Vol. 1, No. 24 — My supply was good. It was quality American-made stuff. But it began to wane, and soon enough on a trip through Spain, I needed to find some more. Time to go buy some Tylenol.

After canvassing every aisle in a small supermarket, I finally had to buck up and ask someone where I could find the medicine section. Well, there wasn’t one. In Europe, all medicines, even over-the-counter products, are sold in pharmacies.

Off I went to the pharmacy with my trusty native speaker (a.k.a. my future wife) to find some pills. She asked what I wanted and parroted the request to the pharmacist. You could see the wheels spinning for a while before he asked “I think you want TEAL-EN-OHL, right?” Using the Spanish pronunciation rules, yes, that’s exactly what I was after. Mission accomplished.

My experiences with pharmacists in Spain and Germany have varied widely. For the most part, Spanish pharmacists have reminded me more of their American counterparts. If I’m after a specific medicine, they ask some clarifying questions, fill the order, and I’m on my way. As long as I’m not trying to buy prepper quantities of Sudafed, things go swimmingly.

The German pharmacists took a little getting used to. Let me try to convey their shtick with a couple of examples:

ME: Hello. I am going on a trip and need something for jet lag once I arrive. Do you have melatonin or maybe Tylenol PM?

PH: Yes, of course, but have you tried chamomile tea? We recommend chamomile tea.

ME: Good morning. I have had a persistent headache for over a day. Do you have any Ibuprofen?

PH: Yes, of course, but have you tried ginger tea? We recommend ginger tea. Don’t overdo it though, it is quite strong.

ME: Help. I woke up unable to hear and my femur has spontaneously shattered like a CD bent too far. I am the saddest face on the perceived pain scale. What is the strongest medicine you can give me?

PH: *hands over a decorative wicker basket filled with tea leaves* “Oh, and rest well. Rest is very important. Auf Wiedersehen.”

After a few of these interactions, I learned to always explain that I had already tried the natural remedy before seeking such seriously illicit substances like NyQuil or Benadryl. As frustrating as the back and forth could be sometimes, I must admit that the Germans’ approach to health is admirable and there is something to be learned. If drinking a big glass of water can cure your headache, that’s preferable to covering it up with a painkiller. The root problem could be dehydration, so let’s try to take care of that first.

I was once lectured by a pharmacist after requesting more than 20 tablets (the standard generic box size) of sleep aid for a long trip. She had picked up on my accent and accused me and all fellow Americans of treating medicine like candy and not thinking about the consequences. Considering on my last trip to the US I purchased a bucket of 500mg Tylenol for less than $20, she might have a point.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 23 — It seems every American fast-food franchise has found its way to Europe, from the ubiquitous McDonald’s to the unicorn Taco Bell. But while you will see a Domino’s Pizza once in a while, “the Hut” remains elusive. But I found one!

A few days later, I organized a group to go dive into baskets of breadsticks and stuffed crust pizza. We sat down and placed our order. Start the countdown, this is going to be great.

A dozen minutes later, some luster had been lost. They had forgotten the water and hadn’t brought our drinks. I flagged someone down to ask about the water pitcher and their forehead wrinkled up. “Oh, you want a large water to share? What kind?” Now it was my turn to be confused. “Ummm... the watery kind?” I mean, I didn’t expect them to cash in my BOOK IT! award certificates, but some ice water seemed like a low hurdle to clear in the name of Pizza Hut verisimilitude. (That’s a BOOK IT! word, kids. The program works.)

In Europe, restaurants generally do not equip your table with water of any kind unless you request it. And if you request it, they will bring you bottled water by default. You must ask, in hushed tones out the side of your mouth for “some tap water” and confirm with “yes, like, just straight from the wall into my glass like a peasant please.”

In Spain, if you go for the bottled option, you will be asked if the water should be cold or room temperature. This is so common that nearly every venue, be it a coffee shop, bar, concert, or corporate cantina, will offer the option.

In Germany, carbonated water is the default. Unexpectedly downing a few massive gulps of soda water on a hot day is a mistake not made twice. At least it warns you with a hiss when you crack open the bottle.

There is actually a historic reason that Germans prefer sparkling water. In times when the water supply may be contaminated, such as rebuilding post-war, a bottle of sparkling water was guaranteed to be safe and healthy. Tap water couldn’t be so readily trusted.

It is this same concern that led to the dueling faucet situation in Britain. While now it has become less common, there are still plenty of sinks in Britain that have two physically separate faucets for hot and cold water. Cold water was always from a safe municipal supply whereas the hot tap was connected to a potentially less hygienic cistern. If you want something that’s not scalding or freezing but merely comfortably warm, you’ll have to quickly move your hands back and forth between the two streams.

While water continues to have its own diverse norms within Europe, there is one thing that the Old World can agree on. Ice cubes are mysterious intruders from the modern world that should be kept at arm’s length. They’re bad for your stomach, they cause piercing dental agony, they slosh down onto your face at inopportune moments to cramp your style. Obviously, with such a rap sheet, ice is never included and might not even be available.

Only at a bar can you expect ice to be close at hand. But be careful in Spain, the words “hielo” and “helado” are pretty similar but mean very different things. I discovered this when proudly ordering a cocktail “with ice cream please.” The brow-furrowing never stops sneaking up on you when living abroad.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 22 — A few days after settling into my student apartment in Germany, it was time to take out the trash. I tied up the plastic bag, brought it to the building’s dumpster, and went off to class. When I arrived home later that evening, I saw the same bag lounging on the ground next to the dumpster with a handwritten note stuck on top. I took the note upstairs and after a short session with my German dictionary decoder ring, I realized what had happened. The sanitation workers heard glass inside and refused the bag.

Germany recycles glass, plastic, aluminum, paper, and organics. What remains after all of this has been sorted out is the only stuff actually considered garbage. It sounds intimidating, but they do make it as easy as possible. What a surprise, the Germans have found a way to efficiently organize such a system.

On street corners at regular intervals, there are different colored bins to put your recycling in. Some buildings have dedicated trash dumpsters, but the recycling containers are out in public.

Paper and cardboard go in the blue bin. There will probably be a sign on it instructing you to break down any boxes so they pack flat. This has a very “be kind, rewind” vibe, and I will admit to not doing this on occasion.

Glass goes into either the green or white bin depending on if it is clear or brown glass. Spain only has a single glass bin as modern sorting systems can deal with this now. Take off the lids and rinse out the containers or else bad karma will come your way.

The yellow bin is for containers made of either plastic or metal. Every pop bottle and soup can in Europe has a little emblem on it to indicate if it belongs in this bin. There is also a container type called a “Tetra Brik” in use all over Europe which goes in here. It feels like a mix between cardboard and plastic and is used for absolutely everything. It has become so synonymous with “container” that people commonly say “get a brik of whatever” from the store.

