Cubed water

With the CCTV tower, the Egg and the Bird Nest, Beijing stock of architectural icons is significant and impressive.  Also an iconic figure of Beijing's cityscape, the Water Cube really tries hard to be more than just a boxed memory of a great year – the year when China became part of our conscious universe. (hint: 2008)

Like many other Olympic cities, Beijing prepared to cast an unforgettable show, and created a stock of facilities that were in themselves real architectural and engineering prowess's.

Designed by the Australian group PTW, the international engineering group Arup and the Chinese group CSCEC, the Water Cube - which housed the Olympic Pool - is a simple steel structure covered with translucent plastic panels. Their unusual shape, bulging out of the metal structure that frames the building, makes them good solar captors, allowing to save about 30% on heating, pretty much as much as if its roof would be covered in solar panels. From the inside, the ambiance is pleasant; a nice flow of light comes in, no matter if the polluted smog hovers around or not.
Exactly two years after the Olympics, the Water Cube started his new life as an aquatic park.

So during the peak of winter, at a period of the year auspiciously called Spring Festival!! - don't get me started about this - what can we do when it is a few degrees below zero outside without any snow, with some free time with the kids, knowing that most friends have escaped under more auspicious weather? Beat the climate, put on the bathing suits and get our feet in some warm water!  Water Cube, here we come!

First we packed a picnic to avoid some dreadful Chinese fast food (imagine pogo meat sticks of unknown source, sweet old popcorn, ramen noodles, super deep fried chicken bits - more batter than meat - and bad coffee).

We did fail at our first attempt. Going the day before the national holiday was supposedly not wise, the security staff told us.  The day before the national holiday is that important night you have to be home. (chinese logic is somewhat elusive to me at times). So we kept our lunches ready and headed there the following day, on the national holiday, not really knowing what to expect.

And we were happily surprised!!!
The main is space is taken by a fairly large beach-like pool with warm water, with a hourly set of waves, complete with typical Chinese animation (loud music, group hand clapping and door prizes). There are some kiddies pools and slides of appropriate scale, in colorful arrangements. Then towering these, for for the big kids, some crazy fast slides (me and Pauli each tried our own). There is also some very very impressive inner tubes rides, large than one could imagine possible. And on one side, around some very colorful fun slides and inner tubes cool rides, crowned by a large box constantly filled with water, periodically tipping over its content on the unsuspecting crowd. More inner tubes rides for various ages are colorfully organized under that area.  
Furthermore and more surprisingly, the water and the beach are relatively clean, lockers rooms in good order – after three years in China (among which we logged a canceled gym membership due to lack of cleanliness, an aborted hot spring romantic afternoon due to sanitation reasons, and several other tiptoeing exercises in random places), we admittedly were ready for worst.  Maybe this was due to the high entry fee? Indeed, 200 RMB is rather a steep price for working middle class Beijinger.

When we left, Noam said he did not have fun; he really wanted to do the large rides with his friend Ofek… Next year!!! But we were guarantied a good night of sleep, with all this splashing around!

Flying home

Many times I have had the feeling of being perceived as a "hero" when I mention that I fly alone with my two kids. In fact, I am afraid that if I brag about how easy our return from Canada was, the next flight will be simply ho-ri-ble... So I will not mention the fact that they slept almost at take off and that we did not spill anything on each other. Considering that we did not have a window in our "window-seat", and that we sat 3 on 2 seats, it is not so bad...

