mmmm….chocolate

As you may know, Chinese people don’t really eat sweets. Fruit for dessert is a way of life, and any snacking usually takes the form of dried meat or seed products. So growing up, the only exposure to chocolate I had was the annual Halloween binge. That and the ubiquitous boxes of See’s and Ferrero Rocher, to be passed around from household to household on Chinese New Year until wrapping wore thin and had to be replaced. I would estimate that between the 200,000 Chinese people living in San Francisco, there are probably only three boxes of chocolates existing at any given time. Everyone knows those boxes of chocolate are not for eating.

Going to college and then working, my access to sugar grew, but was still largely restricted to baked goods and the Walgreen’s candy aisle. Occasional treats requiring a special trip and strategic planning.

And then I moved to Germany. The first time the German and I went grocery shopping together and I watched him toss bars of chocolate in the cart, I thought he must have a serious craving. Or a secret child locked away in the cellar. Then I realized that after dinner, while sitting around and watching movies or reading, he would just eat chocolate. Plain. Just chocolate! This simultaneously disgusted, fascinated, and alarmed me. Especially when I shared this news with my coworkers, only to find they all sat around and ate chocolate for dessert. It had never, ever occurred to me to sit and eat pure chocolate.

But let me tell you, I learned quickly. And chocolate bars made in Europe are a far more enjoyable snack than Snickers and Almond Joys, which I used to consider the highlights of my childhood Halloweens, to be hoarded and the very bottom of my candy jar, which was organized from the bottom up based on preference with the favorites only to be consumed some time in March. What, all the kids didn’t do that? So for the past few years, I’m sitting there, enjoying an after dinner Ritter Sport Dunkle Voll-nuss, and it is not disgusting or weird at all. It’s delicious. At the risk of sounding like one of those French-women-don’t-get-fat-neither-do-Japanese! nuts, it’s probably also better for you than platters of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Mmmm….cookies. Anyways. And all was well and good until we moved to Beijing. As much as confectionery giants would like to stake their claim in the world’s largest market, it hasn’t really happened yet. I’ve managed the switch to fruit-as-dessert pretty well, but the German has taken to lying on the couch and weeping, claiming the lack of chocolate is causing headaches, dizziness, and swine flu. I expect any day, he will ask his contract to be re-written to guarantee access not only to "European-style housing" but "European-style chocolate, including an allowance of 1kilo of Nutella per month."

the waiting game

Another day, another country, another struggle for a working visa.  You know how a passport full of stamps is supposed to bring you joy and fond memories of your travel?  Thanks to open EU borders and three years of working in foreign nations, when I page through my passport all I feel is rising blood pressure.  Good thing my hypothyroidism keeps that relatively low already.

Anyways.

The process for a Chinese visa is a little different than Germany.  First, they kindly tell you that they need 37 ridiculously random documents.  The originals, of course.  Those who did not get original reference letters for that first job out of college better dust off the Rolodex.  Because, you know, you actually had a Roledex on your desk at that point.  Then you give those documents, your passport, and several thousand kuai to the visa processing company.  The nice part is that all your waiting is done in the comfort of your own home, rather than dragging yourself to the cold, unfeeling Torture-Amt office at 7am every week.  A week or two later, they deliver everything to your door, book your ticket to Singapore and Hong Kong, and send you on your way.

Only when you get to the Chinese embassy in Singapore are you reminded of your Torture-Amt experience.  I arrived 15 minutes before opening, only to find a line of 200 people in front of me, most who had arrived several hours earlier to line up.  Luckily, I befriended a couple in line behind me who made a Starbucks run to survive the 2 hours of waiting outdoors in the 30+ temperatures and peak humidity.  Once we made it inside the hallowed walls, there was also a line for the counter, a line for the copy machine (double copies of my passport, certificates, health check, official letters, and photos and they want a copy of the airport immigration card too?), and a shoving match to resume my place in the counter line.  Picking up the visa today was a vast improvement, with a special collection line at the door, a mere 30 minute wait to pay, and one last line to pick up the actual passport.

As much as the two day ordeal reminded me of a third world country train station on New Years, I have to say it was infinitely less painful than applying for my German visa.  Once you actually made it through the line, I just dropped off my inch-thick stack of paperwork, cash, and was ready to go.  No condescending questions, no criticism of language skills, no detailed examination of every aspect of my job.  I’ll take humidity and shoving matches over a three month German bureaucratic paper war any day.

worker bees

In addition to the sinister “Everything better red” banners, there are a few other significant differences in office life I’ve noticed since I started working in China.