The last bin is the brown bin. The brown bins smell lovely. It’s a treat to pass by them basking in the hot summer sun, giving off a bouquet of the organic food waste percolating inside. OK, so they’re not usually that bad, but when you find a ripe one it makes an impact. They can be full of coffee grounds and expired bread, or chicken juice and fermented fruit. It’s quite the spectrum.

It all might sound overwhelmingly complex but after a few days of playing pick-the-bin, it becomes automatic. You can also choose to ignore all of it and toss the entire rainbow of waste into a dumpster. Just make sure your jar and bottle noise strategy is on point or it may find its way back to your front door like a haunted Hefty poltergeist.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 21 — I present to you yet another brow-scrunching word to stumble over. This little jumble of letters sounds roughly like “OH-SAH-KEY-DEBT-SUH” and is the name of the Basque public healthcare system. Like many things in Spanish Basque Country, the Basques have managed to set their own course. The public healthcare system in Basque Country is completely independent of Spain.

As with all worthwhile things in adult life, there is paperwork to be filed to start your coverage in the public system. It was, however, less than I had imagined. To become a card-carrying member of Osakidetza, I needed to provide: proof of residency in Basque Country, a copy of my Spanish ID, and proof of employment for the past three months. Proof of employment was only needed because I am not a citizen, merely a resident.

After validating and dropping those documents off at a local clinic, I was given a short letter that could be used as proof of coverage if I had any medical needs before receiving my card. I was also assigned a doctor at that clinic and given login information to the healthcare portal to set up appointments, check test results, etc. A few weeks later, my medical card arrived in the mail. It is the size of a credit card with a magnetic strip and my ID information embossed on the front.

My medical history and prescriptions are associated with the card, so everyone involved is kept on the same page. Any pharmacy can dispense the medication I have been prescribed. I receive periodic reminders about checkups and screenings associated with different ages. All-in-all it is quite familiar and boring.

I realize public healthcare is highly political in the US. You can pick and choose metrics to paint any picture you want comparing the vastly different systems. But in the end, how does it feel compared to private healthcare in the US? I would say it is at least as good if not better.

To me, there are two things which really make it feel better. The first is that hardly anything is paid out of pocket. Public healthcare is definitely not free. It is paid for with taxes. However, our tax brackets are comparable to back home, and once your taxes are paid, they’re paid. You are never worried that an unexpected medical cost will come along to derail your life.

The second thing is that coverage is not associated with your job. It’s still bad enough to be let go, but at least you’re not out in the cold health-wise. Changing jobs is also easier to navigate without the “benefits” question hanging overhead.

Basque Country does not have a 100% pure single- payer healthcare system, and we choose to additionally pay for private insurance. To put a number on it, it works out to about $80 per month per adult. This is frowned upon by many people here because they fear a slippery slope to more privatization and eroding quality in the public system. I understand the sentiment but many mechanisms are in place to avoid this.

The public system offers wider ranging coverage. Doctors earn more in the public system. The public system has newer equipment for certain specializations. However, having both public and private gives you some flexibility in facility location, doctor preference, elective scheduling, etc. It is a luxury we are fortunate to be able to afford, but it is not essential. Less than 20% of the population here has any form of private insurance.

You may wonder how private insurance can be so cheap here. It’s not that the insurance is cheap, it’s that there are regulations in place so the medical industry is forced to charge realistic prices. You may have seen that certain operations in the US cost less if you pay cash than if you have insurance? That only makes sense if the prices being charged are completely artificial. An MRI does not cost $1000-2000; that’s just what they can charge your insurance company. We had a completely elective MRI done via private insurance here and it was $22 out of pocket.

Our most expensive public system episode was the birth of our son in 2019. He needed to spend a week in the NICU, was released, then returned to the emergency room a day later with an infection. He stayed another three days in the NICU. Our total cost was about $200 worth of sandwiches, snacks, and parking meters. To me, that’s healthcare. It’s peace of mind.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 20 — We’re a few weeks away from the start of Spain’s school year, but we are already gathering our son’s supplies for the first day of his first year of school. He will be 2.5 years old when he walks through the doors in September. School starts later in the year but much earlier in life in Spain.

While I don’t believe he will need a book on orbital mechanics to survive the semester, it was a bit of a shock that public school starts so early. When you look at their weekly agenda though, it’s much more familiar. We would call this daycare or preschool. There are public options for even younger-aged children, but with 2020 being what it was, we were all at home anyway.

Maternity leave in Spain lasts for 16 weeks. Paternity leave is also 16 weeks. If you’re a single parent, you get both! After this period has lapsed though, many families look for childcare options. Anecdotally, private childcare in our area is about $200 to $300 per month depending on the hours you need between 7 a.m. and 4 p.m. While 4 p.m. may sound early as a closing time, Spain also has a law that allows one parent to elect to work a 50–80% day (for 50–80% pay) during the first 12 years of the child’s life so they can get home sooner. The government supplements this pay cut for a while to help cover costs associated with childcare but it is not a directly proportional adjustment.

So, what awaits our little dude once he has passed this preschool age? When he hits six years old, he will enter primary school. It consists of grades 1–6 for kids aged 6–12. Already, during both preschool and primary school, English is taught as a foreign language. This being Basque Country, his classes will not be taught in Spanish but Euskara (Basque). As strange as it may sound, he will be learning Spanish as a subject, like math or history. He will round out his Spanish skills during daily life around town and interacting with family members, etc.

After primary school, there is secondary school which consists of grades 7–10 for kids aged 12–16. This is like middle school plus freshman and sophomore years lumped together, if you line it up with the US system. It is also where mandatory education ends in Spain. But, as in the US, the vast majority continue on to finish high school.

In Spain, the equivalent to the junior and senior years of high school are “the baccalaureate” or “post-16 education”. These final two years are required if you plan to go on to vocational school or college.

I haven’t even attempted to dive into the private school landscape here. It is both impressive and intimidating. Would you like your child to be in a school surrounded by the forest and have access to an Olympic-sized pool and eat homemade meals made from local produce every day? Pay and it’s possible. Would you like your child to be in a school taught completely in American English? Or French? Or German? Or British English? Pay and it’s possible.

We are lucky enough to live in an area with a good school within walking distance. He will be in a class of about 20 kids, and there’s only one class per grade. It is a very small school. No pool. No personal chefs. But Nora and I both grew up in small schools with the same group of classmates for the entire K-12 run, and I think that is why we both feel this is a “good” school. They’ll all get to know Nikola and maybe even eventually, hopefully, be able to pronounce his last name.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 19 — Europeans use the euro to pay for things in Europe. There you have it, folks. My work here is done. If I were writing this at any time before 1999, you would be in for a two- or three-parter to cover all of the currencies in use in Europe. This complexity is the primary reason a common currency was adopted; It greatly simplified commerce and travel.

Spain used the Peseta and Germany used the German Mark as their currencies before the introduction of the euro. One euro was equivalent to 166.39 Pesetas or 1.96 Marks when they switched over. The Germans had an easier time converting prices back and forth in their heads when suddenly shopping with euros. The Spanish, not so lucky.

