Pecos and the egg

We just received our results back from the Consumer Reports survey and are proud to say that these pictures tested very highly in our key demographics (parents, other family members, online marketers).













As some of you already know, our dog loves eggs. We think he places them somewhere between sleeping and breathing on his list of "most important things in my life," which he illegibly scrawled out several months ago when we thought he was battling a severe case of depression (it turned out to be jet lag).



Yes, eggs are like celebrities to Pecos. Actually, I'll put it this way: if Pecos were a Trekkie, having an egg would be like meeting William Shatner. Pecos's eyes get huge. A lump forms in his throat. Uncontrollable surges of adrenaline pump into his little puppy brain, making him both jittery and drooly. His paw turns over, revealing the characteristic Vulcan "V" for veterinarian, which is exactly what he thinks he'll need if he doesn't get a taste of that precious "other white meat" immediately. (OK, so the analogy's a little weak there - unless we're talking about a cannibal Trekkie, which I'm sure exist).





Anyway, without further ado.... here are more pics of Pecos eating an egg. We gave it to him as a treat for being cute. This was a first. And we gave it to him whole, which was also a first.

Guest blog: Wiesbaden, Limburg, and Rüdesheim

When Justin and Kate offered to let me (Barbara - Justin’s mom) be a guest blogger, I immediately gained a much greater appreciation of the thought, care, and humor that they put into their selection of pictures and editorials they write.

Let me start by saying that both of them have been wonderful to travel with and even better as hosts within their home. We have had no shortage of sights, food, or fun!

My only complaint is that they deploy some kind of weird telepathic technique to win Pictionary games. Future visitors, I would STRONGLY suggest some game other than Pictionary ... possibly a game they’ve never played before!

Wiesbaden is a great town. The parks, farmers’ market, restaurants, cafés, and downtown walking area make it fun, and the number of English-speaking residents and the amenities offered by the base make it very livable for Americans.

As you can see by the pictures, we enjoyed walks and chess games in the park as well as eating brats in the market, schlagsahne (whipped cream) items in the café and eating everything else that wasn’t nailed down.

We enjoyed a scenic and enjoyable evening walk overlooking the vineyards and scenic town of Weisbaden. All was going wonderfully until the sun went down and the fallen autumn leaves became possessed by an aggressive whirlwind. Fortunately, we were protected by an aggressive “Autumn leaf defense” dog!

In addition to our day trips to Strasbourg and Colmar in France, our day trips to Limburg and Rüdesheim in Germany convinced me I need to seek a grant to determine once and for all which is the cutest, most adorable yet liveable town in Europe. Limburg was adorable; we were there for market day and were challenged with deciding just which one of the gingerbread cookies was the cutest and which stained glass window was the most intricate and ornate.

Rüdesheim on the other hand had it all for Bill: a visit to the Asbach Uralt (brandy) factory with samples, cafés with Rüdesheimer kaffe (coffee, brandy, and schlagsahne), trains, planes, and a romantic boat ride up the Rhein. What a wonderful day!

Gerty (Justin’s Oma) joined us on a couple outings in and around Wiesbaden; she was a trooper for the most part and was able to tackle the three flights of stairs leading to Justin and Kate’s apartment. We tried to accommodate her every gastronomical desire, including pflaumküchen, mohnküchen, Berliners, schweinebraten, sauerkraut, fleischsalat, herring, schinken, eel, savoy cabbage, jägerwurst, mini-Dickmann’s, liquor-filled chocolates, etc. What an appetite!

And for all you readers out there planning on coming to Wiesbaden don’t forget your walking shoes.

Fancy France

After a lovely weekend in Paris, the McCracken and Ward clans headed east towards Germany. On our way, we spent two days and a night exploring the beautiful Alsace region of France. Alsace (along with Lorraine) is unique to France because of its strong German influence. The Alsace region has been handed back and forth between France and Germany a few times and has a culture representative of both (read: wine AND beer). It is home to many wonderful things, such as sauerkraut, German Shepherds (also known as Alsatians), and the picturesque towns of Colmar and Strasbourg.