- Going to lunch at 11.30am.  On the dot.  En masse.
- Taking naps after said lunch.  Fully splayed along couches and kitchen chairs.
- Humidifiers on every desk.  Pink ones.  With cartoons and flowers.
- People using cellphones in the restroom.  The public, 6 stall, noisy flushing restroom.
- Snacks in Germany: candy, pretzels, and more candy.  Snacks in China: sesame peanut cookies, Chinese rice krispy treats, and dried beef chunks.
- Coworker lectures for not dressing warmly enough.

And don’t get me started on the additional differences of working in an office of 100 engineers.  Sometimes I think I’m working for an entirely different company.  But previous comments aside, it’s interesting how the office environment insulates you from the outside world.  With English-only emails and colleagues around the world, it is shockingly easy to spend the entire day working exactly as you would in any other office in the world.  I’m not sure if this speaks to the wonders of a global company, or the depressingly Office Space-esque nature of corporate life.

the promised land

The last time I was in Singapore, I thought it was a decent city with warm weather, beaches, good food, and good shopping.  Nice, but nothing to write home about.  Coming here after two weeks of snow and subzero temperatures in Beijing, suddenly it seems like the promised land.  With warm weather! beaches! shopping!  I may never go back.  Who needs a city with personality and character when you can have Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf and Borders in your cookie-cutter high-rise condos and office buildings?

My manager had actually asked me to go to Singapore last month, the day after I moved to Beijing.  While that sounded like a horrific interesting option, I gently pointed out that an international flight the day after another international flight preceded by a week of moving was not something I wanted to sign up for.  To which he responded, what?  Isn’t the flight only 2 hours?  Um, more like 6, my friend.  Because first there’s this little thing we like to call China, and then this other thing called SE Asia.  You know, Vietnam?  Where pho comes from?  Pho.  No, PHO.  Not “poo”, with an “f” sound.  Never mind.  Apparently, he’s not the only one in need of a world geography recap, as my coworker informed me today that her manager once asked why she couldn’t make her business trips to Tokyo one-day trips.  I’m guessing they were low-balling the 7 hour flight time.  Or they have a time machine they haven’t told us about.

It’s pretty much the opposite of Europe, where every country was so small you really could get there in 2 hours max.  It makes the holiday planning much harder.  The German and I are looking into a Christmas / New Year trip, but the constraints of my 2 days of available vacation and the whole of China separating us from any source of warmth and sunlight are extremely limiting.  The only places accessible by short flights are either freezing (Japan) or communist dictatorships barring US visitors (North Korea).  Make that both freezing and a communist dictatorship.  Any better suggestions?

cashing in

When I first moved to Germany, every time I needed something (socks, running shorts, books), I would go out shopping, be horrified that said item cost about twice what it costs in America, and move on to the next shop. Rinse and repeat for the rest of my Saturdays until I finally learned to start thinking in euros, not dollars. As much as I used every US trip to stock up on clothing, books, and food, some things you just have to have. Of course, the German had the opposite problem, where once he experienced the magic of American shopping malls, outlets, and sales, he was paralyzed with regret and nostalgia upon entering any German shoe store.

Now that I’m living in China, I’m faced with the opposite problem and feel like I have wads of Monopoly money to throw around. Except it’s hard to judge worth when there are huge gaps in pricing. When lunch cost 8 kuai, but then I attend a dinner where the bill is 10% of my monthly salary, it just stops seeming like real cash. Yesterday, after a sudden blizzard covered the city in piles of snow and slushy mud, I stood in my ballet flats trying to decide if I should cab it to work or trek to the subway. If you were in New York and presented these $60 vs. $2 options, 15 minutes of walking in the snow would be a worthwhile trade off. But if you’re still converting things to a 5EUR difference, it becomes a harder choice. In the end, I think you just have to forget currency conversion and think about what you have. In which case, the clear answer for this scenario is to work from home.