The euro is not in use in all of Europe. Some countries are not members of the European Union. Other countries want to have control over their issuance policies. Regardless of the reason, visiting one of these countries is always an adventure in the same mental gymnastics mentioned above.

On a visit to Norway, which uses the Krone (crown), Nora and I sat down at a pizza place to refuel for more sightseeing. About halfway through the ordering process, we realized that the pizza was going to cost us €33.50 (the equivalent of $35) and each beverage another €8 (~$9). As a couple of students on a very tight budget, this was a comically impossible sum. We had a chuckle, abandoned ship, and apologized our way out the door.

These outliers aside, the euro is used everywhere over here. The coins have denominations of 1¢, 2¢, 5¢, 10¢, 20¢, 50¢, €1, and €2. Some countries have discontinued minting 1¢ and 2¢ coins as they cost more to manufacture than their face value. The bills have denominations of €5, €10, €20, €50, €100, €200.

There was also a €500 bill but it was discontinued in 2019 due to concerns about money laundering and criminal activity. In Spain, this bill was nicknamed “the Bin Laden.” Was this because of its potentially illicit uses? No, it’s because everyone knew they existed but no one could find one.

When I first moved to Europe, I had to buy a different wallet, as euro bills have different sizes depending on their denomination. The first time I put a €50 bill in my wallet, it peeked out the top. This led to a realization a few days down the road: how do blind and visually impaired people distinguish between denominations of paper money in the US?

Coins are a different story for accessibility. They are quite easy to distinguish based on touch in both Europe and the US. However, the States has another quirk here. There aren’t any numerals printed on any of our coins! At best, there is an English word for the number. The penny has “one cent” and the nickel has “five cents” written on their faces. But what does “one dime” mean to the average non-English speaker?

We’ve all seen someone at a store holding out a handful of random coins and the clerk picking out what is needed. A German friend visiting the US for the first time told me he had to do the same thing. He had no idea what any of the coin values were. It’s easy to forget how much shared secret knowledge we all carry around in our daily routines.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 18 — In Europe, nearly everyone under 40 speaks English with varying degrees of fluency. Perhaps an oversimplification would be to say the average fluency increases the further north you are. There are exceptions to this rule, of course, but in general, it holds.

In countries like the Netherlands, Finland, Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, you can have a fluent conversation in English with nearly anyone you meet, regardless of age. While there are many reasons for this, one of them always strikes me as particularly interesting. In some countries, English-language television programs are broadcast with the original audio but subtitled in the native language. I’m not sure if this is a cultural choice or merely a budgetary decision. Re-recording and dubbing dialog into another language is expensive. Regardless of the reason, it results in a meaningful percentage of the population listening to native English speakers for potentially hours every day.

If you have people from several different countries at a meeting or convention or simply grabbing a coffee, the conversation will default to English. As nearly everyone learns it as a second language growing up, it’s now the common denominator in Europe.

Keep in mind though that it is mostly British English that is being taught. So no one is “swinging down to the coffee shop to grab a donut” but rather “popping over to the cafe for a spot of breakfast.” And if someone asks you where the nearest “hole in the wall” is, they’re not looking for a dive bar. They’re looking for an ATM.

Spelling is also a minefield when comparing American vs British English. It’s almost as bad as hitting your tyre on the kerb while manoeuvring your car at the theatre near the centre of town and travelling back home to analyse your defence and dialogue for the insurance agent.

While in Germany, I moonlighted a bit correcting English papers for other students. Every time I loaded a document up, my Word window filled with an army of red-squiggled words.

As a native English speaker, you will also often be asked questions about the language itself. I must warn you, even though you want to be helpful, it’s perhaps preferable to flee from any and all such requests. If you attempt to give advice, you may quickly lose confidence in your language abilities. People who have studied English as a foreign language have learned the rules behind that language. A native speaker’s knowledge of the rules of their own language usually pales in comparison. You will know something is wrong or right but cannot explain why.

My favorite example of this is adjective word order in English. These are the rules that describe why “the big red car” sounds fine and “the red big car” sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Turns out there is a set order to how adjectives must be placed in English sentences. That order is opinion, size, age, shape, color, origin, material, purpose. You know this by instinct but would never be able to explain it.

Why are all of these countries teaching their students English from a very early age? English is the language of business all over the world. If you would like to participate in that world, you need to speak English. This is an advantage that many native speakers, unfortunately, do not fully appreciate. If you are a native English speaker, you have already cleared a huge hurdle to be able to study or work abroad. If you’re interested in doing either of those, don’t count yourself out. You’re much more prepared than you think.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 17 — If you’ve interacted with any Europeans, you may have found them a bit on the rude side. When this topic comes up among friends here, the Europeans usually feel Americans come across as fake. So, who is right and who is wrong? I’ll hedge and say everyone and no one. If you’re an American in Europe, you might come across as fake but what you’re doing is being polite. If you’re a European in the US, you might come across as rude but what you’re doing is being direct.

These two expectations in society, politeness and directness, are at odds with each other. Growing up in South Dakota, it was most certainly politeness that won out. Suddenly living in a place where directness takes a front seat is disorienting.

When I first moved to Germany, I was living with an exchange student who I had met stateside. While out with his friends, all Germans, someone asked if we should stop by a gas station and grab snacks. I didn’t understand a thing. He translated for me and said “Do you want to get something over there?” My response was something like “If we’re going to stop, something to drink wouldn’t kill me.” When they passed by without stopping, I was surprised. I had sent such a clear signal that I wanted to stop, right?

These types of exchanges went on without comment for a few days before he finally said “Hey, if it’s a yes, it’s a yes. If it’s no, it’s no. No problem. I asked what you want, so just tell me.” This is basically what it boils down to in Europe. Tell me what you think; don’t make me decipher it.

A few months down the road at a backyard barbecue, the host asked me if I’d like him to make another bratwurst. I simply answered “yes, please” and that was that. German logic and order. Questions and answers. It kind of does make sense.

People in Basque Country are also quite direct. Within your own family, it’s fair game to comment negatively on the meal being served. The first time I witnessed this, my father-in-law had asked us what we thought of a particular dish. Someone piped up immediately and said, “It’s too salty.”

While I wasn’t concerned that this might start an incident or anything, I was taken aback. However, I was more surprised by my father-in-law’s reaction, which was one of curiosity. He talked about the last time he had prepared the meal and if he’d done anything differently. Someone else chimed in that it seemed almost the same to them. The idea was floated that maybe it was because of the different drinks we were having with the meal.

He’d wanted to know how the food tasted. Some honest feedback was given. He considered it useful and thought about what it meant. The same thing couldn’t happen if he took the feedback too personally or if everyone just said “Oh, this is delicious!”

After being here for so many years, I’ve certainly been influenced by this approach. Whereas before I might have declined a concert invite by inventing an excuse, now I’m more likely to simply say “That band isn’t really my thing.”

