Imagine a 25% sales tax

Living in Europe has exposed me more to European economics and politics. One thing that continuously comes up in the news and magazines I'm watching and reading is the financial crisis in Europe, which seems to dwarf America's. 

Greece is bankrupt, and the other European Union countries are desperately trying to bail out their member country so it doesn't drag the rest of the countries down with it. It's a real danger, when the countries have irrevocably tied their economies together and most of them are teetering on a financial precipice anyway.

Sales taxes are already quite high in most countries here. In Germany, it's 19 percent, unless you're buying food (and "food" doesn't include soda, or other "luxury foods"); then it's 7 percent. I grew up with a 5- to 7-percent sales tax, so it's hard to fathom 19 percent. Fortunately for me, I live in Switzerland and am legally able to recoup my Germany sales taxes if I do the proper paperwork after shopping.

A friend who lives in Romania blogged this week about how Romania is raising its sales tax to 24% to help offset general financial woes. It was that, or cut retirees pensions by 15%. And judging by any accounts I've read about the life of a retired person in parts of Eastern Europe, they're already barely scraping by. So the government opted for the increased sales tax, sharing the hardship equally with everyone on something that is, to some degree, voluntary. I mean, some things you HAVE to have, and you'll eat the 24%. But other things, like a new TV or extra extension cords, you might be able to do without.

That, however, serves to illustrate the point that economies are organic like the environment; for every economic action taken by a government, there is an equal and opposite reaction. As people try to avoid this higher retail tax, they will buy less. The law of unintended consequences says that sales of goods will decline; this will hurt manufacturers and importers; that will result in companies either jacking up their prices to make up the difference, shipping jobs to a country with cheaper labor, or laying off employees. Such actions will further exacerbate any kind of national malaise.

I'm not saying I think the Romanian government had another choice, and considering the alternative of harming the retired, it may have been all they can do. However, I don't think some politicians -- most of whom have not worked extensively in business -- really understand that introducing a man-made interference into an organic environment, like an economy (even a more controlled economy), unleashes new forces. It's similar to introducing a foreign species into an ecosystem, expecting it to control another out-of-control species, but then the foreign species begins to breed out of control, harming the balanced ecosystem further.

Read more about Romania's new sales tax.

Jodeling Festival parade

This past June there was an annual yodeling festival in Schaffhausen, Switzerland, just down the road from us. Here are some video highlights.

Opera video

Here's video from the amazing opera we attended at the Bregenz music festival this week.

American week

They had "American week" at the grocery store again.

At our grocery store here in Germany they rotate a line of products representing a different country every week. Two weeks ago it was "Greek week" and the week before it was "British week".

Besides the eagerness with which I grab for comfort foods from home, American week is always fun because it's interesting to see how people outside America perceive our popular foods and eating habits.

The line of products are all red, white and blue, with stars and stripes and a Statue of Liberty in the corner. The product line is called Mcennedy and says "American Way" under it.

Yet, often the things they sell with this label are things I have never seen in America. It's always just a little ... off. For instance, today they had square cartons of blueberry juice. Despite our vast array of crazy juices in the States, I have to admit that's one I've never seen back there. There were also jars of blueberry jelly. I guess that's kind of like grape jelly.

Then there was the caramel popcorn-flavored yogurt and the chocolate cranberry-flavored yogurt. I just had to try those. I admit they sounded good, but I've never seen that kind of yogurt back home. I  finished the chocolate cranberry one moments ago and I might just have to write Dannon a letter recommending it.

They sell hot dogs ... in a glass jar. In liquid. I suppose our plastic-wrapped packages of 10 hot dogs back home could look weird if you've never seen them that way. But that's how I felt about the hot dogs in a jar.

Among some more common American foods like brownies, peanut butter, blueberry muffin or pancake mix and microwave popcorn were a few oddities. Take the bottles of "Hamburger sauce." What exactly is hamburger sauce? In the States we call that ketchup. Or the tubes that squirt out stripes of blended ketchup and mayonnaise or mustard and ketchup a la Aquafresh toothpaste? That's a new one.

I'm just not sure about eating a hamburger on a bun with all the fixin's from a freezer bag. Oh, and I wasn't aware that Americans were known for eating fried butterfly shrimp with curry sauce. And the cocktail sauce they sell here? It's Thousand Island dressing, as far as I can tell. And the Thousand Island dressing is labeled... wait for it ... "American Dressing."