The first snowfall last Sunday also prompted the beginning of daily tirades on the failure of the German’s company to procure our visas. Restricted travel and inability to open a bank account are minor issues, but lack of winter clothes because the moving company refuses to ship our things without a copy of the visa? Not so fun in -10 temperatures. Especially when you have been advised that visa processing will take “2 weeks, or to the end of October” and packed accordingly.

checking up

As part of the visa application process in China, you’re required to go for a "health inspection" which is far less effective a form of weeding people out than say, the visa application process itself. What does this even tell you? That we don’t have swine flu on that given day? I may not support banning people with AIDS and syphilis, but at least I understand where it’s coming from. But what’s up with the colorblind test? The inspection takes place not at a "hospital" but at a "government health center". Which is basically a DMV with needles. Seriously, there’s even a photo station. And just like the DMV, your three hour visit can be broken down as follows:

30 minutes – filling out paperwork you already have
2 hours – waiting in line to pay
30 minutes – "health inspection"

Actually, not only was it like the DMV, it was pretty much identical to all the health care I have received in America, so I felt right at home. The biggest plus about this health center is that it was not in the seedy run-down strip mall across the street which I originally thought was our destination. Luckily, the driver corrected me before I had the chance to pass out in sheer terror.

The other best thing about the health inspection? Meeting people from Taiwan and Hong Kong who have to pass this and apply for visas. Actually, the best part was asking an employee why people from Taiwan and Hong Kong have to get visas:

Me: I thought it’s all one country.
Him: Of course. But they still need a health exam and a working visa to come here. Obviously.
The German: Stop asking questions. They’re going to put you on the anti-communism watch list and you won’t get a visa.

Also, sometimes when I write things about Communism in an email or post, I worry that my computer will spontaneously combust via internet spy bomb. So far, that hasn’t happened. Except on 24.

better dead than red

For anyone still under the impression that Communism and Socialism are the same thing, let me assure you they are not. First, one is about economy and the other is about politics. More importantly to me, in a socialized country, you will get massive amounts of vacation. In a communist country…it’s a lot closer to US democracy. In fact, it’s basically identical. I am currently the disgruntled owner of 15 days of vacation a year. Lest you forget, I already thought it unfair that I had only 26 in Germany while others had 30. Am starting to suspect this whole China move is a ploy on the part of the German to squash any future plans to move back to the US.

Because really, how do people do it? As I best recall, working under those circumstances was so unbearable to me I ended up quitting my job to travel and then moving to Germany. I used to laugh when the German said he refused to move to America unless he found a job with at least 20-25 days of vacation a year. But I think the man has a point now. It’s really inhumane. As it is, the 18 days of bank holidays make my current situation just about tolerable.

I know y’all are saying the money you save in taxes makes up for this. But personally, I took all that money, changed it to US dollars, and spent my vacations in the US buying jeans and gasoline like they were candy. So I’m not convinced. Especially since most of my friends in the US were in a tax bracket alarmingly close to mine.

Another difference on life in a communist state? I have seen the phrase ‘Everything Better Red’ twice this week.

munchies

The German, and many others, have a deep, paralyzing fear of street food. Of course, this usually applies not only to the guys pushing snack carts, but to any eating establishments without English menus, proper furniture, and/or ownership of the McDonald’s corporation. Me, I have more fear of eating at places that are owned by McDonald’s. A little Delhi belly never scared me, even when we’re talking about food from a train station cart actually in Delhi. And I am proud to say that for all my indiscriminate eating, I have never suffered.

And that’s because I do discriminate, my friends. Only not with logos, but with my brain. I think most of these rules for eating on the streets are pretty obvious and well-known, but a recap for those who spend their entire Asian vacations eating in hotel restaurants.

- Look at the food. It’s not that difficult. If it looks good and smells good, that’s probably a good sign. Does McDonald’s pass that test? No. Does the random dumpling sweatshop with the all-orange, all-plastic decor down the street? Yes.

- Look for people. First, crowds generally signify popularity. But even if you’re in China, where crowds just signify that you’re still in China, they at least tell you food is getting turned over pretty quickly and is fresh. Even better if you see that they’re running out of stuff. Don’t you always hear stories about people who only ate in their hotel restaurant and still got sick? This is because scared Western tourists are the only ones eating at their hotel restaurants. God knows how long that piece of fish was around before you checked in.

- Even more importantly, look for the ladies. Let’s face it, we all know that most dudes will eat anything off the street. Especially meat on a stick. But if there are women, or even better, women with kids packing it in, you’re in business.

- Get it while it’s hot. If something has just been immersed in a boiling oil bath or ladled from a bubbling pot, there’s only so much that can be growing there. Room temperature meats and salads that have been lying around for hours are a whole different story.