One area where politeness and directness have impacted me professionally is meetings. In the Midwest, showing up to a meeting a bit early is on time. That’s polite. In Europe, showing up early is rude.

My favorite anecdote about politeness and directness and meetings in Germany has to be from a German friend. He was working at a German company that had some US investors visiting. His boss had learned that some “small talk” was customary at the beginning of meetings in the US. Wanting to be polite, he made sure to not jump right into business. As the printed meeting agenda was handed to everyone shuffling in, sure enough, right at the top, was the first item: “9:00 to 9:05 – small talk.”

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 16 — I’m writing this on a tray table, tethered to my phone for internet access, in the small town of Noja, Spain about an hour away from our home. We are here for a week of vacation outside the usual stomping grounds, but it is also quite familiar. My wife’s family has vacationed here for the better part of 40 years. This sleepy town’s population jumps from less than 1,000 in the winter to more than 50,000 throughout August. Many of them have been returning for years, with the parents, kids, and now grandkids reuniting with their neighbors from years past. It feels pretty special.

While taking a summer vacation is not unique to Europe, the sheer number of people who take them and the concentration around the month of August has some interesting side effects. This home-away-from-home is a positive side effect. The negative one would be, to put it bluntly: don’t plan on getting anything major accomplished in August. Everyone is on vacation.

When school is out and the warm weather hits, it is common to see “summer hours” posted on all types of public services and businesses. Some are only open in the morning (9 a.m. to 2 p.m.). Some are only open Monday to Friday. Many small businesses close for a period of vacation, giving everyone at that store a break: “We’ll be back on the 15th, see you then!”

This is so common in Spain that some jobs pack in a couple of extra hours per week during non-summer months. Then, in July and August, everyone is able to take off in the early afternoon some days. Spain also has a peculiarity in salaried positions. Instead of dividing the year into 12 monthly payments, it is divided into 14. One of these extra payments comes at the end of June to cover summer vacation expenses and the other right before Christmas. Budgeting built in.

I said that Europeans can take a lot of time off, but what does that mean? It means at least a month. All jobs allow for at least four weeks of paid leave by law. This isn’t only for salaried specialists or project leaders or middle management. It’s for all jobs. Not everyone can foot a fancy trip, but everyone can take time off and relax. Paid leave can be taken throughout the year, usually not all at once though. Anecdotally around me, I see a week for Easter, a week and change for summer, and a week at Christmas. Pepper in a few days here and there and you’ve hit the four-week mark.

So, back to August specifically. When I was tasked with laying out a months-long software development project in Germany, my first draft was met with instantaneous derision. My boss waggled his finger across the entire August block and frowned. “Oh, just slide all this back. That’s never going to happen.”

I heard the same thing again and again while planning some small renovation projects for our apartment. There is painting, some carpentry, and a couple of windows involved. Three different companies and three identical conversations.

August is on everyone’s calendar, but it’s just not for work. There’s something nice about that. My Midwestern brain says not to take a vacation just because everyone else is and making a habit of “summering” somewhere sounds like something for Mr. and Mrs. Howell. But practically speaking, with everyone switched off, it just makes more sense to take a breath and join them. No use getting frustrated. Productivity resumes in September.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

They were made with much love. Pick up a copy, you won’t be disappointed.

If you’ve been enjoying these entries, please consider dropping by the product page and leaving a star rating based on what you’ve read here. Your investment of a minute or two would totally make my day! Many thanks.

Vol. 1, No. 15 — Men with purses. There, I said it. Let’s not bury the lede here. Any chapter covering fashion in Europe has to address the most common stereotype that Americans have about European fashion. So is “the murse” a common sight on European streets? Indeed, it is. However, it’s probably not what you think.

European guys definitely own and carry more bags than their American counterparts. For the most part, the selection on display is similar to the US: backpacks, messenger bags, etc. But there is a distinctly European option as well. It’s about the size of a fanny pack but worn Rambo style like a bandolier. So the “murse” moniker isn’t really fair. Hardly any guys are walking around with a handheld bag.

These fanny-packs-as-sashes are even more ubiquitous in Basque Country, where both men and women wear them. I personally don’t own one but completely understand the practicality. Because most outings are done sans car, you need to carry a few more items when leaving home. That little bit of extra storage means you don’t have to walk around with stuffed pockets.

Where I live, it’s also wise to always leave your house armed both with sunglasses and an umbrella. As South Dakota is to temperature swings, this area is to storms. Because we’re tucked between some mountains and the ocean, huge pressure differences can build up and result in sudden, quite violent wind and rain. The umbrella is a must-have if there’s even the rumor of an inkling of precipitation, and even though they’ve become impressively small, they’re still not pocket friendly. More reason to join the small-bag crowd.

Before moving to Europe I had never owned an umbrella. I just did a quick tally. We currently have 11 umbrellas in various states of health.

While snow is a rarity here, in Germany it was more common. Whenever walking through some flurries there, I noticed a lot of umbrellas deployed on the street. What for? Well… it seems many Europeans treat snow like rain. It makes perfect sense, water is water. But it feels a bit like overkill. They’re friendly little fluffs of snow. Enjoy them.

It may have something to do with stocking caps not really being a thing when snow isn’t a way of life. Whereas I would wear a stocking cap through most of the cold months out of habit, the Germans preferred a scarf and umbrella.

Scarves are everywhere in Europe. I’m still easily identified as a foreigner for not wearing one during distinctly scarf-weather days. Likewise, if you see someone wearing flip-flops on a cloudy day, they’re probably American or Australian. Germans are easily identified around Europe by looking prepared for a treacherous hike in the middle of the city. If someone is sporting socks in sandals, they’re probably American or German. If you’re at the beach and a guy is wearing a Speedo, maybe Italian, maybe Eastern European, definitely confident. If you see a family strolling around in T-shirts during cold weather, definitely Nordic.

I knew shortly after arriving in Europe that some shocks were in store for me. One came during a break at the research lab. My boss, Vigo, walked in and sat down. Another guy in my project, Sebastian, took a sip of his coffee and said, “Hey, Vigo! Your collar is all messed up.” It was true. Vigo’s polo shirt had one half of the collar standing straight up alongside his face like Dracula’s cloak. Vigo took a glance and laughed. “Oh, thanks. At least you’re good enough to tell me.” He popped the other half of the collar up, double-checked both sides were precisely even and smooth, and got back to his pastry.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 14 — “The most important meal of the day” is the mantra I learned growing up in South Dakota. A quite discordant message in the ’80s and ’90s when it was plastered onto the side of every colorful box of sugar clumps with a mascot. The standard disclaimer being “as part of a balanced breakfast” was equally comical in that all those wonderful breakfasts depicted in the ads would have been healthier if the cereal were simply thrown out the window.

But that’s not the breakfast I’m talking about here. I’m talking about Shorty’s breakfast1. A breakfast where you order the whole page: two eggs, ham, hash browns with cheese, and toast. This was definitely the most important meal of the day for me on select Saturdays growing up.