After driving through the French countryside and winding through forests on hilly roads, we came upon the town of Colmar. Colmar is home to Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi, more commonly known as that French guy who sculpted the Statue of Liberty. Colmar also has an area know as Le Petit Venice, which is about as big as a minute. The canal just barely meets the requirements of water deep enough to drown in (30 mm), but we still saw one little “gondola” go by (maybe the water was a bit deeper where we saw the gondola). Besides a few waterways, Colmar also had lots of cute half-timbered buildings and inviting shops. We were even lured into a macaroon shop with free samples. We got hooked and walked away with a bag of very tasty and very pricey macaroons.

Though Colmar looked like Germany, we were definitely in France. This was reaffirmed when Barbara used her high school French to order and managed to delight our waitress by saying “Je suis chocolat chaud” (I am hot chocolate, for you non French speakers like moi). Fortunately, we managed to correctly order this tasty blueberry tart which is a specialty of the region.

Justin and I decided to end the visit to Colmar on a high note by taking a picture of his underarm on his mom’s camera and not telling her. This provided Justin and I with about half-an-hour of belly laughs and hours of stifled giggles. Upon discovering the picture yesterday, Barbara was not so impressed with our comic genius. Maybe we’re not grownups after all.

After leaving sleepy Colmar, we drove 45 minutes north to Strasbourg. Justin and I visited Strasbourg five years ago and had a wonderful time in this romantic little city. Strasbourg lies on the Rhine (the same river we live near) and has a wonderful walking district. The walking district is an island that is jam packed with leaning half-timbered houses, inviting eating establishments, and tempting shops. It is also home to a massive cathedral that houses an astronomical clock.

While in Strasbourg, we stayed in the same hotel Justin and I stayed in five years ago, spent way too much time in an accessories shop (Barbara and I were trying to support the local economy), ate sauerkraut, ate croissants, looked at churches, bought cookies, ate said cookies, searched for elusive (and locked) public toilets, spent too much time in home accessories shops (Barbara and I were serious about supporting the local economy), ate flam kuchen (German pizza), ate crepes, and commented on the perfection of nearly every road we turned down. It was a nice (though filling) day.




That afternoon we bid au revoir to France and came back to Wiesbaden. Our wonderful time in France will not be forgotten, at least not as long as our car reeks of the stinky Brie cheese we picked up in Paris.

Paris with the fam

Barbara and Bill joined us for a magical weekend in the biggest French theme park (known as Paris) last week, and we had a really good, busy, and fun time!

I’ll start with the hotel, which had a smell oddly similar to what I would imagine the inside of George Burns’s mouth smelled like – old, smoky, dry, 1957, bourbon. In general, it was good. It put us in a lively, young, and very livable neighborhood in the northwest corner of Paris’s 11th Arrondissement where we could walk to all the major sites. And it even had hot water. No complaints.

After checking in, we headed out for our first sojourn into the "the City of Lights" (dubbed so because the city was an early adopter of street-lighting), walking to the Place de la Bastille, at which some substantially consequential historic event occurred a long time ago. After staring pensively at the monolith for a while and pretending to wax historical about the place (citing the words “Bastille Day” and “French Revolution”), we deducted that it looked a lot like a loaf of French bread and went on our way, satisfied with our conclusion.

Afterward, we walked to the impressive and gothic Notre Dame Cathedral, made famous by the popular and schmaltzy Walt Disney version of Victor Hugo's novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

It was huge, and ornate, and full of people doing religious stuff. So, after whispers and pictures, we walked to a nearby cutesy theme-park-like area and had an emblematic Parisian dinner of gyros and orangina. Viva le France!

After the satisfying meal, we taxied to the Eiffel Tower, gawked like everyone else, and took many vertical shots of the structure while waiting in line to ride to the top. Eventually, we got to the top and all agreed that la Ville Lumière was certainly full of lumière. It offered some pretty spectacular night-time views and was certainly a highlight of the tour.

BUT – and this is a big but – it was a bit nerve-racking. I had done some reading about the city before we went (as was made obvious by the intelligent comments about the Bastille) and found out that the Tour Eiffel was built as a TEMPORARY display of architectural engineering prowess to commemorate the 100-year anniversary of the French Revolution. Yes, temporary.

This got me thinking, you know how big buildings are said to sway back and forth in the wind by a couple feet in each direction because this supposedly helps keep the building stable? Well, the Eiffel Tower wasn’t built to do that. In fact, it has never swayed more than an inch in any direction, despite the fact that it’s huge and was the tallest building in the world until 1930.

So, as you can tell in this picture, it was a bit windy at the top of the Eiffel Tower that night, and, if there would have been any creaking to accompany the wind, my pants would have ended up moister than the coffee we had the next morning.