- No mystery food. Should you eat local specialties and try new things? Yes. Should you eat things where you can’t identify any ingredients or food groups? Not so much. See the guy selling roasted sweet potatoes? It’s an unmodified starch cooked entirely within its own wrapper. Idiot-proof street food. Start with this and work your way up.

You may now proceed to stuff your faces.  If you get sick, I can only assume you did not follow rule number one closely enough.  Review and repeat.

xoxo,

le petite mangetout

ride that train

Beijing has an amazing subway system. Not only does it have nine current lines (including the newly opened Line 4) and an average daily usage of 3.5 million a day, it is growing rapidly. So rapidly that a China guidebook from 2008 has only 3 lines, one from 2009 only has 5, and the map our hotel provided last week only has 8. So rapidly that there are an additional 9 lines being constructed as we speak and the total system will be the largest in the world and twice the current size upon my scheduled departure in 2012.

Did I also mention that the subway cars are the shiniest, newest, cleanest things I have seen and the walls of both stations and trains are plastered with flat screen TVs that alternate between news, Olympic highlights, stock tickers, and music videos brought to us by CPC and the gang? Oh, and a ride anywhere in the system costs 2 RMB – .20 cents? Well, .20 cents in euros. My fellow Americans may feel a stronger sting after a day of hopping on and off aimlessly.

A friend told us over dinner the other day that the subway used to cost 3RMB, but in order to encourage drivers to use public transportation and ease congestion on the streets, officials decided to lower the fare to 2RMB. Because Beijing residents who were buying private cars and taking cabs everywhere were doing it for lack of 1RMB to spare for the subway? Not that I’m complaining.

To highlight the unlikeliness of the ability of a 1RMB reduction in fare to encourage drivers to use public transportation, another recent policy to reduce traffic was to restrict cars from driving 1 day per week based on license plate numbers. The result? An increase in car sales to 2000 per day as Beijing residents purchase a second car to use so as not to inconvenience their lives. 2,000 cars per day being sold just in Beijing? Is someone at GM reading my blog and planning to lobbying NYC and SF to adopt a similar traffic policy? Please contact me for the bank details where my share in profits can be sent.

finding my way

The German and I have made it safely to China. Not only have we navigated through the subway, IKEA, and Carrefour, I am also making my way through the Great Firewall of China. As you hopefully can see. Also working on maintaining access to outside blogs, thanks to the wonders of RSS feeds. I hear they’re going to start cracking down on this though.

When I told one of my coworkers I was going to Beijing, he said, "That’s not really China! That will be like going to Los Angeles for you." What is amazing is not only his familiarity with US and Chinese cities, but the perceptiveness of his statement. So far, Beijing has been much like LA. Flashy shopping malls, big box everything, and carefully landscaped parks and highways. And lots of valet parking. Because who needs traditional Chinese living when you have Sephora and American Apparel at your doorstep? Why buy traditional mooncakes when Coldstone’s Creamery and Starbucks can supply a new and modernized version?

Earlier I asked the German if it was strange to be the only white person around and if he was experiencing major culture shock, only for him to reply, "No. I don’t really notice I’m the only white person around…until I’m lost and looking for you." Or when we walk down the street and children start pointing at him and yelling "lao wai! (foreigner!)" – wait, only I noticed that. Or when he saw a tank of turtles while grocery shopping and asked if those were pets. Um, sure. The pork and beef were pets also. And the shrimp in our shopping cart. That was exactly my plan for them.

The culture shock hasn’t affected me much, largely because I only venture out of our apartment for a few hours at a time. Those IKEA trips really take it out of you. Even more so in China than in Germany, where those orderly folks would never dream of venturing away from the designated yellow path. But I plan to stop by the office on Friday, and I imagine once I begin a regular working schedule, life will be very different. Mostly because they will have an espresso machine.

Abschiedsfeier 101

Megan is currently running a series on moving to another country, and one of the first pieces of advice is: You’re going to be dead tired.  To which I would add – this starts BEFORE you actually move.  Today was my last day of work.  I fly out to Beijing tomorrow.  Believe you me, this was not my design, but through a combination of begging and bribery, I was talked into working down to the last hours.  At my going away party this afternoon, everyone was asking if I am excited or nervous.  Mostly, I am just tired.  And cranky with Deutsche Bank and Germans who don’t grasp (or accept) the concept of waiting in lines.  And tired.