I quickly learned in Europe that such a breakfast is not easy to find, at least not before noon. The closest analog I’ve found here is in England. But like most things British, it’s similar but just different enough to feel like there may be a hidden camera waiting to capture your reaction.

At a hotel in London, I skimmed the breakfast menu and thought I had found a taste of home. When it arrived, I found my eggs sunny side up and surrounded by baked bean juice. Two fried tomato slices had soaked the potatoes. I picked up a piece of toast and found chunks of blood sausage hiding beneath. So close.

German breakfast is straightforward and pretty enjoyable. You will see a basket of fresh hard rolls and a bunch of sweet and salty toppings. Pick up a crusty bread bun, saw it open, and put on some sliced meat or cheese, or spread some jelly or Nutella. Mixing toppings is allowed but does take some explanation to your hosts as this may be considered explosively experimental.

While living there, I bought a breakfast sandwich at a little stand three or four days a week on my way to work. Each time they asked “meat or cheese” and I responded “meat and cheese.” Each time they’d ask if I wanted two sandwiches. No, I want one sandwich with two toppings. The same set of workers, same conversation, same grimace of agreement to my radical terms, for years.

The Germans have one breakfast worth calling out specifically: Feuerwehr Frühstück (firefighter’s breakfast). While it was not common everywhere in Germany, in Lower Saxony it was a special occasion. Firefighter’s breakfast used the same hard rolls but the topping was (drumroll please) raw hamburger meat, slices of onion, and spicy mustard. This was a breakfast my research lab would have on days of someone’s final report. If you showed up late, it wasn’t tough to deduce that someone had a final report that day. Just… something in the air.

The Spanish, I’m afraid to say, are living their best lives. Most of the world has an unwritten rule that sugar-fueled breakfasts are not intended for fully grown adults. Not so in Spain. You can walk past any café and see a 50-year-old man in a suit reading a financial newspaper and eating a chocolate-filled croissant with a knife and fork, or dipping a sugar-topped muffin into a saucer of milk.

This may also be the reason that they have a second breakfast before lunch. My wife would frown but ultimately agree: there is a bit of Hobbit culture around here.

On our first visit to Platte, she and I were ordering from Shorty’s infamous breakfast menu. A big fan of pancakes after a visit to an IHOP in Los Angeles, she was debating between one or three pancakes. When my dad gestured to a neighboring table and explained that you need a shovel to flip the pancakes, she decided one might be enough. This was not a fluffy West Coast affair. Shorty’s is our fireman’s breakfast. Not everyone can handle it.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 13 — After getting my feet underneath me in Germany, I had the opportunity to take part in that grand tradition of adulthood: looking for housing.

Furnished or unfurnished? Warm or cold? Individually or in a group? Some of these choices in the listings made sense to me and others did not. Let’s try that first one: furnished or unfurnished.

My living situation at the time was a rented room in a traditional half-timber house from the early 1800s in downtown Wolfenbüttel, Germany. I was at the top of four flights of narrow, steep, creaky stairs and shared a bathroom with another student whose room was perched next to mine. Without a coaster to my name, I knew my next place had to be furnished.

During my first visit to a property in my budget, I noticed one small detail that differed from my understanding of “furnished.” While the living room and bedroom were unsurprising, the kitchen did deliver a bit of a shock. It was empty. Plumbing exposed and wires dangling, this was a bring-your-own-kitchen listing. While I could have probably survived with a microwave and paper plates, it was time to keep looking.

Another viewing was set up, this time to an unfurnished apartment. My expectations were already set, so I went in with open eyes. As I cracked the door, I saw that more surprises were in store. It was a literal concrete box. No flooring. No paint. Power outlets and wall switches were installed, but only some lonely copper was to be found hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. Bring your own sockets and bulbs.

While I have since learned that this level of “unfurnished” is not exactly common, it is also not unheard of. Strangely enough, in this particular listing, a complete kitchen was already installed. Words began to have no meaning. I put the brakes on this search and ended up moving months later to a mini-apartment in the same old house. It was perfect.

The terms “warm rent” and “cold rent” were also new to me. They are roughly equivalent to having utilities included or excluded. For the money I’m spending, is this place going to be warm or cold? It makes sense.

Rental terms are not entirely different either. Approximately three months of rent are expected upfront to sign an agreement. This covers the actual first month of rent, a refundable deposit in case of damage, and then your final month of rent.

After moving to Spain, there were some differences to note. One big change is that most people will buy apartments in Spain instead of renting them, so choices are limited. In Germany, it is common to share a multi-room apartment amongst several people. Not so much in Spain. These living situations are so common in Germany that people remain in shared apartments many years into “adulthood” (whatever that means).

Spain has the distinction of kids living with their parents longer than the average American or even German family. They also move far less often. When public universities are within reach of your parents’ house and tradition expects you to buy instead of rent, it’s easy to see why this is the case.

As with all things in Europe, it is unfair to generalize across all countries. They are all very different places much in the same way that each state in the US is unique. One thing is true everywhere at the moment, though: the housing boom is quite real. I’m glad my apartment search is in the rearview mirror for now.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 12 — I can’t remember how long I lived in Germany before piloting a car on the infamous Autobahn. But I do remember the one visual I had my eye out for: the legendary no-speed-limit sign. Once I saw it, the expectations were clear. It had to push this sled to its absolute limit. I floored it. My rental car’s 3-cylinder, 61-cubic-inch diesel engine gasped as if I had just told an off-color joke.

The standard interstate/Autobahn speed is 120 km/h (~75 mph) in Europe. When you hit one of those unlimited sections and aren’t in an appropriately equipped car, move over. You will soon have very proud Audi, Porsche, and Mercedes Benz owners overtaking you at well north of 100 mph. In Europe, it is always illegal to pass on the right, so if you’re dawdling in the left lane, you will see ever more urgent headlight flashes from approaching cars sending you the message to get out of the way.

One oddity in Europe that you don’t first notice is that traffic lights are located on the same side of the intersection as your car when you stop. In the US they are across the intersection. Because most intersections in the US are grids, it is easy to pick out your light. Urban European intersections are much more… organic, let’s say. Because the light is on your side and directly above your car, it’s now clear which one to pay attention to. However, it is also tough to see. There will usually be a small version of the light lower on the pole so you can see it without craning your neck.

In some European countries, the traffic light pattern is ever so slightly different but in a delightful way. When the light is about to turn from red to green, it illuminates the yellow indicator in addition to red for a second. This way if you’re approaching an intersection at speed, you will see it is about to cycle back to green and can avoid braking unnecessarily.

Roundabouts are probably the biggest hurdle to American drivers over here. I promise you though, it only takes a couple dozen hundred practice runs to feel the flow. Oh, and each country treats them a little differently. Some yield on entrance, some on exit, some on both, some on none. I mean, the laws are identical as far as I can tell, but driving culture is all over the place. Jokes aside, they aren’t really that tricky and keep traffic flowing more efficiently than any other junction.

