Justice Served!

Here's the November 3 ballot for my corner of Brooklyn. As you see, I have voted.

Now I have to cobble together the envelopeS. Yes, there are multiple envelopes.

On one envelope I swear that I officially voted.

This is put in a traditional envelope that is mailed to the Kings County Board of Elections.

With 40 days for travel, my ballot should overcome any United States Postal Service slowdown.

Privacy and the Roads More Traveled

On Friday, May 25, 2018,  some new privacy rules from the European Union went into effect. The last few days have been an unnecessary but mostly fun walk down memory. Every business that I have ever had contact with has sent me an email letting me there are privacy rules from thr European Union going into effect on Friday, May 25, 2018. Deleting emails brought to mind a winery visit near Barcelona, several trips home on my favorite airline, unfulfilled to stay at a luxury hotel, interesting freelance writing assignments, cool outfits, restaurant searches in Amsterdam and other misadventures and adventures.

ViaGogo, Simon & Schuster UK, Avery office products, Lookout Mobile Security, Wyndham Rewards, Alibris, VapoShop [that was a gift for a friend, I swear], Elbarri winery, Side Design Hotel Hamburg, Kempenski Hotels, H & M, Smiley’s Pizza, Aegean Airlines, Eurowings, Ebay, Subway, Citti Park, Die Insel Hamburg, AXS, Foodora, Quandoo [a Dutch version of OpenTable], Segura Viudas, Discovery hotel alliance, Transport for London, Scandic Hotels, Handesblatt Global, Mama Mae’s Cupcake Club [I don’t think I have ever been a member of this club. I do like knowing a club like this exists.], British Airways, Ritz-Carlton, Little Brown Book Group, and Only Connect thank you for the heads up. There are several companies I have not heard from. Should I be relieved, worried or angry that Amazon hasn’t said a peep to me about its privacy policy?

I am definitely upset about my inability to access a few American websites that a part of my daily diet.

Because they are "engaged," I have hope, they will return soon. Until then, I still have New York Times.

R-O-C-K in the Deutschland

Last night, I went to my fifth concert in Germany and I am about to give up. I lived in New York for almost nine years and I never came close to a concert. Eight million people fighting for one seat. The odds were not in my favor. The odds are in my favor in Germany but it almost doesn't matter because the experience is not as great as it was in Philadelphia, the site of my birth and where I have spent most of my life.

I remember the first time I went to a concert alone. I had no trepidation because I knew I would be surrounded by the love of one group. I was right. I danced and laughed and screamed and high fives strangers who were my best friends for three hours.

I was surprised that when I went to my first concert in Germany, people around me sat through most of Madonna's MDNA concert. Meanwhile, I was dancing through most of the opening act, Martin Solveig.

The same thing happened when I saw U2 and Beyonce.

Robert Smith & Co. at Hamburg's Barclaycard Arena

Last night, I had amazing seats to see The Cure. By now, I have adjusted my expectations. I have enough energy for myself. I don't need anything from my fellow concertgoers. However, I was shocked about how low the crowd could go. At my first concert in Hamburg [I saw Madonna twice in Berlin and U2 in Berlin; Beyonce slayed Frankfurt.], I was told several times to SIT DOWN.

Unfortunately, my usual partner in crime was too sick to come, so I went alone. Fortunately, I had the area around two seats to dance around.

The first man asked me to sit and I said no. My answer shocked him and he asked me again. Again, I said, "Nein." He looked at me for about ten seconds and then walked away. Next up was some 19-year-old-looking girl nicely told me to sit down. When I replied in the negative, she asked me why. I said nothing.

I was sitting on the aisle. In the middle of the concert, some guy started walking toward me. I wasn't sure why. He had crutches in his hand and passed them over my legs and then he knocked me out of the way. I guess he decided to sit in someone else's seat; not my Immortal Beloved's unused seat. He put down his crutches and immediately started videotaping or photographing the concert. Obviously, I was sitting when he trespassed. An emotional ballad was moving through the air. When one of My Songs came on, I started dancing. This interloper demanded that I sit down. I said no. He demanded again. Again, I said, "Nein." He said, "Doch." I said, "Nein."