Also, as you expats in Germany will have discovered, it is customary to throw your own going away celebration, much as you are responsible for bringing your own birthday cake to the office.  So a tip for fellow Munich residents: if you are running errands in Marienplatz before work and think you can pick up some cakes at Rischart on the way to the office, you cannot.  Because they do not have cakes until noon.  But just when you are about to start punching people in the face, remember that you CAN walk down the street to Dallmayr and buy cakes at 10am.  There will be a plethora of offerings, including champagne tortes, fruit tarts, Sacher tortes, and more.  They will be beautifully decorated and packaged and wrapped and festooned in ribbons.  They will, surprisingly, cost the same as those sad little cakes in Rischart you were so desperate to buy as quickly as possible.  And your coworkers will fall all over themselves fighting for the last slices.  Unless the senior VP in your office shows up to make a friendly little speech about your work, and then slyly walks off with the last quarter of the cheesecake – doily and all.

prep work

The German and I were lulled into a sense of false complacency by the promise of a moving company doing all the work for us. As recently as yesterday afternoon, we sat around, drinking our coffees, spending time making panna cotta and strawberry sauce as all we needed to do on Sunday was pack the suitcases we would carry on the plane and toss stuff we don’t need.

Well. Now it’s Sunday. And I have realized that a moving company does not erase the need to donate clothes you haven’t worn in the two years you’ve lived in Germany. Nor do they separate out what items are essential, and what can wait to be shipped over in a month. Nor will they make two round trips up to the 4th floor storage room to get all the suitcases required for packing. Nor will they do five loads of laundry. Nor will they sort through books and DVDs to see what you must take with you, and then further divide into what can stand up to a through Chinese customs inspection of shipped goods (The OC, Twilight) and what should be buried deep within your suitcases in the non-descript 32-CD case like those I haven’t seen in ten years (don’t worry, Jack, I will keep you safe).

So, today has been a 12 hour event of preparing for other people to come in tomorrow and pack our stuff. Yes, aside from the suitcases that will be flying to China with us, there is very little that’s actually packed. I don’t know why they left 100 m of bubble wrap for us. We used it to make matching Michelin man suits. I assume that was the intended purpose.

coming to america

I take a fair amount of grief from my colleagues for being from America.  These relate to corporate policy far more than foreign policy, so I wouldn’t say I’ve experienced any real anti-Americanism during my time year.

In fact, I find that most Europeans love America.  Or, at least California.  And specifically, San Francisco.  When Europeans from any country find out I’m from California, it’s like suddenly I’m a movie star.  A privileged and exotic creature, who is certifiably insane to have left this magical land.  I don’t know if other Americans have the same experience, but that’s probably what they deserve for being from somewhere outside California.

Today I spent 20 minutes talking to some French and Italian colleagues about how wonderful California is.  Amusingly, they both experienced my great state through previous Silicon Valley employers and were able to speak at length about the virtues of the Milpitas Great Mall and the Gilroy Factor Outlets.  This made me laugh.

Also, one of the French men had made several visits to Santa Clara University and couldn’t stop raving about the campus: “It is completely different from university in Paris!  It is so sunny!  Everyone is sitting outside!  The girls…they wear shorts that are like this! (indicating)“  Which, funnily enough, is exactly the same reaction the German had to America’s higher education system when we visited the same school last year.  Now I see how they make so much money off the international students.

tastes like chicken

During the past two years, I have often fantasized about dim sum, bubble tea, pho, and other such treats.  Not only is there a serious lack of good Chinese food, there is also an alarming tendency to have “Asian” restaurants.  That is, restaurants that serve a fast food mix of chicken tikka masala, sushi, and chow mien.  Because, you know, all Asian people eat the same food.  India, Korea, whatever.  To a community who spend so much time deriding Americans for not recognizing the difference between different countries, I say to you, “pot?  kettle?”  Although I do enjoy the irony of my coworkers engaging in such complaints about our US colleagues while ordering lunch from one of these Asian establishments.

I’ve been thinking an excellent business plan when I move to China would be to open up a European Restaurant, where I serve tapas, crepes, pasta, and maybe a Sunday roast.  Mmm..tapas.

Oh yes!  The German and I are moving to China.  His company has made a recent investment in a Chinese firm and are sending him there.  My company has kindly made arrangements for me to work in our Beijing office.  Finally, I will have the upper hand!  I knew my time would come.  I didn’t realize it would be coming in two weeks, but the upper hand can never come too soon.  Frantic updates to follow in between packing and eating down the cupboards.

if the wheels fit

People often share with me the rants, raves, and stereotypes they have about America/Americans. Usually these are fairly predictable, running the gamut from weight to friendliness to shopping. But the other day someone said to me, “You know what’s crazy about America? That only the front two wheels on the shopping carts move and then they come here and don’t know how to use ours because all 4 wheels are moving!”