Do you know the one thing that Europeans are jealous of when I explain it to them? Right on red. It doesn’t exist over here save for at the rarest of rare, specially marked intersections. Right on red is fantastic. Don’t take it for granted.

The other thing they are dumbfounded by is how cheap driver’s licenses are in the US. In Europe, the license process borders on racketeering. Long story short, it usually costs €1400- €1900 (~$1500-$2000) to get a license over here. When the locals found out that I had converted my $8 South Dakota license into a European one for a €‎35 (~$37) fee, I saw some involuntary eye twitches.

England is famous for driving on the “wrong” side of the road. Unfortunately, I don’t trust myself to drive there because of a traumatic experience I had while visiting South Africa in 2008, another left-hand traffic country. (Fun fact: they call traffic lights “robots” in South Africa.) I had very little non-US driving experience under my belt at this point and suddenly found myself tossed into a two-lane roundabout connecting a half-dozen streets. With everything in reverse, all of your instincts are wrong. I pulled over, froze wide-eyed, and admitted defeat. We fire-drilled around the car and I swapped spots with my chuckling navigator. Limits were met that day.

As with most differences between the US and Europe, driving here is not decidedly better or worse, just different. It takes a while to get an intuitive feel for the roads and traffic culture, but it’s not different enough that you should shy away from taking a nice European road trip yourself.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 11 — During the past week, I have probably seen more headlines and stories about golf than in the rest of my time here combined. While it is certainly a popular sport, it doesn’t even come close to the prominence of soccer, and finding live broadcasts of events is nearly impossible without a dedicated subscription.

So, why is golf suddenly on everyone’s minds? Usually, an event and its winner will grab a headline or two, but this year is different. A local hero has won the U.S. Open. Jon Rahm is from Barrika, a town of about 1500 people located ten minutes from where I live. There is a weather-worn vinyl banner on one of the local sailing schools with a slightly more youthful-looking Rahm, emblazoned with the words “ZORTE ON, JON!” Basque for “Good Luck, Jon!”

Having Jon Rahm win the U.S. Open is a big deal here. It elevates the sport of golf in the locals’ minds the same way that Pau Gasol landing in the NBA suddenly shone a spotlight on basketball in Spain. Some comparable figures for South Dakota from my vintage might be Mike Miller or Brock Lesnar. One person’s success can quickly translate into a surge in that sport’s popularity.

Golf is different in Europe. It is seen as more of an elitist activity than some casual recreation. For starters, you have to obtain a license to play golf in Spain. Seriously.

The license application process involves recording several rounds with a witness to establish your handicap. There is also a test on the rules and protocols involved in the game itself so that you can be expected to “successfully execute” a round of golf.

If you’re visiting from another country, not a problem. Simply bring a certificate from your home club stating your official handicap and you’re good to go. You have one lying around, right? Watch out though, if it’s above 28 for men or 36 for ladies, you may be asked to bring a more competent chaperone from the club on your round.

While this all sounds super joyous, there is a kernel of a good idea here. I have no objection to all the golfers on a course knowing how to play the game and observing some semblance of pace-of-play. We’ve all played behind one of “those groups” and been tempted, even if for only a weak moment, to launch a friendly warning shot.

However, once you actually get on a course in Spain, it all feels quite familiar. Friends shooting a round after work, weekday leagues, sports on TV in the club bar, drink holders in the carts, and every make of car in the parking lot. It is not exceptionally expensive, but it still feels out of reach.

This is the uphill battle for golf in Europe. It is not seen as a common hobby and some traditional red tape isn’t helping. Think of the vibe that playing tennis or squash gives off in the US. That’s the aura around golf over here. Anything that brings golf into the mind of everyday people will help. Jon Rahm has done that, even if only for a season.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 10 — This chapter was my tenth entry in the newspaper column series. It’s hard for me to believe, but I managed to make it this far without addressing the elephant in the room for any American in Europe: the metric system.

Distances, temperatures, weights, speeds, volumes, and even some expressions of speech are all suddenly placed beyond an intuitive grasp when the world around you uses a different system of measurement. Most of it is straightforward to adapt to once you memorize a couple of conversions but getting used to another system of measurement is similar to learning a new language.

For example, when you first start learning a new language, your brain has to translate everything back to your native language, then you think about it, then you think of something to say, then you translate it in your head to the new language, and then you – finally - say something. So, when you ask if the weather will be nice and someone responds with “there’s a high of 22”, you don’t have much to go on intuitively. You must first convert that to Fahrenheit and then judge for yourself if it represents a “nice” day.

Most of the conversions are easy. A kilogram is about two pounds. A centimeter is about a half-inch. Five kilometers make about three miles. The conversions become interesting when multiple steps are involved.

Celsius to Fahrenheit is one of these. [F = ((C x 9 / 5) + 32)]. You quickly learn a few waypoints and just know that 0˚C is freezing, 10˚C is 50s, 22˚C is 70s and anything over 38˚C is 100+. Intuitive, this is not.

I’ll go ahead and bare my politics here. Metric is easier to use and makes more sense than the US system except for when it comes to weather. The Celsius scale is great for science because 0˚C is freezing and 100˚C is boiling, but it’s not ideal for human perception of ambient temperatures. Fahrenheit is perfect: 0˚F is really cold and 100˚F is really hot.

Aside from the units being used, you will run into differences in expressions of speech, which sometimes translate and sometimes do not. A trivial example would be: “I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole!” Converting it directly to “I wouldn’t touch that with a three-point-zero-five-meter pole” simply doesn’t have the same punch. I still say “a few feet” and “miles away” all the time. Old habits die hard.

What truly becomes a challenge is when you have a difference in culture and the units in play. The efficiency of a car isn’t measured in miles per gallon, nor liters per kilometer. No, it’s denoted as L/100km. How many liters does this car require to travel 100 kilometers? Again, it’s best to learn some key points, use your phone for the rest, and move on with your life.

Another cultural difference is in the way travel distances are discussed. Americans tend to say something is “about an hour away” whereas Europeans will typically use a physical distance. I think the American approach is clearly the winner. A few miles between towns is different than a few miles through the city. The Europeans I’ve had this discussion with also agree but, again, old habits die hard.

Miles, yards, feet, hands, inches, pounds, ounces, gallons, quarts, pints, cups, and both types of spoons. Which one do you see everywhere on European billboards? That would be the ubiquitous Quarter Pounder. So much catchier than the “113.3981 Gram-er.”

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 9 — With so many countries and so many languages in such a small area, communication in Europe can sometimes be challenging. It’s also something that, as Americans, we’re less likely to have experience dealing with. We can travel to any given region of the US and reasonably expect that we will understand and be understood by the locals.

Before I moved to Europe, a Swiss friend visited me in California one summer and after a couple of days started laughing at all of the street signs. He said, “They’re all just words! This would never work in Europe.” It’s true. Signs in Europe have been designed to use visual representations instead of words. This works well for the most part, but some still take a second glance to decipher. The set of icons used for laundry instructions stands out in particular. I gave up on them long ago.