In addition to the coffee that next morning, we each had a croissant, a baguette and jelly. Pretty simple – and filling enough to kickstart our jaunt to the first stop: Montmartre – the area of Paris made famous by the movie “Amelie” – where we saw the Basilica of the Sacré Coeur and the miserable failure of Kate to get us into the secret underground passage that only graduates of the school of the Sacred Heart (of which Kate is one) can access.

After that disappointment, we all had to pee and so we found a bathroom located in a charming coffee house in the area, settled in, and ordered some Parisian coffee. The coffees, which turned out to be espressos, were decent and offered a pleasurable boost to our morning. Something that also added a pleasurable boost was a seemingly innocent magazine call Psychologie that was sitting on a nearby magazine rack. While leafing through, I found several luscious pairs of what I’ll call “Grand Tetons.” Page after page, these tetons just kept coming. I took it as a sign of great empathy on the editors of the magazine, who know the only people who would read Psychologie are patients in waiting rooms and French coffee bars. And I’ll tell you, it certainly made Bill and I smile. Thank you, editors!

After the espressos, we walked around the historic area – called the Butte – which is known for its vastly prominent influence on culture, art, fashion, food, and design, and made our way to the pinnacle of this cultural development: the Moulin Rouge.

It was still early morning at this point – even earlier than we thought because we’d all forgotten it was Daylight Savings day – so the sultry cabaret didn’t really have as much tempting allure as we’d hoped. Especially after Psychologie’s boobies.

So we moved on, and saw a scary metro stop, shown here. It was creepy in a Tim Burton “Nightmare before Christmas” kind of way and made us think – what were those Frogs thinking when they were designing this? “Let’s shoot for a Beetlejuice motif…”? But, that thought passed when we realized we had more sites to see.

So we entered the metro and got off at the Champs-Élysées, a seventeenth century garden-promenade turned avenue terminating in the Arc de Triomphe. (I have a funny but not-so-funny anecdote about this…ask me sometime).

After strolling, we got hungry and stopped at this place that served a great lunch, consisting of a sandwich and two desserts, and headed for our next stop: the Louvre. However, we were sidetracked by the siren’s call of the Musée D’Orsay, a museum much smaller and easier to conquer than the Louvre that consisted of French art. Yes, snuff films. [Editor’s note: It’s actually Impressionism. The espresso must have rotted Justin’s brain temporarily. Sorry for the inconvenience].

After going through the museum, I realized that there actually weren’t any snuff films to be found [Editor’s note: See?], but I did see a lot of Impressionism and Post-Impressionism. At first, I thought it looked great. But upon closer inspection, it turned out that a lot of the art work was blurry. Maybe the great impressionists (Monet, Renoir, Gauguin, Cézanne, Van Gogh) all had cataracts. Or maybe just poor vision and an absinthe hangover? Hmmm….

Actually, I have to say I really enjoyed the art. Much more than I thought I would. And, after having gone to the Louvre once before and seeing some of the bigger sites, I’m glad we decided to do this diversion. It added another, uniquely French, aspect to the trip.

A lot of people think of Paris as a romantic city. Granted, those people probably omit from their thoughts the ubiquitous mimes and body odor. But I’d say they’re pretty spot on. Paris is pretty darn romantic - even when you’re with your mom. Just nice sites, decent weather, and grand tetons.

Under One Roof

Since we’ve been here, Kate and I have been meaning to make the two-and-a-half hour drive up to Düsseldorf to see my family. It’s not a particularly long drive. And it’s actually very pretty, especially in spring, when the rapeseed buds on the rolling fields light up the various shades of surrounding pastels with their bright and happy blooms – yellow, like the color of cheap mustard. And the ornate church of Limburg – which can be seen from a nearby autobahn bridge – jutting out precariously above a deep ravine. Or the beautiful Siebengebirge (Seven Hills) region. I should know…I mean, it’s not like we haven’t already driven by the place three times already (twice to go to Holland and once to go to Köln). But, for whatever reason, we just hadn’t committed to seeing family.