The real challenge for me remains the jet-lag. Alone I can beat it more easily, trying to adjust my sleep in the plane depending on my arrival hour (if arriving in the day, sleeping in the plane, if arriving in the night, awake in the flight). It already has some limitation (what if you take more than 24 hours to get there, or if you have problematic fellow passengers). Usually, when I am flying with the kids, I can't sleep. (And probably my direct neigborgs too.) Mama bear reflex or simple discomfort, not sure. But it makes my own recovery from it all much more painful since, upon arrival, everyone else wakes up again and again at odd hours for a few days in a row (I need to sleep, even if not much!) At times (and specially this last time), it brought me back to when I was breastfeeding Emmanuel right after his birth, when he had jaundice. Or it also reminds of when I was in architecture school. Yes, it was that intense.
But I have to admit that apart from these jet lagged happy hours in the middle of the night upon landing, the boys are pretty good travelers. They have a passport to prove it, of course. But beyond that, they are excited by the idea of taking a plane, they love plane-spotting in the airport, and they also love the airplane food - well, I should say, they are excited at getting the meal tray (at least, even if most of the food stays on it).
Beyond that, when I look at it more globally, they seem to inherently accept differences.  And from Tel Aviv to Quebec to Beijing, there are extreme differences in the way people look, dress and talk. I am still wondering how this whole experience of "world citizenship" will shape them, how they will define their own identity. We will keep working at opening their eyes on the world at large, and hopefully they will be able to shape their lives at a similar scale.

Mommy, Noam, He is What?

Last week, I just picked up the boys' Israeli passports. These are their fourth ones. No, I do not mean their fourth Israeli passports. No, these are their fourth passport, after their American, their Canadian, and their Polish ones. A real bunch of globetrotters. And it makes me look like a poor mother, with only one passport!

This is a picture I took of family's passports... We are a family of four, for those who do not know us.

For those unfamiliar with the passport business, nope, you can't buy these online (or else we would not have so many people lining up our embassies). As they were born in the States, the kids automatically got the citizenship, and now for most travels, they have been using this passport. Since Pauli and I are respectively Israeli and Canadian citizens, the kids also qualify for those two nationalities. Of course with different countries, different rules, so even if they would have been born here in Beijing, they could never be Chinese, and even if one of us two parents would be Chinese, they would eventually have to make a decision between one and another, as China does not allow dual citizenship. The Polish one? Well, Pauli's parents are of Polish origin, and since Pauli also has this citizenship, the kids automatically qualify for it. The only drawback to all of these is the amount of paperwork. But as you see, it is possible.
Now, time will tell what use they will be able to make out of them. Already last week, when I applied for Russian visas (we are traveling via Moscow to Israel next week), I realized that Polish passports were better, granting for cheaper visas (50$ instead of 150$ or so!). And only later I will come to realize that for this specific destination, Israeli passports are best (free)... 

So indeed our kids are globe-trotters. They already have logged many visas, many long flights, and many immigration officers. But are they only that? Defacto, they are citizen of the world. Later, when one will ask them where are they from, they might have trouble answering... Today, Noam says he is Canadian (proud mommy) but is he really? I was just reading about similar questioning in a blog...

Kids born from parents of different cultures already have a faire bit to process. If they live in one of the parents' birth country, the answer might become easier with time, as they immersed completely in that primary culture. However, when these mixed couples raise their kids in a (third) different culture, then things becomes more tricky. Are our kids Israeli or French-Canadian, or simply American? Are they Jewish or Christian? Can they be all of that together?

Take Emmanuel. Born in the US, he spent most of the 20 months of his long life in China. One month last summer in Canada, one month at birth in the US, 3 weeks in Israel last year and 2 more soon. So he is maybe more Chinese than others. But is he? We obviously do not eat dumplings daily and do not do like the Chinese in most of what we do. But he needs his daily rice! We do not dress Chinese, we do not cook Chinese, we do not spit in public, we do not even speak good Chinese... Well, I might drive now like a Chinese, but I don't think it applies.
In fact, outside of our respective cultures, I came to realize we need to find (and create) references and markers to maintain some of our own cultural identities, and to create our own unique family identity. So, to the despair of my dear husband who finds religion cumbersome, I try to ensure the kids get a bit of a Jewish culture at specific holiday times. But yet I also celebrate our usual Christian holidays, and try to also include some of our traditions. The tricky part for a parent is to know what is important, and how to carry that cultural baggage without too much effort. So it appears it is easier to make a Christmas tree than to make a Seder dinner... We still have to work on that.