Ah yes, American Week is always an adventure. I can't wait for Mexican week next. Garlic and onion tortillas, here we come!

A killer opera

I never thought I'd be worried about getting killed at the opera.

Monday some faculty invited A. and I to go with them to an opera on Tuesday. Another couple going with them had had a family situation and was unable to use their tickets. We agreed to go, thinking it would be interesting to see an opera in Europe.

It was VERY interesting. First of all, we learned on the way to the opera that it was going to be in Bregenz, Austria (which is only 90 minutes drive away, ha ha)! Bregenz is on the tip of Lake Constance on the far east side where just a tiny little tip of Austria touches it. The lake shares borders with Switzerland, Germany and Austria. There was an annual opera festival going on in Bregenz.

The second thing we found out when we got there was that the audience seating AND the opera stage were actually ON the lake. In fact, the actresses and actors splashed around in the water, swam in the lake, and rowed boats around as part of the action. It was amazing to see how they incorporated the lake into the opera.

A third interesting thing was the set itself. It was completely anachronistic. It was designed to look similar to the part of Planet of the Apes where the Statue of Liberty is in ruins on the beach. They had Statue of Liberty ruins, lifesize, all around the stage. And part of the set was two GIGANTIC cranes which were constantly lifting and carrying enormous objects across the set throughout the performance. For instance, during one big musical piece both cranes carried the two metal parts of the face of the Statue of Liberty through the air to hang suspended over the set and fit together like two humongous puzzle pieces. In another scene, a crane lifted a lifesize boat out of the water and carried it and its occupants through the air and away as if they were sailing to heaven. Also, sometimes the "slave people," who were constantly doing little things in the background of the action, were actually cleaning the cranes. So they really made the set part of the set, if you know what I mean.

Our seats were in the very front -- in Europe, the cheapest seats are often the closest ones for some reason -- and so the cranes were swinging massive welded metal objects right over us throughout the opera. The recent spate of crane accidents in the States was forefront in my mind as I warily eyed all the multi-ton objects swung over my head. Later spouts of fire went up out of the water right near us. I was faintly hoping for no accidents this night.

All in all it was an amazing experience, a killer opera.

Finds of the day

• Canned black beans
• Enchilada sauce
• Barbecue sauce
• Caesar salad dressing
• Salad croutons
• Guacamole
• Honey dijon salad dressing
• Cookies and cream ice cream
• Cream of broccoli soup
• Cream of mushroom soup

Still looking for:

• Cheddar cheese
• Maple syrup
• Root beer
• Cream of chicken soup
• Marshmallow creme
• Cooking spray
• Reese's Pieces
• Cinnamon baking chips
• Graham cracker baking crumbs
• Caramel squares for baking

The Pumpkin Quest

Americans in general, and me in particular, like pumpkin-flavored things, especially in recent years. Pretty much any season, but particularly in the fall, when I get in a baking mood, it somehow involves canned pumpkin.

Pumpkin scones? Check. Pumpkin fudge? Check. Pumpkin cheesecake with gingersnap crust? Check. Pumpkin bread? Oh yeah, all the time.

Outside of my baking, I am also a big fan of pumpkin spice lattes at Starbucks, pumpkin-scented Yankee Candles, and pumpkin pie Blizzards at Dairy Queen.

Europeans do not share our American obsession with pumpkin. In fact, the German language does not even have a word specifically for the orange gourd we know as the pumpkin. They just call it a gourd. They also do not sell canned pumpkin, nor use it much for baking, milkshakes, ice cream flavors or anything else.

When searching the Web to find out if I can obtain canned pumpkin somewhere in our region, I ran across numerous Europeans mocking Americans for our insistence on getting out of a can something we could bake and puree ourselves.

I ask you, which would you rather do? Hunt down the right orange gourd, wrestle a blunt knife into the thick skin with all your strength to somehow tear it into large pieces, scoop out the slimy innards and pitch them in the compost, then bake the pieces until they get soft, putting the pulp into your blender and having to squeegee it all back out into your recipe, finally washing the sink full of now dirty dishes ... OR pop open a can, scrape the contents into your mixing bowl and throw away the tin?

Seems obvious to me.

