!”, the only English word in their repertoire, hoping to sell me a ride. “Bu Yao", No thankyou” I answered. Neither Penelope nor I were interested in another kitschy way of spending money.

Finding a place to sit, I pulled out my notebook and listened to the rushing water and insects. At my instigation, Penelope tried to write down some of her own feelings about our trip. She was new to the art of the pen, but I tried to teach her to relaate to it like she does to chopsticks, with which she is quite adept.

As the sun hung low on the horizon, the bamboo raft operators packed up and went home. Just me, P and nature remained. In a nearby field, a hot air balloon inflated and floated away carrying sunset sightseers.

A group of 5 young boys boisterously came down to the river through the rice fields. They called to me, “Hullo! Swimming!”. They laughed and stripped down to their underwear, goading me to join them. After shampooing their hair they dived in. I watched, smiled and waved. I decided not to accept their invitation and leave my bag unattended. The boys frolicked a while before dressing and leaving. Penelope pretended to focus on the hot air balloon, but I suspect her glance wandered a bit periodically.

Dusk in the tropics can be lengthy and I revelled in the noise of insects and flowing water. The peace was incredible. “What’s that?” asked Penelope from behind a bamboo stem she was trying to climb. I also heard the voices. An older group of boys now, perhaps 18 or 19 in age, made their way towards me. “You Yong! Swimming!" They called put to me and within a flash they had surrounded me. “You che ufan ma?” Do you have any food one of them asked, motioning as if he was using chopsticks”. “Mayou”, Sorry I don’t, I answered. Another, trying to be funy, said "Bamboo!" and everyone giggled. Like the younger boys earlier, they pulled off their clothes, but these guys didn’t leave anything on. It was even too much for Penelope, who threw herself into my bag.

One fellow came and squatted next to me, in all his glory. He asked me where I am from and what I do for a living. They were a friendly bunch and eventually I felt safe enough to join them. They were pleased.

As I swam in the middle of the fast flowing water, one of them motioned towards me, telling me to remove my swimming pants. The others watched to see my reaction. “Wei Shenme?” Why, I asked. He played with himself and then pointed at my legs good naturedly. “Wo Bu Shi Nu Ren!” I said in a high pitched voice, I am not a woman. Everyone laughed. A few bawdy jokes followed.

Eventually my new friends also made a move to leave. “Come with us, on my scooter. We can go for dinner, drink, go dancing” he said in mandarin, backed up by impressive body language. I looked around me at the rice paddies. No thanks, I will go to my hotel for dinner. Disappointed the boys left, joking as they went.

It was getting dark and the insects were getting louder. The atmosphere was heavenly. The surrounding rock formations became magical, giant silhouettes.

All at once my legs were attacked by a myriad of mosquitoes. P seems to be immune from mosquitoes for some reason. But she doesn’t want me to suffer. “Time for us to move on” she said, seeing me scratch.

We gathered or things and stood up. We were the last to leave the river.

As we began walking away, a faint form dismounted his motorbike near us in the dark and approached the river bank. Quietly he sucked on a cigarette, the tip lighting up like a firefly. And in his other hand, a sachet of shampoo.

River life, as far as we could see, would continue into the night.

Rain

It’s the summer rainy season.
It’s raining outside.
I am in Guillin, a town renowned for its beauty. Why? You mean you also don’t know?

Here is a description of my day:

Rain, rain, rain, ran, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, Rain, rain, rain, ran, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, Rain, rain, rain, ran, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, ran, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain…

At some point we got out of bed and went to see a stalagmite cave, because we figured we’d be out of the rain.
The cave was unremarkable and boring. Like every other Chinese tourist attraction it was full of kitsch. The tour guide sang us a song (same song as the tour guide in a different stalagmite cave last week) and machines blew bubbles amongst the rock formations.
Came back to hotel.

Rain, rain, rain, ran, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, Rain, rain, rain, ran, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain...

Wrote a blog entry.

This is it.

Bent Chopsticks

I went to a restaurant yesterday and ordered some rice. Picking up a long thin packet of chopsticks, I tore it open with my teeth. Somehow the chopsticks didn’t balance in my fingers. I poked into the rice, but instead if grabbing rice with a well balanced pincer movement, I flicked the grain everywhere. I took a moment to study the chopsticks and suddenly realised that they were bent. I had never encountered such a thing before. But it seemed to represent so much.