One of the main determinant of a culture is its language. So here in Beijing, we try to maintain the Hebrew and the French language. We do it because both are important for me and my husband, respectively, in how we define ourselves. But also because we feel that it can be a strong baggage for our kids' future. So to avoid confusions, I address the kids in French, and Pauli in Hebrew. It has been great for me, now my Hebrew is at the level of a 3 and half year old. Then me and Pauli converse mostly in English. So the kids get exposed to the English language in that way, but also in kindergarten, where Noam has now extensive conversations in English with his little friends. And then of course, by being in China and having a Chinese nanny, we all speak a bit of Chinese, sort of. The kids are really good at it. What is really amazing is that amongst all this mix of languages, the kids seem to make sense of it. When Noam was about a year and half, he could already ask for water in French, in Chinese and in Hebrew, knowing whom to ask in which language.

We have this book at home. It is 42 pages of Hellos, in 42 languages. The book is filled with cute little drawings of kids faces, and not other text than the various forms of greetings. When I first read it first to Noam he asked me right away: "Mommy, Noam, he is what?" I pointed at the little girl with the frizzy hair that says "Shalom", the one with straight brown hair that says "Bonjour", the little boy with a cap that says "Hello" and the little almond-eyed girl that says "Nihao" and told him that he is lucky because he is all of those all together, and that makes him quite special. I am not sure he understood well what it meant but in any cases, he looked happy to be 4 different little guys at one.   

War Zones

With all the recent events, we hear a great deal about war.  Osama bin Laden's death. The war on terror. The new Libyan war. Uprising in the Middle East and its bloody repression.  And the eternal Israelo-Palestinian problem, and Hamas latest rounds on Israel. Or is it Israel latest shelling of Gaza? (I can't recall)... Indeed, with the speed of development, it is hard to keep up. But in fact, I am a news junky. I need my daily dose of news or I feel uncomfortable. I need information, about the world. I want to know, understand, analyze.

However, despite the captivating developments of the new front lines, or the various uprising here or there, I keep my kids away from news broadcasts. They will certainly have time later, when they grow up, to learn about the realities of our complex world. I feel there is no need to impress and imprint their young and fresh minds with images of hate and violence. But despite me and Paul's sheltering reflexes, reality reaches us - and them - in unexpected ways.

Last week, a friend of mine, a journalist, was killed in Lybia. Tim was a great photographer and reporter. He was really interested in telling a story. During the Liberian war, he had rented a house in Monrovia to  really capture better what was happening in the city. This is where I met him. Only today when others detailed his work, I realized how much and how well he was doing his work.
It is just strange for me to think of him from this perspective - the war perspective - when I met him in peaceful and hopeful times, just around the election of Shirleaf-Johnson. He was a photographer, recording history being made - in times of peace. I had not given too much thought into how he had got there, and Tim was not the type to boast about his "war coverage". I never have lived through war, I have only roamed in a few devastated places, a while after the facts. It is hard for me to imagine what effect it can have on ones' mind when living through it "live".

Yesterday at the dinner table, Noam looked at me and asked me: "Mommy, do you know war, when you are small?" I am not sure what prompted the question. Maybe me and Paul were talking about Tim, about Lybia, about the conflict. I can't recall. Anyway, Noam popped the question again.
It was not the first time. He first had asked about war right during our CNY trip. In fact, he first inquired  when we were in Cambodia, while visiting a war "museum" - essentially a yard with a number of damaged war equipment, helicopter, plane, a few old thanks, some lance-rockets, some other various things torn and old half taken by the weeds. Our guide was a victim of land mines: he had lost him mom, dad and two sister in front of his eyes, when a young boy. He also had lost one of his arm.