It is ridiculous that people think their wish is my command. It is a concert, not a library. This Philadelphian wanted someone to push the idea but no one did. If I could have knocked one person down, then there wouldn't be anymore requests. Unfortunately, that didn't happen and the photographer demanded that I sit down several more times.

I think I may have to see my next concerts in Spain or Italy, one of the more boisterous countries.

Ready, Set, Hillary!

The recently-ended presidential debate has motivated me.

For once, I am NOT voting at the very last second. Thank you, Donald J. Trump [a bit of credit should go to an inept Lester Holt].

One Reason America is Awesome

After a week of bemoaning another act of senseless violence, I decided to focus on something that makes America great.

When I was home in March, I was bombarded by commercials for pizza wrapped in bacon. I was appalled and attracted at the same time.

I truly believe that everything can be improved with bacon, butter or cheese. I am also aware that processed meat flung on top of cheese that is melted onto bread that is swathed in bacon is scary unhealthy. I also had a strong suspicion that combination would taste awesome.

Because I kept seeing the commercials, I kept talking about this new menu option. My mother listened to my complaints and heard desire.

When my mother was getting me ghetto Chinese food (so that a major food wish would come true), she stopped off at the pizza place two doors down from the Chinese restaurant. She forced me to encounter my frenemy -- bacon-wrapped pizza. That is why mothers are so great. They help you fulfill your dreams.

The pizza was as delicious as I thought it would be. It was only the beginning of a feast. It is best to eat pizza first because heat helps hold all of the amazingness together. I followed that gastronomic majesty with vegetable egg foo young. That was one of the best meals that I have ever had. I mean that in all sincerity.

You can't get this combination of fat, salt and flavor in Deutschland. That is probably a good thing.

Looking Back

America leads the world . . . in most areas of popular culture. The only place Europe head of the good ole US of A is electronic music. That would be a plus if I was an EDM fan.


I am a fan of television. Germany has terrible television. Germany has finally beat America to one thing -- Wayward Pines.

Wayward Pines is a mediocre science fiction limited-edition series broadcast of Fox. For some reason, Wayward Pines is broadcast at 9 p.m. in Germany on Thursdays and 9 p.m. on Thursdays in the United States. Through the miracle of the earth rotation, Germany is ahead of the United States. I have been bored by the antics of a this mysterious town six hours earlier than my American brethren.

Courtesy of Fox Broadcasting

Tonight is the last episode. My reign is about to end. I am back to being behind.

Need to Know Basis

I, like the overwhelming number of Americans, would like to think that the health care systems in every other country stinks. Well, people who have lived in another country know that is not true.

I've just finished a stint in a renowned hospital in Kiel, Germany. The "health" part was excellent but the "care" part was a hot mess.

My eye doctor sent me to the emergency room for neurology patients. [Yes, that's a thing here. A ER for every problem and a neurology ER or problems specific to the nervous system. See, the U.S. doesn't have everything.]. She sent me there because I couldn't get an appointment for tests for a suspected problem for three months. One point for the United States.

Before I went, she told me that there would be a long wait. Cool. I checked my schedule and picked Thursday, October 16. I went in around
3 p.m. My work day was done and I assumed that all the morning rush hour problems would be cleared out and the after-work emergencies would not have occurred by then. I happily showed up with my iPad stocked with magazines and television shows. I was so wrong.

Like everything in Germany, there was poor signage. It took me a while to find the Neurozentrum Notfall. When I got there, there was no one and no sign telling me what to do. After five minutes, I went to the only open room and asked if I was in the right place. There, someone told me to stand against the wall and someone would help me. That made no sense, so I just sat down. Around 4, I snagged someone rushing by in blue scrubs and asked if I was at the right place. She said I was and took a DVD that held an image of the inside of my skull and some forms from my eye doctor and radiologist. About an hour later, she returned the disc to me. That would be the last time I would speak to someone officially for hours. Asmus came to keep me company around 6:30. I was getting hungry, so I was happy to see him because he brought some nuts and grapes and water.