There are strange overlaps in language “understandability”, for lack of a better word. For example, Italian tourists in Spain can usually survive by speaking slowly and clearly. There are enough common words that both sides will be able to wade through successfully. A German visiting the Netherlands will have relatively little trouble reading the newspaper headlines but colloquial Dutch spoken on the street is a much tougher task.

English may be a common denominator, but never underestimate the power of an accent’s ability to destroy a conversation. English is very sensitive to pronunciation but, at the same time, does not have regular pronunciation or spelling rules. A Spelling Bee in Germany or Spain would be a snooze fest. All of the words are spelled as they sound. It’s all 100% predictable. Did you know that? It kind of blew my mind.

Because English is hard to know how to pronounce, you will run into the rather comical situation of not being able to order English-language dishes at restaurants in non-English-speaking countries unless you can put that country’s spin on the words enough to be understood. I once failed spectacularly to order a “Crispy Chicken” sandwich at a Burger King in Germany. But when I clarified that I wanted a “Crishpy Shickun”, they knew immediately what I meant. Silly me.

Learning how to communicate is actually a skill separate from learning any particular language. The classic example of repeating what you just said BUT LOUDER comes to mind. While this does work to a degree, you’re better off speaking slower, replacing some potentially tricky words, and getting rid of any contractions.

“Didya wanna grab a spot over there?” is quite the challenge for a non-native speaker compared to “Did you want to sit there?” or even just pointing at a table and shrugging. Gestures and facial expressions with a couple of nouns have gotten me through so many awkward encounters.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 8 — Gasoline, diesel, natural gas, and electricity: nearly all forms of energy are more expensive in Europe than in the Midwest. Chalk some of that up to population density, but it is definitely a shock when starting to live here.

I’ve just returned from filling up our car and paid €‎6.98 (the equivalent of $7.25) per gallon. This is higher than a few months ago because, as the world comes out of lockdown, the demand for fuel has naturally increased. That said, even when there is a glut of oil, you will be spending $5.50 or $6.00 per gallon to fill your tank. Having a car in Europe is expensive.

Diesel is about $1.00 per gallon cheaper than gasoline here. For many years, the majority of new cars being purchased were diesel. This changed around the time of the “Dieselgate” emissions testing scandal in the Volkswagen auto group. Suddenly, these “clean” diesel cars weren’t actually testing well enough to meet certain emissions standards. In the metropolitan centers of most large cities in Europe, only low-polluting vehicles may enter. This has greatly improved the air quality but has not gone without controversy. Long story short, suddenly diesel vehicles have become less attractive.

Furnaces and air-driven heating are just not a thing over here because of the way homes and apartments are constructed. Everything is stone, brick, and concrete. I personally love the solid, distinctly “European” feel everything has because of this but would give anything to be able to quickly route a cable or hang a shelf without kickstarting a jackhammer. Residential heating systems use natural gas boilers and radiators or electric heat.

When you look at apartment listings, they will always specify the type and age of the heating system being used. The difference in value for properties heated by an older electrical system vs a modern natural gas system is quite significant.

Propane isn’t used much residentially, as far as I can tell. When I lived in Germany, companies started popping up that would convert your car to run on propane because it had become so inexpensive. If you ran the numbers, the conversion would pay for itself in about 18 months if your commute couldn’t be accomplished with public transport. While tempting, it meant you needed to drive around with a highly explosive cylinder of compressed gas in your trunk. Now, that might evoke images of Fast and Furious Nitrous Boost shenanigans, but the propane cars were notoriously gutless.

Natural gas runs about $2.40/Therm ($0.08/kWh) in Spain, reasonably in line with the rest of Europe. The price of electricity, however, is one of the highest in the world at $0.30/ kWh. Solar and wind energy are quite big in general in Europe but, again, Spain is a bit different. If I purchase a solar panel, charge controller, and battery bank to use on my property, I am supposed to pay a tax on every kWh it captures. It’s almost as if the government has close ties to the energy sector or something. Strange…

After living here for a while, the prices become normal, and other things about Europe offset these costs. We probably only fill the car a dozen times per year due to public transport. We also don’t have a clothes dryer to run up the electrical bill because, well, they’re simply not that common here.

One thing still snaps my head around here after all these years, though: the sound of a V8 engine. Whoever is driving that thing has some serious spare change.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

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Vol. 1, No. 7 — Are there any Germans in the room? Please kindly ask them to leave for the next few minutes. We are about to explore some hard truths about their society that they may not be prepared to face. Are they gone? OK, here goes.

Germans do not know how to stand in lines. I have asked a few German friends about this over the years and their eyes are only half-open to the magnitude of the problem. Nowhere is safe. All lines are fair game to devolve into a chaotic and angry mess.

There is nothing in German culture or society that tips their hand to this flaw. The towns and streets are neat and tidy. People are courteous. There is an order to and reason for everything. It is very nice to live in Germany and interact with Germans. That is until you need to form or wait in a line. Then all bets are off.

A daily example from my time there is the bus stop. The bus stop is surrounded by a loose crowd at all times depending on the route. There are several destinations served by the stop so you need to wait until the correct bus arrives to form a line. Everyone knows exactly where the bus door will open because it’s marked clearly on the sidewalk. The drivers pull up to that spot and open the door. When your bus arrives, the chaos begins.

Everyone wanting to board this bus immediately gets as close to the “door open” marker as possible. There is some naive shortest-distance-between-two-points logic going on and everyone smushes into a ball right at the door. Elbows are surgically extended and positions lost or gained in a slow, passive-aggressive ballet. Once in a while, someone goes a bit too far and the recipient emits a disapproving grunt. This is usually countered with a rollercoaster eye roll and everyone carries on.

The bus has plenty of room. There is one every 12 minutes on this route. This is simply how Germans board a bus. Every bus.

Maybe the bus stop is just too chaotic to begin with. What about a scenario that already has a clearly established line? Spoiler alert: it’s exactly 0% better.

At the grocery store, there is always at least one checking lane open. This goes off without a hitch if you stand close enough to the person in front of you. Don’t leave more than an arm’s length though. This will inevitably attract someone who will casually stroll up alongside you with a few groceries in their hands. If you don’t move forward in lockstep with the group, they will merge into the line in front of you.

If you bring this to their attention, they will do one of two things: 1) acknowledge they made a small mistake but nod their head at their couple of items and shrug to indicate this is not a big problem, or 2) be aghast at their mistake and look around a bit too cartoonishly to find the mystical end of the line.

What happens if a second checker opens a lane? Hold on to your hat. Surviving this situation requires some deft footwork and situational awareness. Line etiquette would have you believe that “first come, first served” still holds, but your disillusionment will arrive swiftly as someone from the end of the line sprints over to the new checker, followed quickly by a random shake of bold shoppers, all falling into the new line.