Fall is approaching and I'm experiencing the first twinges of panic. How am I going to get my pumpkin fix?

Fortunately, a number of people are on their way here from the States. I'm recruiting them as my personal shipping service for cans of pumpkin, since I know that's a pretty heavy thing to be shipping internationally.

I think Dad squeezed a can or two in his suitcase for me; at least, I asked him to and I know he put it on a list. A good friend is arriving for her vacation early next month and she said she'd see what she could do. Another friend is looking at tickets to visit a mutual friend here in October and I'm going to see if I can twist her arm long distance to chuck a few cans in her suitcase. And when I mentioned the possibility of contributing pumpkin fudge to an office open house in December, our office manager immediately volunteered to bring back a few cans when she returns from home assignment in November.

So, if each person brought me two cans, I'd be set. For a while at least. Now all I need is marshmallow creme...

Little things that made me happy this week

1. Several kitty rubs
2. Good coffee
3. Getting up early to work out
4. Getting to work an hour earlier than usual
5. Bike rides at dusk through pear and apple orchards
6. Countryside sunsets
7. Meeting new people in the village
8. A jar of local honey and a loaf of locally-baked bread
9. Streaming TV from home
10. First-ever Skype chat with my cousin and her son
11. Skyping with my dad while he tours England
12. Looking at my Italy photos
13. Flirting with my husband
14. Learning how to make green curry
15. Being on track with calorie and carb cutting, and exercising
16. Learning a few new German words
17. Having the baking itch
18. Daydreaming of Yankee Candles
19. Listening to the Bible on my iPod
20. Brand, shiny new copies of my favorite magazines, waiting to be read

Saturday hike

If the weather holds and nothing else happens, A and I are planning our first hike in the Alps on Saturday. I found one called the Four Lakes Hike about 2 hours drive from here. No further -- less actually -- than what I used to drive to hit a good day-hike west of Boulder. You take a cable car to the beginning of the hike, which is somewhat of a climb through a pass, and then mostly level as you pass three more lakes during about four hours of walking. Then you take a cable car down to a village where you catch a bus to a train station. Then you ride trains back to the place where you started to get your car and go home.

I hope the weather holds. I can't believe we haven't gone hiking yet. But I have three-four more hikes planned with a friend who's coming for a week in early September, which I hear from locals is actually the best weather month for hiking here. 

Alpine highs

Culture shock seems to be a series of ups and downs. Or maybe the ups and downs correspond to how much sunshine we're getting. I'm not sure. But I'm definitely on a high right now.

There are days where you rush to and from work, guzzle coffee to stay awake, work late on projects, try to cram in dinner, slave 30 minutes over handwashing the pile of dishes, try to squeeze in a workout on the elliptical machine, and crash into bed, stressed out as you try to stop thinking about all you have to do tomorrow so you can finally fall asleep. Just like back home.

Then there are days when you notice the sunshine as you walk to work, remember to look at the half-timbered old buildings on either side of the street, and manage to get up early enough to buy a freshly baked loaf of bread from the bakery across the street, and you say to yourself, "I can't believe I live here."

Last night, A and I took a walk around sunset through the fields surrounding the village. For someone who grew up in the American suburbs, this is still a novelty. The crops are full, high and thick now. There are fields and fields of this kind of tuber that I don't yet recognize, but judging from the heads peering up from the soil, it's quite large. I think it's sort of like a turnip. There are also sections of corn that have now grown higher than a tall man, and the tassels on the ears are already spilling out of the leaves. Some kind of oat or grain has gone past golden to plain old brown and the tractors last night were using their headlights to cut it evenly into rows, ready to be bound into bales.

In fact, we dodged a number of tractors as we briskly traversed the paved or gravel tractor trails between the sweet-smelling fields. In the distance we could hear cowbells from a little family (about six) of cows on a small dairy by the road. The streaks of cloud on the horizon caught fire after the sun dropped below the horizon of rolling fields and trees, and a hot air balloon drifted overhead before it began to lower toward the valley on the other side of the Rhein. We could hear the roar of the fire as it pumped hot air into the balloon, safely slowing its descent.

It was almost dark as we returned home, passing a pick-up truck parked by a small area that was thick with clover. An old man in dirty, work-worn jeans, a faded flannel shirt and baseball cap was scooping some just-cut clover into crates and loading them into his truck. He greeted us with "Gruetzi" and we greeted him as well. I noticed him watching us, and I thought he might be amenable to a chat if we stopped, so I turned back to watch him at work.