My beloved is so laidback all the time, so it was shocking to discover that he cannot wait patiently. His irritation led to my irritation. I timidly went to the first room I visited to ask where I was in line. Two women barked at me that someone would be with me in a minute. I knew that couldn't be true. About an hour later, Asmus asked if we should go home and come back in a few hours and a woman told us they have no idea when something may happen but we shouldn't dare leave the ER.

The force that kept from punching a hole in a wall from a delicate combination of frustration, boredom and disgust.
Thank you, Cecilia.

After a while, we gave up and decided to leave but someone somewhere had the documents that I had brought with me and I needed them back. When we went to get them, we got a bunch of apologies from the new shift and were told that there were only two people in front of us. We waited. Around 11, a doctor apologized and said we would be seen in about 15 minutes. At midnight, we were taken back to see a doctor.

Nine hours after I entered the ER, my reflexes were tested, I was asked the same questions that were answered on my documents and I was strongly urged to check in to the hospital.

I took the advice. With only my iPad for protection, I entered a hospital at 1 a.m. In a daze, I hurriedly made a list of things for my husband to bring me. He rushed home and rushed back.

The lack of information I experienced at the ER was not an anomaly. Like the rest of this nation, the hospital did not give up information without your specifically asking for it. Every day was an adventure because I didn't know what was planned for me each day. I quickly learned that my alarm clock was my blood pressure check at 7 a.m. by someone wearing white scrubs. I didn't know anyone's name but I learned the people taking my blood pressure were nurses. I eventually learned that my pressure was checked at 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. What happened between then was a surprise. One day, on Monday, nothing happened until 3:30 in the afternoon.

At that time, I was wheeled down for a lumbar puncture. A man rushed into the room and said there was a mistake. "We" [I was not included in this "we." "We" were some group of doctors.] had decided to do a special MRI, then do the test and then do another MRI; this way we can compare images, he explained. He had run up stairs to try to stop them from bringing me down. I wondered why he didn't use a phone but didn't ask this. I was wheeled into the hallway, while they found someone to wheel me back upstairs to my room. This meant that I would be in the hospital an extra day. This also meant that I was going to break my hospital stay record of five days. I was not happy about my days of bad sleep and boredom but I was accepted it. While I was thinking of all the things I would need to do to accommodate this extended stay, the same doctor came out to me and said, "We" had been talking and decided because of my symptoms, there was no need for comparison. I hadn't had any symptoms; my eye doctor had found a problem that she wanted investigated. I didn't question this new decision.

The assumption was now there was a problem. One minute, I needed two MRIs and a test. The next, all of that was unnecessary. This all should have been very confusing but it wasn't because after three days in the hospital, I had become immune to expecting courtesy, logic and scheduling.

After four days in the hospital, no one told me when visiting hours were, how I got television and telephone service, if there was a lounge, and who my nurses and doctors were. Luckily, Cecilia, a friend who worked in the hospital, told me what she knew.

I was cool with not knowing. On Tuesday, I was sent to the ophthalmologist right before lunch. Of course, I didn't know I was going to the eye doctor and I didn't know what for. A gruff man came to my door and I left with him. Shockingly, he was not medical personnel. He was a taxi driver. I was driven to a different building on the hospital campus. I didn't know that was coming. That was an annoying surprise. I missed my lunch and didn't bring a jacket to the cold four-and-a-half-hour wait and cursed my life.

When I returned to my room, I pressed the call button because there was no one at the nurses station. I asked her what was happening to me next. She politely said, I don't know.

The care was great. There a lumbar puncture attempt Friday afternoon. It went so badly that I was crying and screaming during the whole thing. One of the doctors performing the procedure rubbed my back and said, I'm sorry, over and over again. That lumbar puncture attempt failed. During the session on Monday, it failed twice and succeeded once. Those failures went as badly as the first. Those failures were also accompanied by crying, screaming, soothing and back rubs. Comforting from people in scrubs went way beyond the call of duty. I was embarrassed and very grateful for that.