Your best bet in this scenario is to move to Spain. Here they have no such problems managing lines. Scowls are at the ready for anyone trying these tactics, and no one is afraid to bring infractions to everyone’s attention.

I can’t think of a better example of a stereotype that fails so miserably as with behavior in lines in Spain vs Germany. Reality is exactly the opposite of what you would expect.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

They were made with much love. Pick up a copy, you won’t be disappointed.

If you’ve been enjoying these entries, please consider dropping by the product page and leaving a star rating based on what you’ve read here. Your investment of a minute or two would totally make my day! Many thanks.

Vol. 1, No. 6 — First off, would you like to know how to pronounce that title? It’s a Basque word, and English pronunciation rules come up a little empty when a T and an X are mashed that close together. Don’t worry, it’s easier than it looks.

The Basque “tx” is identical to the English “ch” and the “oko” part rhymes with Yoko of Beatles fame. Combine them and you get something like “choke-o.” What is a choke-o?

A Txoko is a cooking club. (On second thought, that was an unfortunate way to transliterate the pronunciation above.) More specifically, Txokos are private cooking clubs. They are not open to the public and you need to be a member to cook there or bring any guests. And perhaps the most surprising part? They’re usually only for men.

To my American ear, this does not sound like a high-demand item. I can count the number of male-only private cooking clubs I’ve seen in the US on zero hands, but in Basque Country, they’re everywhere.

One thing you should know about Basque Country is that it is world renowned for its food. It is a major part of the culture. People talk about the meal they’re going to make tomorrow while still enjoying the meal in front of them. It’s also fair game at any point in your day to bring up that one time we made that one staple dish but it turned out perfectly. Remember that? Oh, that was so great. We should make that again.

Food is a big deal here and they like to have a nice place to prepare it when serving a group. This is the role of a Txoko.

While Txokos come in all shapes and sizes, they all have equipment rivaling any restaurant. I have been invited to three or four different Txokos during my time here and would not feel comfortable operating a single appliance in any of them. Maybe the deep freeze is within my realm of expertise but not much else.

Complementing the industrial kitchens, they also are stocked full of non-perishables, soft and hard drinks, wine, and coffee. Members check off what they’ve used on a little clipboard and it’s tallied against their monthly dues.

The dining area is also usually quite nice. Expansive tables with plenty of room, a fancy coffee machine and bar area, and sometimes a pool or ping pong table for the kids. There might be a TV hanging on a wall, but it’s only to watch the New Year’s countdown or perhaps an important sporting event. It’s never just droning on as background fodder.

Txokos are used for all types of meals from your family’s Christmas supper to your soccer team’s monthly get-together, to afternoon coffee with business associates. It’s literally a private restaurant that a dozen club members can timeshare to socialize with their friends and family. You reserve your date and time, bring the food supplies needed, and your guests can gather together in a nice, private space. Whether you’re treating or splitting the bill, no one ends up paying restaurant prices. It makes a lot of sense.

So, back to one peculiarity: why exclusive to men? The simplest answer is that men traditionally do a lot of the cooking in a Basque family, and the first Txokos were founded by groups of men. It took a while to break the status quo and open things up. Women can now be invited as guests of course, but cooking may still be frowned upon.

I have had some of the best meals in my life at Txokos. They are a uniquely Basque fixture and experience. Maybe someday I’ll have the skills to participate in one, but I doubt the entrance exam involves Pop-Tarts and DiGiorno.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

They were made with much love. Pick up a copy, you won’t be disappointed.

If you’ve been enjoying these entries, please consider dropping by the product page and leaving a star rating based on what you’ve read here. Your investment of a minute or two would totally make my day! Many thanks.

Vol. 1, No. 5 — I really enjoy going to the movies. It’s taken a dip over the past year for obvious reasons1 but catching a flick in a nice theater has been a steady pastime.

While most of the experience will be familiar to any moviegoer back home, there are still some European surprises in store. The most glaring of these is the language spoken on screen. The school I went to in Germany was located in a town that wasn’t quite big enough to have an “original language” screening available, so all movies were shown with German audio.

After a few months of German immersion, my roommates and I finally decided it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time to try a visit. We strolled up to the ticket window and the person working asked us where we’d like to sit. Everyone else took the question in stride but I, the lone American, was pleasantly surprised. We get to choose where we sit without trying to hustle in? Nice.

This is now catching on in the US, but at the time, reserving a seat was new to me. Nearly all theaters in Europe work this way. You order your ticket online and pick a seat. Show up right before, snag your snacks, and stroll to your spot.

The concessions stand was next. As Vincent Vega let us all know in Pulp Fiction - yes, you can buy a glass of beer or wine at theaters in Europe. And this being Germany, the selection rivaled the neighborhood bar.

That aside, it looked like the standard fare of popcorn, nachos, chocolate, candy, etc. However, the sizes on offer could only be described as “oh, isn’t that cute.” The largest of anything there would probably land between a small and medium in South Dakota. I ordered a popcorn and a pop. Alas, there wasn’t a butter dealer to complete the combo, but such is life.

We found our spots and sat through a handful of commercials and a couple of trailers. These were in a mix of English and German. I guess not everything is worth translating for everyone.

The pre-show came to a close and the screen went black. Then… the house lights came back up and we all looked at each other confused. A theater employee lumbered in wearing a sandwich board full of logos and carrying a big cooler. He called loudly (but not confidently) into the room, “Does anyone want ice cream?” He did not sound thrilled about having to do this.

Slowly but surely, people started raising their hands, waving €5 bills to flag him down. For the next ten minutes, we’re stuck watching the Germans get their fix. Little known fact: they have a serious problem with ice cream addiction. The employee left and the lights went back down. All movie-going momentum had been lost.

The fanfare started to play, and we dug into our snacks. The “Cola Light” (aka Diet Coke) is fine. I grab a few handfuls of my popcorn, each slower than the last, and then stare sadly at the screen. The popcorn isn’t salty. It’s sugary. It’s not even caramel corn. It’s just bland popcorn freshly prepared about a week ago with some sugar tossed on it.

I learned later that to order “American popcorn” I would have to ask for salty popcorn. They might not have any, but that’s how I should ask for it.

Although it happened in Thailand and not in Europe, I would be remiss not to mention the single strangest experience I’ve had in a movie theater. Right before the film was about to start, a rousing march began to play. Video clips and photos of the king filled the screen. The entire audience stood up and saluted the screen for the duration. Many sang along.

It ended. They sat down. The Wolverine played and rolled credits. The anthem ended up being the best part.

Midwestern Europe: Volume 1 with the first 52 entries in this series is available now on Amazon US, Spain, and Germany in hardcover, paperback, and Kindle formats!

They were made with much love. Pick up a copy, you won’t be disappointed.

If you’ve been enjoying these entries, please consider dropping by the product page and leaving a star rating based on what you’ve read here. Your investment of a minute or two would totally make my day! Many thanks.