The Chinese are fantastic at making things look good. Fake clothing, fake watches, fake everything. Last year Penelope and I visited the famous Terracotta Warriors in Xian. Beside the excavation site was a large building proudly displaying the company’s name “The Xi'an Counterfeit Factory of Terracotta Warriors”. Now that’s got to be saying something…

The whole counterfeit theme is part and parcel of an inherent syndrome. Goods made to foreign specification for export are often of high quality. But if it’s not for export, don’t put out your money. It will be the same junk that they sell in the cheap bazaars and shops back home. And even if you bargain them down on the price here, you find that you could still have bought it cheaper, and probably for better quality, back home,

A young man I met at a Shabbat meal in Shenzhen, involved in construction finance, told me it’s the same with buildings. Big construction requires foreign supervision.

Penelope, bless her, has been pushing me to buy quick dry shirts. I bought one here (with a misspelled ‘addidas’ label) for more than I paid for something similar in Australia, and wouldn’t you know it – it takes days to dry. P didn’t seem surprised.

Last week I bought a watch in the market. You know the kind, one of those fake Omega’s. It looks so real that I have been mistaken here for being a ‘businessman’ because of my fancy watch. How long will the strap last? That’s another story.

After searching the market for a good quality jacket, I purchased a North Face Windstopper in a reputable camping equipment store in Shangrila. Before handing over the agreed price I had the presence of mind to ask if it was a genuine North Face product. "Oh no" came the repy, "but it is 'A' quality copy!"

I am convinced that even the little sachets of butter supplied in every restaurant that serves a western style breakfast here, and marked "New Zealand Butter", is locally produced in China (though probably not from Yak milk).

To tell the truth it frightens me. Everything here is for show. There is very little substance. Surely this cannot represent thousands of years of Chinese culture, philosophy and innovation.

It certainly makes you wonder when a whole society seems to be based on illusion. The question arises, then, as to whether this has resulted from certain other domestic changes to the ountry during the last century.

Earthquake!

I spent the day with Penelope riding a mountain bike along the Yulong River in China’s southern Yangshuo district. Rice paddies dotted with mountain sized rock formations surrounded us. It was a clear, calm, sunny day. Almost perfect. Little did I know that a major earthquake was causing devastation to the north east, in the Sichuan province. As I write these lines, it is estimated that 50,000 may have died in the catastrophe.

I first got wind of it all from emails flowing into my inbox asking if Penelope and I were ok. It was confusing, Only later that night, when the tourists returned to their hotels from a hard day rock-climbing, boating or cycling did they switch in CCTV9 – China’s only English language TV channel - to be greeted with the grim news.

The Chinese girl I shared a hotel room with hails from nearby Nanning, where the quake was also felt. She was in a state of shock, and we sat up most of the night watching the various news services. It was all so familiar; how may times before have I stayed up in Israel, scanning the media and internet for updates of disasters, natural or otherwise.

Chengdu, the major city near the quake’s epicentre, was my next destination. The friend I was going to visit there has told me of how she thought she was gong to die when it happened. For the following 3 days, she and her family slept in their car to be clear of buildings if another quake hit. And for all that, she has asked me to still come to see how beautiful her city is. Transport to Chengdu has just been restored. We will see how things pan out.

Last night I chatted with a Dutch woman who had been in Chengdu when the “quake hit the fan”. She and her daughter felt nauseous and sick. Everyone ran out to the streets and parks for safety. They both cringe in terror when a table shakes or a plane flies overhead. It reminds me of my own post Gulf War reaction to creaking doors, which I instinctively interpret as an air raid siren indicating incoming missiles.

People raced to the airport to leave, but got stuck in terminals crowded by similar minded folk. The woman told me of a plane taxiing down the runway as the shakes began. The control tower stopped functioning so the plane couldn’t take off. Moreover, the terminals were in a state of array, so the passengers couldn’t disembark. They sat there, apparently, for 12 hours.

I am now in the city of Gullin, where huge displays have been erected by volunteers with poster sized photographs of quake victims, in efforts to rally financial assistance.

The bottom line is that P and I are well. And to be honest, we are dealing with other challenges more immediate to our travel experience. More on that later. In the meantime my friends, stay safe.

A & P.

Funny Women

Bright flashes. Booming thunder. It is cold inside the hotel room. Lifting my head to the open window, a gust of warm tropical air rushes over my face. The incessant rain is continuing. I lie back in bed, but a splash of cold water hits my face from the air-conditioning unit above me.