On Monday, I was allowed to leave my room and give them my cell phone number. I would be called if anyone wanted to poke me or question me. I was allowed to go outside. I used this freedom to connect to a hot spot and, thus, the world. [Since Thursday afternoon, I had no newspaper, no television and no radio. That is not completely true. "They" wanted me to stay in the hospital all weekend. I asked for a furlough and I was given an urlaub [vacation]. I left my hospital room Saturday morning and returned to it 7:58 p.m. Sunday night -- two minutes earlier than my deadline.] I was sitting on a park bench outside the hospital on Monday and Tuesday, when I was called in for tests. I appreciate not being cooped in my box all the time. That was caring of the staff.

Zero Forks

I would not consider myself a foodie, but the images below do you depict the most unnerving things that had ever been put before me as vehicles for nutrition and enjoyment. Perhaps that's it! As I typed that sentence, I realized, the food may have only been for nutrition. To heck with enjoyment. If that is the case, then The mission was accomplished.

This is breakfast. Yum!
It was a traditional German breakfast -- bread with deli meat and/or cheese and yogurt. This was supposed to break the fast from the previous evening's dinner. That was one piece of mortadella with either pistachio bits or mushroom bits. I couldn't tell, so I didn't eat it. The idea of processed laced with nuts gives me the willies.

This ws dinner. Look familiar? This is what an older German might eat for dinner. Of course, there was bread on the plate to the left. I could recognize cheese on the plate to the right but that was all. I had even nibbled on one of the pieces of meat, but I still couldn't tell what it was. The dish in the center holds BEETS.
BEETS. Ugh. Why beets? No one likes beets. There must have been a sale on the root.
For dessert, yes, that was, yogurt.

This was lunch. As it turns out, the big meal of the day. If I hadn't had the menu, I wouldn't have even known what it was. After I tried it, I wasn't even sure what it was. This is a picture of roasted chicken covered in hollandaise sauce served with mashed potatoes. The chicken deflated when I dug into it with my fork and so did my heart.

This was not cafeteria food but hospital food. My expectations were low but not this low.

Progress?

I cannot decide if this is a sign of the apocalypse or the most amazing thing ever invented.

This machine recently arrived at a gas station near our home in Kiel, Germany. You put in 4.50 euros, wait three minutes and you get a piping hot pizza. 

It even takes debit cards.

If the outside of the machine can be believed, the pizza is made from the freshest tomatoes, robust basil and delectable mozzarella.

In a perfect world, I would have one in my living room or never see it again. I cannot decide.

Winter, where ya been?

Winter finally came to Kiel last Wednesday, it came out of nowhere.


The birds were even caught off guard.

I finally found something that people in Kiel cannot complain about him – cold weather. All year long, you hear whining about the near-constant rain and seemingly permanent gray skies. Mysteriously, I haven't heard one unkind word about the 12° weather and the 3 inches of snow.

I love winter!

The saddest bird in the world.

Time is slipping away from me.

It feels like my March birthday was last week. However, Yesterday was the first day of the Christmas Market in Kiel.

I kicked off the season with baked ham in a brown sauce served over penne. That was chased with apple cider with cinnamon and calavados.

It was cold, so the first meal was short but oh so sweet.

Prost!

Shopping Queen

Germans do many things well -- create amazing cars, compose grand operas and craft good beer. Produce interesting television is not a member of that club.

I have heard stories of immigrants to the United States say they perfected their English by watching television. I tried to emulate that here. Unfortunately, about 80% of prime time television is German-dubbed versions of American crime shows. I am not a fan of CSI in America, so I sure ain't watching it when the lips don't match the words. I gave up on German television a long time ago.

Northern Europeans don't experience much crime, so they search it out in books, films and television shows. Most of the television shows here are people solving some murder. The most popular television show here is Tatort [The Scene of the Crime]. This has been running since 1970. It follows detectives in different German cities find the killer. A few months ago, I tuned in to see the show that was based in my home, Kiel.

It is for this reason that I ended my brief hiatus from my new pet peeve, Shopping Queen. This week, Shopping Queen is taking place in Kiel, the capital of the northernmost state in Germany. Kiel is famous for sailing. In my opinion, Kiel is the city that fashion forgot. That is unfortunate because Shopping Queen is a show about fashion.