Well, now we did. As you can see in the photos, we met the German relatives for a dinner last Friday night to a Balkan restaurant called Pfefferkönig located right down the street from my uncle Uwe’s house in Oberhausen. Present at the dinner were my mom, Bill, and Oma – of course – who are visiting for two weeks. But on the local side, there was my uncle (really second cousin) Uwe (pronounced OOH-vah) and his wife (Petra) and kids (Stefanie and Dustin), my great aunts (Anneliese, Gisele, and Angelika), and my other second cousin (Heide) with her husband (Frank).

The dinner was good – I’d actually been to the restaurant once before, when I was visiting Uwe – and ate the “half-cow with onions,” I believe. And seeing the family was actually pretty fun. Granted the majority of the conversation was in German, so Bill and Kate formed a quick bond….but it was good.

My mom and Bill are driving up there again tomorrow to pick up my Oma, whose been busy driving other people crazy for a change. Then, when she comes here, we’ll have to figure out a way to carry her up two flights of stairs. Does anyone remember how a pulley works?

Happy Halloweenie

We just got in from an exciting and exhausting weekend in France and I only have time for a quick holiday greeting before I heed my bed's call.

Justin, Pecos and I wanted to wish all of you a safe and spooky Halloween. Please enjoy our Halloween costumes (and travel alter-egos) Kate-chup, Just-ard- and our trusty sidekick, The Halloweiner!

Below are some visual aids for those who might have trouble with word play or be a bit daft.

Soon, we'll have France pictures and a blog for you. Maybe we'll even make Justin's mom (who is visiting us (YAY!)) be a guest blogger!

Hello again, world!

I know it’s been a while since Kate and I have ventured out into the realm of the Internet, but our lives just haven’t been that exciting.


The weather is still pretty decent here, with the sun peaking its shining face through the clouds for a couple hours every other day. And, if you happen to be outside enjoying the crisp autumn air when the sun is shining, the oranges, yellows, and reds of the trees sort of pop out against the blue background, demanding to be appreciated and begging to have their photo taken.

The days here are getting shorter. I’m at work for almost 45 minutes before the sun finally decides to get its ass out of bed and light up my life. Coffee is becoming a necessity. So is prozac.

But, for all those blind and numb Germans out there who couldn’t possibly tell through sight or feel alone that the seasons are changing, there is also, thankfully, a set of very German culinary seasons, which promote the produce of the season.

For instance, in the typically not-so-subtle German way, roadstands have a way of popping up on the street, selling the seasonal goodies. For instance, in the warming months, there’s a succession of asparagus season, strawberry season, and cherry season. Then, in the cooling months, there’s apple season, mushroom season, and hefeweizen season. Unfortunately, hefeweizen season is atypical, as there are probably not many “drive-through” hefeweizen stands on the side of the road. But it is certainly a season, as this year’s ale is promoted universally (and ubiquitously) throughout the country.

Despite the chilly weather and lures of the autumn kitchen, Kate and I are still keeping up with some of our extracurricular activities. Kate has been playing water polo with large, German, speedo-wearing men on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And I plan to keep attending a German conversation course on Wednesdays and a volleyball club on Thursdays. We also have been enjoying our running club, the Frankfurt Hash House Harriers, every Sunday. In fact, a couple weeks ago, we were subjects to a naming ritual, which occurs when you’ve been with the group on so many runs that they decide you get to have your own special name. Usually, this name is suggestive in nature, but not too dirrrrrrrrty. For instance, several men in the group have names like this: an adjective describing a bunny rabbit followed by the word “balls.”

Yes, this naming ceremony is a hoot. Fun for kids of all ages. But, it’s the most fun for people like Kate and I who are lucky enough to actually receive those funny names. Why? Because those who get named are fortunate enough to have handfuls of flour flung at them while cold beer is being poured down their bodies. This creates a sticky, smelly, yeasty mess – which, in some cases, are the exact adjectives used before balls.



Thankfully, our names are innocuous and do not include the word “balls.” They are, however, nonsensical.

What are our names, you ask?

Me: Big Squeeze
Kate: The Flesh Test Dummy



We’re thinking the aforementioned “mushroom” season must have meant magic mushrooms to some people in the group.

Next blog: Paris and le Frogs

Kletterwald and Holland

Here at the editorial office of the Wiesbaden Weekly, we get many letters and e-mails asking for more information about things to do around Wiesbaden. One recent letter was from an imaginary boy named Billy from Minburn, Iowa, who asked if there were big climbing trees in Wiesbaden.

Well Billy, as a matter of fact, there are. And, as another matter of fact, Kate and I recently went to this place called "Kletterwald" on the northern edge of Wiesbaden to do just that - climb trees, that is.