In the other bed is a pretty face, peaceful in sleep. Sun Yee is a member of the ever growing class of Chinese tourists. We encountered each other on the bus into this small town from the city of Guillin and joined forces in finding accommodation. Both of us are translators and social shmoozers, so a hotel with internet access was crucial. Sun Yee’s local upbringing and social disposition make her a fantastic haggler and pretty soon she found us a budget priced hotel with all we need, which is where I am writing this down.

But within minutes of dropping our bags in the room Sun Yee had also arranged a private cruise on a motorised bamboo raft along the Li River. I found myself suddenly transported away, floating downstream with a couple of beautiful women on a clear tropical river amid the stunning karst formations for which the area is known. I say a couple of beautiful women because, to be fair, Penelope came along. Our close friendship is one that cannot be supplanted by another temporary travel companion. Sun Yee was actually excited to meet P, but apart from accepting a polite introduction and participating in some vague small talk, Penelope kept a low profile in order, as she later put it, not to ‘cramp my style’.

Women are funny that way.

Today it is raining. A heavy, tropical rain. This is an outdoor town; there is nothing to do in the rain. Except maybe to catch up on some sleep or write your memoirs. Sun Yee and P are fast asleep. That leaves me to write some memoirs.

Let's try that then, shall we?

Waking to a new day

The train rocked and rumbled beneath me, massaging my tummy. I had a vague sense of light penetrating my eye shades. There was a tug at my blanket. As far as I knew Penelope was still dozing in my knapsack, next to my mobile phone, so it couldn’t be her. I lifted the eye shades slightly to investigate the cause. A pretty stewardess with sleepy morning eyes and slightly disturbed hair held up her ticket book. I gave her back the passenger voucher she had given me at the beginning of the trip in exchange for my ticket.

Chinese muzak with the sounds of birds and insects played over the PA system. It was 6am. I peeked out the window. The countryside was blanketed in a thick, early morning fog. There was water everywhere and at first I thought that the province had been washed out. I stared for a few minutes at the wet, grey landscape rushing by. How stupid of me! I was looking at rice paddies, surrounded by beautiful karst, rocky outcrops.

I shut my eyes again. The others in the 3 tiered bunks of my train compartment had chatted loudly into the wee hours. Someone had smoked heavily in the air conditioned carriage. They seem to do that here; as soon as you are in a confined space where the windows are closed and the air conditioning activated, people light up. A fellow below me had spent the night coughing incessantly, each time waking me with a start. Penelope made a few little noises herself. Koalas are generally noisy at night when moving from tree to tree, although little P was tuckered out by all the travel. I think it was more a result of her smoke allergies.

I climbed down from the middle bunk bed I was occupying, put on some sandals and made my way to the toilet. Squatting down, I held on for dear life to the handle screwed into the wall to assist dumb westerners like me use oriental facilities in a swaying train. Someone knocked on the door. I knocked back. The voice said something in Chinese. I ignored it. The voice repeated itself. I knocked the door again. The voice began screaming. Were we approaching a station? Toilet waste empties straight onto the track and can't be used at a station.  Indeed, the train was slowing down and I rushed out as soon as I could to the chagrin of the stewardess.

Penelope heard the commotion from down the hall. I found her on my return fussing with the bag, pretending not to know me. She was a little more sympathetic later on when I explained that it was like going to the toilet on an airplane when the captain announces turbulence and activates the 'Return to Seat' sign (we had watched that happen to someone on our flight and felt bad for the embarrassed passenger).

It was a wet, misty morning in the city of Guillin. Penelope jumped back into my knapsack. “Wake me when you need to decisions made” she said and disappeared. I strapped the pack onto my back and staggered onto the railway platform with hundreds of other tired faces.

Another day on the road.
.

Escape to Happy Valley

I really didn’t want to spend Shabbat in Hong Kong. But where should I go? I went for a walk to clear my head. Amongst the sea of Asian faces in the street before, one stood out. The white shirt, beard and baseball cap were a giveaway. “Sholem aleichem” I called out. “Aleichem sholem!” came back the countersign.

Yonatan, in Hong Kong on business, had been rushing off to his hotel, but on meeting another Jew he took the time to get acquainted. “Where you from? Medaber Ivrit? You live in Israel? So do I ! Come, let’s meet the Rabbi at Chabbad!” He took me round to Kowloon’s Beit Chabbad where I met the Rabbi and his wife, who offered me food and a warm welcome.

Yonatan was planning to cross the border and spend Shabbat in the Chinese city of Shenzen, and was happy for me to join him. And that is how, next day, we boarded the train headed for the Chinese border. It was a short trip and not nearly long enough to cover all the topics we wanted to discuss.