Cast of Shopping Queen: Kiel. Source: Kieler Nachrichten

Shopping Queen is a friendly competitive reality show. Five women are given a theme, 500 euros and four hours. They must create an outfit, get their hair or makeup done and be accessorized. At first, I delighted in seeing the clothes, the frenzy, the different cities and people's houses [while one person shops, the four stay at the shopper's home]. But I quickly fell out of love. Because the average woman is focused on the inside and not the outside, the fashion sense is not so great. The people with fashion acumen were not understood by their competitors, so they got low scores. Those lost in the sauce got high scores. I was screaming at the television show, like my team was losing the Super Bowl. The only saving grace was the Mizrahi-level wit, Guido Maria Kretschmer. Guido is a couture designer [who appeared on Oxygen's The Face last spring]. He pops on screen and makes crazy commentary while watching footage of shopping. During the reveal on the catwalk, he gives thorough judgement. On the last day, he gives scores that are added to the scores of competitors.

Despite Guido, I stepped away. It was just too much. Okay, I watched two or three episodes on a boring Saturday but that was it for about six weeks. But I was back Monday because the show came to Kiel. I heard the show was taping here a few months ago. I was looking around for the Shopping Queen van and the accompanying chaos. I saw nothing. I watched the show and I see that my neighborhood is featured prominently in every episode! Kiel is a city of 270,000 people but all the cool things are in one place -- my 'hood.

This week, the goal is to create the perfect bridesmaid look. I think Christina, the woman in the brown dress, is going to win. You can see all five shows at:

http://www.voxnow.de/shopping-queen/gruppe-kiel-tag-3-christina.php?container_id=134793&player=1&season=2

Adventures in Sitting Around the House

Last year, I fulfilled a dream of visiting Ghana. Ever since I saw the normally-cantankerous Anthony Bourdain happily traipse through this equatorial nation, I knew I had to go to there. As I researched the young nation, I quickly realized that this will not be a relaxing trip. Right before I left for Africa, I decided that I was going to make the best of what awaits me. I was going to enjoy Ghana for what it has, not what it doesn't have. Basically, I have two settings -- satisfied or miserable. I decided to find a few places between these two poles. Because of that I had a great time.

I took this same approach to my rehab from my sprained foot. I was not supposed to do a lot of walking, so in Kiel there are not a lot of options for entertainment. Because of my medical limitations, I had to cancel my two-week vacation. Never mind that, I just decided to find the silver lining. Some days it was harder than others.

One of the good things about Germany is that you own your table at a reservation for as long as you want it. There is no pressure to turn over a table. This is true even on Friday and Saturday nights. I took advantage of this German custom most of the summer. The hardest time of the day for me was the afternoon. At lunchtime, I hopped in a cab and burned up three hours a day at cafes that I never visited before and old favorites. Armed with my iPad, I had some amazing afternoons at Lüneburg Haus, Ann restaurant, Non Solo Pane, Nil, Werkstatt Cafe, Negresco and Hemingway.

A dessert of vanilla pudding with chocolate sauce from Lüneburg Haus

It was nice to be out of the house and enjoy good food.

If I could wave a magic wand, I would make myself permanently disabled. With the sight of me on crutches or my bandage, normally self-centered Kielers got out of my way, held doors for me, and stopped slipping between me and the small spaces between walls and blocking entire walkways. Even cab drivers were helpful.

Last Thursday, I got the doctor's approval to skip the bandage and I am a bit sad for the loss of common courtesy but I was happy to be able to wear my new shoes.

Damn you, Kiel Week!

It has been a cold summer here in northern Germany. Until July, we lived in the 50s. We finally settled into the 70s around the Fourth of July. At night, it gets cold.

It was so cold and rainy that I could not drag myself to visit all of the Kiel Week festivities. I lived at the International Market. I ate from around the world and I was happy. However, I didn't make it to the bay, or Kiel Linie. This is the site of my beloved John's Burger Barn. In the midst of crepes, French Fries and fish sandwiches, there is an oasis of taste. This is the Burger crew's second year at the water and the third at Kiel Week. This year it stuck. They were so busy that I could not get the signature Monica Burger -- bacon cheeseburger.