For Noam it was the strangest of things. I was not fast enough to catch a picture of him, but I vividly remember him standing beside our guide, right below the empty sleeve of the missing limb, directly in line with what should have been there. He was staring. Then the questions came later.  "Why no arm?" Answer: "He lost it". Q: "Where is the arm?" (looking around). A:"We cannot find it, it got broken". Q:"Why did it get broken?" A: "Because of war". Q:"What is war"? A:"It is like when you fight with your friend, but this time it is big people, and many big people, and they use terrible things to make each other suffer. And many many people suffer because the countries fight." Q:"And what more?" A:"When there is war people loose their house, their moms and their dads, sometimes they even loose their arms or their legs". Q:"What more?"....
You get the gist.
So for several weeks, at times, he would return again with similar questions. One day, he looked at me and asked: "Mommy, when you are small, you know war?" A:"No." Q:"Daddy know war?" A:"Yes". Then his eyes light up, and he goes, "Yeah!". Then Paul proceeded to explain again about the lost limbs, lost houses and lost moms. For a 3 and half year old boy, some concepts are harder to grasp, and the idea of explosions, fires and making a mess can sound like good fun. And yet, at times, I can feel there is a really a little compassionate soul behind these large blue eyes, when he realizes that an arm an a family have been missing forever.

Kids Love

With their "one kid only" allowance, the Chinese can't help longing for more and more "baby time". They completely go gaga for kids, specially the 外国的 "wayguo" ones, the forginer kids.  Their features, complexion, hair and eyes colors mesmerizing them, when it is not their "tricks". 

Since we are here, I have witness first hand how much they love kids. Of course, it has certainly something due to the one child policy.  But I think it goes beyond that. In general, Asia is a culture fascinated with kids stuff, and China is no different on the matter.

Since our arrival in Beijing, Noam was picked up countless amount of times by pure strangers. He was even extricated of his high chair in a restaurant, without any attempt to check if OK with the parents (us). In numerous places we have seen him being entertained by a group of staff, everyone leaving their tasks to play with him, to free our hands while we eat, for exemple. Strangers would follow us to take his picture, or ask us to pose with him. Other would give him candies, cookies or balloons. People would turn around and comment on him, on his hair or his smile. And they still do today. Here is a shot taken in Chengdu, where Noam is definitely the center of attention!

But the arrival of Emmanuel has shifted the center of attention away from Noam. It even shocked me when we just returned from Washington after the birth. "Hey, Ho! Look at the big kid too, you can see his big blue eyes too! He still needs your attention!"
If I stay standing still in a public place for a few minutes, with Emmanuel in my arms, it is a matter of a couple minutes for someone to approach us. Then, there is this very gentle clapping of the hands done while smiling and cooing at him, followed by a soft opening of the hands, palms open towards the sky. These hands are saying: "Come in my arms, baby!" Everyone does it, everyone loves doing it! Waiters at restaurants, clerks in stores, grandmas around the parks, young men in computer stores, even grumpy taxi drivers. It is funny. And Emmanuel enjoys jumping in new arms, he smiles and grins happily. I guess his enthusiasm might eventually wear off, as Noam's did, after countless strangers saying exactly the same things, touching and grabbing endlessly.
Indeed, Noam now is not only not interested, he hides behind my legs when strangers comes too close, and he resist most conversations people would want to start with him, mostly by doing some kind of high pitch squeal. I also have been over time dealing with it differently. At first, I was extremely reluctant to let Noam being picked up by a stranger. Dirty hands? Maybe. But not only. Certainly the frustration at times that I was not addressed by the stranger, or that my child was taken out of my sight (maybe not far but still)... At others, maybe the sense that we have just become a live walking show or zoo animals... Then one day I gave a yoga class to a couple of Beijing moms. One came with her mother, and each with her child. I gave my lessons, and midway, one child cried a bit and grandma picked him up. A few minutes later the other one started fussing and not his mom, but the other one bend down to take care of him. This little baby exchange enlightened me a bit on how flexible and sincere their care and love of the children are. (Of course we are not talking here about issues related to sex selection for their unique child...)  Since my arrival in Beijing, I have learned to relax and encourage Noam's interaction with the crowd. And with time, I came to appreciate the help and the good intentions, and even the attention (unless in Chinese tourists hangout).

So for Chinese New Year, Paul's office gathered all the staff, spouses and children. And within ten minutes, my hands were freed from Emmanuel, as he was carried away by a bunch of Paul's giggling and ecstatic co-workers. At some point I attempted to recuperate him before his nap, to feed him, unsuccessfully. He was a star, and as the perfect little baby, only smiled and cooed.