Kletterwald, which means climbing forest, is an area about the size of a football field that looks a lot like what I would assume basic training looks like, sans military folk. There are literally dozens of trees that are connected through a complicated web of ropes and wires. And crazy people like Kate and I actually pay good money to clamber on these ropes and wires, scaring ourselves half to death and injuring ourselves in the process. What fun!

At first, the average person at Kletterwald will climb to a platform located about 15 feet from the ground and feel confident as they calmly but wobbly walk across 10 or so suspended wooden boards. "That was nothing," they'll say to no one in particular as they nervously wipe their sweaty palms on their pants. "Ha, that was too easy."

Then, panic begins to settle in as they see the next test is to traverse a 20-foot gap using nothing but six or so hanging stirrups. Gulp.

The whole course takes about three or four hours - and after it's all done and your hands are worn from kung-fu-death-gripping the ropes, and your legs are trembling from the exertion-and-adrenaline cocktail, you look back at the tire swings and zip cords and think, "What the hell was I thinking? I need a freaking drink!"

Anyway, Billy...Billy? Billy, pay attention when I'm talking to you! OK, good. Thanks for writing - I hope I answered your question.

Also, Billy, we just thought you should know that there's more to do than just climb trees. In fact, Kate and I recently came back from a short business trip to Holland, where there are lots of things to do. If you ever go there, you should know that there are tons of friendly people in Holland - most of whom are located in and around what's officially called the seedy area. Yes, these friendly people openly welcome all tourists - and especially Americans - into their "coffee shops" so they can show you all the special things that you can't get anywhere else without serving five years with good behavior.

There's also an area called the "Red Light District," which surprisingly doesn't have as many red lights as you'd think. It does, however, have a lot of equally (and perhaps more) friendly people who wave at you through their big glass windows. They all look very friendly and seem to gesture passers-by to go inside and meet them - like there's some sort of freshly baked blueberry pie inside that you absolutely must try.

Holland is also great because they have lots of fatty foods, urinals on the street, and big wooden shoes to climb in. That alone is enough to entice most people to visit.

OK, all you crazy peeps out there in readerland - you too can send in your questions to us and we'll be happy to answer them as sarcastically we can.

Six months in Europe

So we’ve been here for six months now and I wanted to share my thoughts about living here. I've divided my thoughts into a couple non-exclusive sections, below. Please ask for clarification if you'd like. Kate and I would be more than happy to make up some answers.

Culture shocks: There are two.
First, as I’m sure all you smart, attractive, and seasoned Germany travelers know, the Germans are a very organized volk. Just hearing the words “Kaiser Wilhelm” makes my back stiffen a bit and makes me antsy to clean my desk and gel down that errant cowlick.

But here’s a little-known fact about the Western European Wurstmeisters: They can't queue. Their version of an organized single-file line looks like herd of Soldiers desperately grasping for a spot on the last helicopter leaving Saigon. A jumble. A cluster. And it doesn’t make boarding a plane or waiting for tickets very fun.

Second, and more interesting, is the German's inability to say excuse me. As you know, Western Europe is a bit more densely populated than, say, South Dakota. So space is at a premium – grocery store aisles aren’t as wide, restaurant tables are closer together, etc. In fact, I’m not surprised anymore when older men ask Kate to sit on their laps ... to conserve space, of course.

Anyway, knowing that personal space is limited, both Kate and I felt compelled to use the words “excuse me” when we first got here. I mean, one doesn't want to draw attention to oneself in a foreign country by acting impolite, right.

Well, oddly enough, the German word for excuse me, “entschuldigung,” is foreign language to even the Germans. What does that mean? The Germans seem to have chosen to avoid the word completely, choosing instead to accept day-to-day physical contact as a part of life. For instance, when traversing a crowded grocery store aisle, they plow ahead like Arctic ice-breaking ships, not uttering a word. Or, when entering a subway train, it’s not uncommon to have your feet trampled on or rolled over. If you look up at them as they’re doing it, they’ll look surprised – as if you should be somewhere else.

Some other surprising (but culturally unshocking) things are:

Booze: It’s cheap. A decent bottle of wine is around $2 per bottle.

Cheese: It’s everywhere, delicious, and super cheap. $0.99 for a piece of brie the size of my hand.