I finally made it out there the penultimate day. It was bittersweet. It is great to be surrounded by friendly insanity and sad that it was all about the end.

This year, John and Co. actually ran out of the burgers.

Sold out! This miracle happened about three hours before Kiel Week was offiicially over.

The last burger. It was ceremoniously dropped into the waters a few feet from the John's Burger Barn.

I ended Kiel Week injured. I got an overly-aggressive Thai massage. Yes, I got a massage-related injury. The therapist stretched a ligament in my left foot. I bragged about how amazing Thai massage is for weeks before Kiel Week and during the event. However, that maneuver brought me down. The sprain is bad enough to have caused the cancellation of a trip to Poland and to Iceland.

I refuse to find a lesson in this misery.

Why me?!?

I am feeling a bit blue now.

I am sad because I just finished my box of Cream of Wheat. I brought two 28-ounce boxes of Cream of Wheat back with me when I home to Philadelphia last November. I can only carry so much stuff back and I am very stressed about what is suitcase worthy. Last year, I froze two blocks of scrapple and two rolls of breakfast sausage with sage. Sadly, I finished the scrapple faster than I wanted to. It was just so good.

As you can see, I am almost out of the sausage. Two weeks ago, I had the last bowl of Cream of Wheat. That was the saddest bowl of breakfast cereal ever.

My brother-in-law and his family are going to California for three weeks. I asked them if I can give them a suitcase that they can fill with cereal, breakfast pastries and more sausage. Unfortunately, scrapple is a Pennsylvania thing, so they won't be able to find it on the west coast, where they are touring in July.

My mother offered to send some Cream of Wheat to me but we decided against it. Because of the weight, it would cost a thousand more times to mail it than the cost of the cereal itself. Asmus and I back in the US of A in October. I am bringing a suitcase just for food. Again, we won't be in Pennsylvania, so no scrapple. I will be back in the 215 in 2014. Perhaps, I will have a Scrapple Suitcase.

Vote . . . rocked!

About a month I promised myself, I voted. [Damn you, procrastination.

I have done all I can do.

Rock the Vote

I got an unexpected email last week. I received a note from the American government asking for my vote. I was excited and nervous. I am not 100% sure whom I will vote for. Now that I have the ballot I must start researching.

Here, for your pleasure, is a peek at the New York state ballot for Brooklyn [to be official: Kings county] that I just downloaded.

I promise to fill this out within the next seven days and then mail it within the next seven days. [Devil, thy name is procrastination.]

For a bit, I was torn about voting. I was helping decide what person should take office in America. Because I live in Germany, my actions seemed a bit over reaching. After I got a kind tongue lashing from my friends in America and my German husband, I was back to energetically voting again.

Wish me luck.

How I spent my summer

My trip to Ghana, like my first trip to Paris, was the result of a television.

Like many Americans, I had created a nonviolent hatred of the French. They are just so arrogant and evil. On my list of cities to visit before to die, Paris was on it but not near the top. But then Paula Deen changed that. I always felt an affinity for Paula. A few years ago, she went to Paris and was so overwhelmed by what she saw, ate and experienced that she cried. OK, if this city had this affect on my hero, I I knew I had to go.

I had a similar experience with Anthony Bourdain. The sour chef goes all over the world and complains and bitches and moans his way through life. Many love his deft hand creating putdowns that immediate put a picture in your mind. However, I find that the most boring part. It is extremely easy for man to create negative quips. I was impressed with his intrepid adventures. He ate what people who lived in a locale ate; he drank what they drank; he took part in what they took part in. I, the lover of comfort, saw his immersion and was impressed. There are a few places where he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. In 2007, Ghana was one of them. I kept that place in my back pocket until it fit my life. That time was this year.

Last fall Asmus and I decided to make our big trip to Ghana this year. We expected some major changes in 2012 and this trip was going to be the last adventure. I was so excited. My resolve to be positive almost died during preparation. I love my Black brothers and sisters but around the world, we all have problems with clear instructions. We were trying to figure out how to get a visa but the website didn't give clear directions and I couldn't get a person on the telephone. Plus, we had to get immunizations that stretched out over about five weeks. Then we had to figure out what to bring because we needed clothes to accommodate the high heat and humidity and then to protect against malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Once all that was figured out, I relaxed. That occasion occurred about five days before we left.