An old-fashioned scythe lay in the cut clover, and I pointed it out to A. The man came right over and began talking to us in German. We acknowledged that we didn't speak German, but that didn't deter him. He said a few sentences, and then said, "Bibel Schule," asking us if we were from the school. We nodded, saying, "Ja, ja." People usually assume if you can't speak German that you're from the school, but they don't mind, as it has a very good reputation in the community.

He said he was cutting the clover for his horses - he explained this by miming a person riding a horse and holding reins. He tried to tell us where his horses were, and we got the part at least about the kindergarten, which is actually right behind our apartment. He told us some other things, but we didn't really understand. We didn't mind, though. It's always a good feeling when someone from the village actually wants to talk to you, and isn't put off by the language barrier.

After a few minutes, he indicated that we should wait right there. We agreed, and he hurried to his truck, rummaged around in the cab and came back with a jar. He pointed to the symbol of a honeybee on the lid, and pointed in a certain direction, talking, we think, about where the honey comes from. Either he makes the honey, or he got it from someone local who has a honey farm. Afterward, he gave us the jar. Surprised, we profusely thanked him with the one word we do know: Danke!

We introduced ourselves and got his name. We really hope that we can see him again.

It's moments like these, and walks like that, which give a city girl like me a couple days of an Alpine high. Walking to work this morning in the cool sunshine with a freshly baked loaf of bread from the bakery tucked under my arm, I thought to myself, "I can't believe I live here."

A wedding parade

Honking horns interrupted my work day, so I leaned out the office window to see this.

Ill-fated church barbecue

I think the Weather didn't get the memo about our church barbecue today.

Lunch time math

Nutritional labels are different in Europe than ours in the States. Unlike ours, which break down the calories per tablespoon, ounce or serving of something (although I often take umbrage with what is considered a serving), the labels in Europe tell you how many calories you would eat if you ate 100 grams of something.

Well, nobody eats 100 grams of butter or 100 grams of salad dressing (i.e. a package of butter might only be 200 grams). So I've had to learn to do things differently.

Here's a typical lunchtime attempt at calorie counting.

Visiting a grocery store this week, I found a rare bottle of Dijon dressing, one of my favorites. So I bought it and decided to enjoy a nice big salad. The bottle contains 250 milliliters of dressing, but the label says that there are 302 calories in 100 grams of dressing.

How many milliliters are in a gram?

I learned through a Google search they are the same. So I multiplied 302 by 2.5, to come up with 755 = the bottle contains 755 calories total. Now, I usually measure out dressing on my salad in tablespoons, so I needed to figure out how many calories are in one tablespoon.

The tricky thing is that a tablespoon measures volume whereas grams measure weight. A tablespoon of something thick and heavy will be more grams than a tablespoon of something light, like feathers or powdered sugar.

Therefore I searched how much a tablespoon of salad dressing would weigh. I couldn't find it, but found the weight of a tablespoon of oil -- 13.65 grams.

Next, I divided 755 by 13.65 = 55. This means that each tablespoon of salad dressing contains roughly 55 calories.

I wonder how many calories I burned just trying to figure that out.

Heaven will be 75 degrees

Our area of Switzerland is struggling this summer to get out of the low 70s. I am OK with this. Really OK. I HATE being hot. To me, 75 is the temperature of absolute bliss. (It is also the right temperature for wearing pants after you've badly botched an application of self-tanning spray.)

Eight years ago when I lived here, for two of the six months it was in the 90s without a break. I had a second floor apartment without air conditioning; I also worked on the top floor of an old building without air conditioning. I coped by taking three icy showers a day (I normally HATE cold showers) and immersing myself in the snow-melt water of the Rhine a couple times a week. It was miserable.

It's amazing to spend a summer without air conditioning and yet to hardly be turning on a fan in our flat. We just don't need it. In fact, this week I wore a long-sleeved shirt to work, and the other day I wore a fleece to the grocery store. Our church also just about froze at our Summer Barbecue (keeping in mind it is August).

As I'm hearing reports of the horrible heat in the U.S. Midwest, I am inwardly crying out thanks to God for this cool summer here.