Which made me think:

What?

This is what springs to mind when you think of America?

Clearly, this girl has never been to a factory outlet.  Or California or New York.

Is this even true? Is this true? Having never owned a car, I have only experienced life with a basket, and being an SF-bred snob, that basket was normally trotting around a farmer’s market. I could not say with certainty how many wheels are moving on a grocery store cart, either in the US or Germany. Which I think disappointed this girl as much as it disappointed me to move here and find out that no one, but no one, had ever heard of The Sound of Music. How can you not like one of the greatest Rodgers and Hammerstein productions of all time? Oh, wait a minute….

checking up

I had a doctor’s appointment last week and while admiring the red and brown tones in the modern and trendy office, couldn’t help wondering why German doctor’s offices are so much nicer than those in the US.  50% of my low opinion on US doctor’s office decor can be chalked up to The HMO Who Must Not Be Named, but the private ones are nothing to write home about either.  Here, every doctor’s office I’ve been to is clean, in a prime real estate area, stylishly decorated, and filled with drinks and current magazines.  Even my public insurance doctor has pitchers of coffee, sparkling water, and the latest travel publications.

It’s times like this, when I have just finished this month’s issues of Vogue and In Style in both English and German, that I wonder about all those studies showing that the US spends far more on health care than any other country.  I know it’s going to line the pockets of the evil insurance empires, but really?  Has the situation gotten so bad that the US spends twice as much per capita on health care than Germany with only 3-year-old issues of Highlights to show for this?  And I could overlook the Highlights, if not for the fact that the cost doesn’t even include all Americans and the quality of health care is far lower and the mortality rate far higher.  It’s like we took all our tax money and bought one of those tacky LV logo purses that aren’t even leather.

But I digress.

In other news, all the Europeans are off on their holidays.  A few of my coworkers are off to the US, which always ushers in a round of questions like “Do you know a good hotel in San Diego?”  and “What should we do in Florida?”  Next employee lunch and learn – studying maps of the US and California, with an emphasis on scale.

why not to get advice from tards

There are several HR blogs written by intelligent and witty professionals that I enjoy reading on a regular basis.  And then there are the nut jobs on Brazen Careerist, most recently pleading for attention with “4 Reasons Traveling is a Waste of Time“.

Now, I enjoy traveling.  I even quit my job to do it, although I know many people who would quit their jobs to spend 40 hours a week gardening or eating paper, so not sure how much of an endorsement that is.  But I can understand that some people don’t like it.  Granted, most of those people are either referring specifically to business travel or don’t like interacting with society at all.  But I can get behind that.  However, I cannot get behind this post in anyway.

First, anything that starts with “I’ve hated traveling ever since I was a child and my parents dragged me all over Europe and the Caribbean” bad enough.  But the 4 reasons themselves are even worse:

1.  There are more effective ways to try new things.  Yes, going to your local park is the same as an African safari (real example, promise).

2. Cultural differences are superficial.  Economic differences matter.  So, the second part of this, I completely agree with.  And sure, there are areas where the German and I see eye-to-eye more than I might with an American from a different socio-economic background.  But let me ask this – would you pay for your child to go to college if you could?  For me, and I would wager any extremely rich or extremely poor person in the US, the answer is definitely yes.  But when the German and I speak of our hypothetical future children, he refuses to consider this.  Because there are hundreds of free and excellent universities in Europe, not because he doesn’t value higher education.  This is what we call a cultural difference.

3.  People who love their lives don’t leave.  So if you love your life, job, and partner, you should never want to leave.  HAHAHA…wait, this is not a joke?

4.  #3 was so ridiculous I didn’t stick around for #4.  But I would assume it’s equally foolish.

Please, I beg any manager reading this to stop.  Or read further for a “what not to do” guide.  Because if you try to get me to work overtime by complimenting my hair or give me a birthday party and organize an afterwork basketball team instead of giving me a raise and promotion, I will likely punch you in the face.

all my hard work

Dear Mr. Kostnic:

I understand that you and your people enjoy carrying your guns to presidential events and supermarkets in the name of embracing your second amendment rights.  I also enjoy several of our constitutional amendments, particularly 1, 19, and 21 and practice them in my daily life.  However, as much as it pains me to restrict your civil liberties, I must beg you to stop.