The view of the town of Ho from our hotel. We were living at cloud level.

I was determined to enjoy Ghana for what it was and not what it wasn't. I brought wet wipes to deal with hole in the ground that served as toilets. I brought bottled water to drink and rinse my teeth with after brushing because people are supposed to avoid drinking it. I filled up my iPad with season 5 of Entourage to entertain myself at night. I was not staying at the Hotel Adlon or eating at Michelin-starred restaurants and that was cool.

What actually happened was that I was smacked in the face with poor people everywhere, bad roads or no roads, dilapidated homes, and other bad things. I was also surrounded by people working hard, villages using tourism to build a school, delicious local food, cool and economical [for a foreigner] fashion, and other great things. Those positives far outweighed the negatives.

Many people cannot gather the money to pay for their children to finish high school. Those that do have trouble finding jobs in a nation without a lot of industry. Instead of grumbling, they get to work. People are selling something wherever there is an empty space. It is impossible to find out where the official boundaries of Accra's Makola market are. Sellers even sell things on the street next to the sidewalk. There are people selling things right next to embassy gates, with the exception of the American embassy [everywhere around the earth, people harbor a strong hatred of America. To accommodate the latter, there are barriers around American diplomatic outposts]. Some artisans create and sell rattan furniture outside the Australian embassy. At night, prostitutes sell their wares on the grass outside the British embassy.

In ten days in Ghana, one person begged us for money. We were sitting at sidewalk table at a chop bar [a casual bar] in the small town of Ho.  A drunk man asked us for money. Before I could fully understand what was happening, someone from the restaurant fly out and pushed him into the street and out of sight. It was surreal.

I was so struck by how positive everyone is. Ghana has borders created by the British. Various peoples called this area home for centuries. Now they live peacefully within the nation. One taxi driver told me, "Whether you are Ashante, Ga or whatever, we are all one. We are Ghana."

Unlike America, where there is a sense of unfairness that often evolves into anger, which often creates theft, murder and vandalism, Ghana has little crime. People just make due. We gave a woman who had a baby strapped to her back a ride. Until she bumped into us, she was prepared to walk about three miles in the sun. People cannot find jobs and the government does not have enough money to support them or train them or spur job growth, so people just start selling something. It can be annoying and a bit sad but I am so impressed.

I am not proud because I am not Ghanaian. I am not African. While all the people we met treated my like a cousin, no one treated me like a sister. When I walked through Accra's chaotic Makola market, my dress, backpack and hair required calls of "America! America!" People I spoke to were happy to see me and told how they really wanted to visit America one day [and they didn't think they ever could. Ghanaians must have a lot of money in the bank before the American government will bless them with a visa to visit.]. However, I was not one of them. That's cool with me.

Everyone in Ghana was also nice to my white husband. We were prepared for them to yell out "Obruni!" [White person!] but no one did. Guidebooks noted this and our white tour guide at an Accra museum told us to be prepared. He was no big deal.

Even though I am not Ghanaian, it was nice to be one of crowd of brown faces. In Germany, I am one brown face in a crowd of white faces. Strangers remember me after I have walked by a place twice. It was relaxing not to stick out.

Meda ase, Ghana. [Thank you, Ghana.]

An advertisement for a breakfast drink.

Akwaaba!

I just came back from Ghana and here are a few shots.

Akwaaba [Welcome] to Ghana!

Fishing boats on the Atlantic, off the coast of the city of Elmina.

Wooded area where friendly monkeys live.
The village of Tafi Atome supports itself from tourists who pay to frolic with the simians.

A tourist like this.

An area of the Shai Hills Reserve.
Starting around the 1600s, the Se people lived in the hills, grasses and caves of this region.