Yogurt: Again, super cheap and much better than anything Dannon could make.

Talk: Is cheap. (Sorry, Pecos made me say it).

Weather: Much more mild than expected. Actually, like the German outlook on life, the weather is usually partly cloudy. But the summer was warm and sunny, September had perfect weather almost every day and October, although rainy, has yet to force me to wear a jacket. Unfortunately, the thick clouds of despair appeared to have oozed in and will, within a month, probably nail themselves down until spring - like a big puffy pillow over Germany.

Food: Hearty is not a bad term to use here. Neither is heart disease. But that's just German food. We’ve also been pleasantly surprised by the non-German cuisines offered here: Vietnamese, Indian/Pakistani, Chinese. We also have our pick of tapas, pastas, and pizza. No burritos, though. No bagel shops either.

Little things: The military’s commissary – home to the uparmored $160 tactical seedless grape (with a 73% failure rate and designed to withstand a SCUD missile) – is very convenient. We shamelessly buy most of our groceries there. The American theater is small, but offers first-run American movies for cheap ($3.50 per ticket). In fact, we went to see a movie (the Lakehouse) tonight. Public transportation is everywhere. The streets are clean. But the sewers stink.

Dogs: More than any other nation on the planet, Germany loves dogs. More than France even, with their little Frenchie dogs who sip Café O’lé while nibbling on pains au chocolat between puffs of their cigarette. Sure, the Germans have their share of small dogs (Dachshunds, Schnauzers, Affenpinschers) but big German dogs are popular too (Shepherds, Dobermans, Rottweilers). Sometimes they get their own seats at restaurants (not kidding) and they can always find a bowl of water wherever there are shops.

The Euro: I have nothing against the euro. Other than looking like it was designed by preschoolers, it's a good currency. But, being an average American, I know nothing about how exchange rates work. So let me tell you: The price for things looks the same in writing - a menu at an average Italian restaurant, for instance, displays prices like 10,99 for pasta, 13,99 for some sort of chicken parmesan, etc. This leads simple Americans like myself to believe the prices are just like dollars….but I'm wrong. The price in dollars is 25% extra.

Why, you ask? Here’s why: European governments have brainwashed Klaus, Pierre, Guido and the rest of those Europeans into thinking money is for saving. "Save it in seat cushions!" the governments demands. "Under the bed," "In treasure chests!" etc. This saving, however, causes scarcity. And according to my ECON101 professor, when things are scarce, they rise in value. This is due to something called the law of the absolute advantage which states that the aggregate of marginal return causes a variable rate in the futures of foreign direct investment which.... I don't know. I got a C-. Either way, adding 25% to things stresses me out. And it does nothing for my rash I'm starting to develop under my left armpit. I think I might have to spend my insulin money just to buy Pecos dogfood.

Travel: Obviously this is da bomb (although on second thought, I probably shouldn’t use the word bomb when discussing travel). Flights are cheap, gas is OK (we pay U.S. prices), places are close, and hostels are everywhere. And since it's so cheap to fly, we sometimes pay more to stay in a city than to fly there. It’s kind of addictive, in fact – although I can usually control it with the help of my rash medication.

Anyway, if any of you happen to be coming to Europe and Kate and I can stay for free in your hotel room or friend's place, you bet your booties we’ll be there. (Question for the group: why would anyone actually bet their booties?)

Yes, we travel a lot and we love it. It’s so exciting and adventurous that sometimes I think it can’t all really be happening. Like I’m in a major motion picture starring Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger…. No, scratch that. But our adventures probably could be made into a romantic comedy of sorts – starring Chad Michael Murray (me) and Mandy Moore (Kate) in which they travel across all nine continents searching for adventure only to find that what they really wanted wasn’t fine dining on Volkswagonkindergardenweinerschnitzel Strasse, but was being at home, spending time with family.

Well, don’t get too sentimental just yet. We’ve still never dined on Volkswagonkindergardenweinerschnitzel Strasse. But we'll let you know.

Work: My job is great. I seriously couldn’t have a better boss or a better organization to work for. There are travel opportunities, professional development opportunities, and, best of all, there is flexibility over what I do. In my last job, I had no choice over what I did. My boss pushed me around and loomed over me like the Sith, ensuring I did his evil deeds. Here, I have a voice. (Now I just need to develop a spinal cord…)

All in all, living in Europe is awesome. But it's even better when people come to visit!