You see, Mr. Kostnic, I am an American living in Germany with a German boyfriend.  Do you have any idea what your actions mean for my future?  Just when the German was starting to forget about how his eyes almost fell out of his head in disbelief during last years viewing of ‘Sicko’ and George W. Bush is fading into retirement, you have to remind him of the pitfalls of moving to America.  Let me tell you, the Germans already find it batshit crazy that Americans haven’t actively pursued universal health care.  They are as surprised at our contentment under our current conditions as they would have been if they had thrown open the gates at Auschwitz only to find the Jews saying, no we like it here! Great exercise program!¹

It’s hard carrying the “America is Not Crazy” banner.  It’s heavy, it has to be flown all the time, you have to explain why some people think 30% taxes is already too much. I am just one person here and tomorrow is a bank holiday².  Please, let me have a rest.

If lack of action was already cause for disbelief, your activities have really gotten people atwitter (No, not that kind. Oh, you’ve never heard of Twitter? Never mind).  Listen, the German used to have a favorable view of New Hampshire: smooth highways, nice pizza at the Portsmouth Gas Light Co., no sales tax. Now he might start to question those carefully selected tours of the US I have taken him on – are all restaurants as good as those in San Francisco?  Are all Americans as skinny and hot as those in Los Angeles? Do all cities really have metros like those I visited? I know I’ve seen one or two odd things but she said those were exceptions…. Don’t you see, Mr. Kostnic?  I spent years building this facade in hopes of returning to the motherland and you are ruining everything!   For my sake, I ask you to reconsider. Just long enough for me to make my escape. I need a Little Star pizza, a day at South Coast Plaza, and a summer without rain and puffy jacket weather before I die.

Alternatively, I hear you are thinking about relocating yourself.  Could I suggest we compromise and you move to Utah instead of Arizona?  He already knows people are crazy there and this way we can still take that Grand Canyon trip.  Keep me updated.

Hugs and kisses,

Me

¹I know your people appreciate WWII references, so I wanted to explain this in a way you could understand.

²PS. Did you know shops close on bank holidays even when they fall on a Saturday?  I know, I know, this is what comes of Socialism!  This is why I have to come home!

demotivation

My company recently moved to a new office and some things are still being installed.  Some of these are pretty exciting, like the new cappuccino machine that also has a chocolate bin so you can have mochas and hot chocolate.  Some are less so, such as the 24/7 construction workers outside the window.

And some involve the installation of a giant sign mounted on the lobby about working together.  Which prompted my colleague to say it reminded her of the “Arbeit macht frei” signs in concentration camps.  It’s so much funnier when German people make Nazi jokes.  Apparently it’s like how only Asian people can make Asian jokes because the German does not find it funny at all when I say things like “Let’s go to Poland!  Oh wait, you’ve been there already.”

English menus, 101

I just came back from a week in the Baltic states.  I knew they were very high-tech and modern and English was widely spoken, considering it is the home of Skype and Kazaa.  But I had a few food encounters that I feel obliged to share in the event that any of you are traveling there.

First, when you are at a cafe and think a cheeseburger and fries would be quite a good way to kick off your vacation, and you vaguely skim the description and don’t actually read it because everyone knows what a cheeseburger is and you think you saw the word “fried” but that can’t be right and go ahead and order – STOP!  You need to read that to make sure they are not interpreting a cheeseburger to be a burger with a slab of battered, fried cheese.  And no meat.  All things considered, it wasn’t terrible, but it was no cheeseburger.

Second, if you are walking around in Helsinki and think you should have an ice cream cone and while scanning the offerings, see a flavor called “Terva” translated as “traditional Finnish tar”, do not think to yourself, “well, it can’t possibly be tar, that must be a mistake, it looks a lot like caramel.  I like caramel.  Let’s get that.”  Because the Finns DO speak good English, my friends.  And when they say tar, they mean tar.  Wood tar, but still tar.  Tar which, weirdly, tastes like smoked salmon.  I know the world of haute cuisine meets populism is all about the bacon ice cream, but much like buttered popcorn Jelly Bellys, this is an epic sweet/salty FAIL.

So the moral of the story is, never assume that funny-looking English in a foreign country is a typo.  And stick with chocolate ice cream.