Accra Beach, which sits in the center of the capital. The unattractive and cost-free beach attracts a lot of  Accra natives. The sandy land sits directly behind Independence Square (unofficially Black Star Square. The Ghanaian flag features a red horizontal stripe, a yellow horizontal stripe and a red horizontal stripe with a black star sitting in the middle of the yellow stripe. The Black Star is the "lodestar of African freedom."), the expansive parade grounds, where Ghanaians celebrate their independence each year and other important occasions in the nation's 55-year history.

This government building is covered with the traditional colors of mourning, red and black, in honor of the July 24 death of its president, John Evans Atta Mills.
The capital was draped in red and black and signs honoring him were installed throughout the city.

Ghana is a nation in contrasts. The number of educated and middle class is growing. The outskirts of each city is alive with new home construction. At the same time, poverty is everywhere. There are not enough jobs for everyone. Amazingly, there is little crime. Instead of taking from people who have, people make their own way. Everywhere you go. EVERYWHERE you go people are selling something. There seems to be a clearly-defined division of labor. The women elegantly balance foodstuffs on their heads -- water, fried plantains, milk drinks, meat pies, etc. In their arms, men carry everything else -- phone cards, flash lights, miniature flags, toilet paper, etc. I felt immense anxiety for these entrepreneurs who often hawked their wares in traffic. They calmly snaked around cars with their offerings. while I almost had a heart attack.

Sales on the sidewalk.

Here is an elaborate stand on the side of the road. Because the commerce at these stands and on the street, there are few brick-and-mortar stores in Ghana. This stand sells welcome mats, brooms, rakes, mops, backpacks, speakers, televisions, computers and other random objects.

Intellectual W.E.B. DuBois was invited to live in Ghana by Joseph Nkrumah, the first president Ghana. Tired of the struggle in the United States, DuBois moved in the former British officers house in Accra in 1961.
He was 93 years old.

The grave of W.E.B. DuBois. It is located at the W. E. B. Du Bois Memorial Centre for Pan African Culture. His former home is the base of the center. His gazebo was turned into the mausoleum, which also hold the remains of his wife, Shirley.

The view of the Atlantic and dining tables for our hotel in Elmina.

My Country Tis of Thee

It is weird for an American to experience the Olympics outside America.

Americans have spirit. Oh yes, we do. Not many nations have so much and are so ready to display it. I don't quite understand the logic but Germans are not supposed to be so proud to be Germans. It has something to do with World War II. Lately, this demand has given way a bit. During the month-long European Cup, there were some cars driving around with little German flags hanging on them. Nowhere near as many Sixers flags hung off cars in 2000 when the team had a good shot at winning the NBA Finals with Allen Iverson but more than there were during the 2010 World Cup games.

I live in northern Germany. I get television programming for Germany and Denmark. That means that the stars of the games are Danish and German (and for some reason, Usain Bolt. Germans love Usain Bolt. I guess everybody loves the World's Fastest Man.). I have seen little about Ryan Lochte, Sonya Ross-Richards, Serena Williams and Gabby Douglas.

U.S. Womens gymnastics team flash their gold medal.

That also means that I see the games live. I can read the Internet without fear of hit spoilers. I know who has done something amazing as soon as it happens. I like the immediacy of the London Olympics.

This immediacy also means that I don't get the smooth packaging. Because their are events happening simultaneously, I am watching table tennis for 12 minutes, then swimming for eight, and then fencing for 10. It is very disconcerting.

But, it also means that I saw the opening ceremony as they were happening without the inane commentary and, more importantly, without commercial breaks. I read that Matt Lauer, Bob Costas and Meredith Vieira were not the most impartial hosts. I preferred to decide on my own that this opening ceremony was too British (I mean that the themes were not accessible for people who were not familiar with British culture. I understand the farm turning to smoke stacks but will someone sitting in the middle of nowhere in Angola or Uruguay. Will everyone in Detroit no what NHS stands for?) and not spectacular enough.

The hardest thing is discussing the Olympics when you are from a nation that, as of this upload, has more gold medals than the total medals of the nation you are in. Germany has earned few medals this Olympics and no one here is happy. I am psyched about America's high medal count. I was bursting out of my skin when Gabby Douglas won the all-around gymnastics gold. Ain't nobody here to share that with.

Despite these obstacles, I am still lovin' the Olympics. I'm OK loving alone.