“So you write a blog. Kol Hakavod, good on you.. What’s it about?” I introduced him to Penelope, who had been fairly subdued up to that point. “Ich kenisht farshtanen” I don’t understand, he said, lapsing into Yiddish. “This is your travel partner?” Penelope made a face at his comment, sick of people insinuating that she is a mere play thing.

“Ok, so you write on Jewish topics at least?” I explained what I thought was the basic principle behind writing a blog and Yonatan seemed, if not impressed, interested. “You should learn more Do you learn?” (referring to religious texts). “To write something like this you really need to know Tanya. Do you study Tanya?” Yonatan had difficulty accepting that as a Litvak, my religiously academic orientation was not in the Lubavitch Tanya literature. “You should speak to my wife. She is an expert in the issues of Jewish women”.

P winced once again. She has quite liberal views and gets frustrated by the conservative attitudes expressed by some purported do-gooders. This is especially true for those who want to encourage traditional religious attitudes towards women. I gave her a sharp look as a warning. She knows how I feel about it; a conservative approach is fine as long as it doesn’t impose values on others. Of course, that is exactly what conservative approaches tend to do, but that does not mean we should poo-poo such beliefs out of hand. And we should be especially aware that such beliefs are usually held in genuine good faith and with good intentions. Penelope gazed out the window, trying instead to distract herself by focussing on the landscape of Hong Kong’s New Territories, through which the train was passing.

I found it fascinating that in Yonatan’s desire to provide me with helpful material, he was effectively, and possibly not subconsciously, trying to determine a particular agenda for my stories. I told him so. “Not at all. But you have to know what you are talking about!” he countered. I am not so sure. Blogs are intended to be an individual’s impression of the world and not another means for ‘toeing the party line’.

Our discussion became quite in-depth and was indeed stimulating, but the train reached the last station. Penelope was pleased. All this religious talk was boring her to tears. Everyone disembarked. We were at Lo Wu, the Hong Kong border with China. It certainly did not look like an international border. In fact the only thing remarkable abut the experience was that the ticket collectors stamped our passports as we walked through. Chick Chak, as we say in Hebrew, no fuss.

Yonatan changed cellphones and called the acting Rabbi of Shenzen. “Shalom Aleichem, I have a dear Jewish boy here who will be joining us for Shabbos. Where does he need to get to?”

Yonatan took a taxi to a business meeting and I took another to a hotel in a place called Happy Valley, a fairyland suburb where everyone is happy all the time, and happy times are the order of the day. How apt a place to spend Shabbat with Chabbad.

Stay tuned...

A step in the right direction

Another adventure has indeed begun

Our first stop – not counting a few airports – has been Hong Kong.

It was Penelope's first time in Hong Kong. She found it fascinating. We landed late at night after a 10 hour flight. The bus ride to our hotel in Kowloon was impressive. The airport is on adjacent Lantau island. The bus crosses a long, illuminated suspension bridge over the sea to reach the mainland. Even I think it looks cool. The bus is a double decker and we sat upstairs in the front seats to get a good view of the area.

The bus pulled into Nathan Road - Kowloon's main drag - at about midnight and P couldn't get over how the streets were still packed with people and open stores. I was just exhausted. I had spent the flight from Australia next to an expert in nuclear waste disposal who felt it necessary to educate me on methods of waste crystallization. In depth. Interesting? Oh yes. But had it not been for the in-flight entertainment, he would have gone on lecturing for our 9 hours together, Now I wanted to check into the hotel and get some shut-eye. Penelope had enjoyed a good rest on the plane while I had watched some garbage movies. (I sometimes wish they would show old boring movies on the plane so that one does not feel compelled to watch as many movies as possible to get his money's worth).

The hotel was just as I had remembered it - adequate, boring and expensive. No matter; this is just a temporary jump off point to mainland China.

Next morning Penelope was rearing to go bright and early. The hotel internet service was down, so I insisted we look for an internet café. We couldn't find one. We did discover, however, that Hong Kong is totally wireless. For a small fee I purchased an internet pass that allowed my laptop to go online near most public phone booths.

P and I took over a table at Starbucks and went online. It was rather spiffy, chatting with people around the world from a cafe in downtown Kowloon. "Let me ! I want a go !" squealed Penelope, stopping me from having a normal conversation. Finally I relented and stuffed the earpiece into her ear.

I looked out of the store window onto the street. Millions of people. Hot, tropical weather. Deafening noise. And by Asian standards, everything is expensive. Why put up with all this?

So while P chatted happily with her mates on Skype, I began to plan our escape across the border into China.

Stay tuned