Leaving Monterey
Many people who don’t know me ask why I moved to Germany. Believe it or not, this isn’t a career move. Its amazing how many people think it is.
Truth be told, I immigrated here because of my wife’s job. She is an officer in the U.S. Air Force and was assigned to work for AFRICOM which is, logically, headquartered in Germany. Naturally, I had to follow her. I should say I wanted to follow her. After all she is the love of my life, the mother of my son and the source of my health insurance.I guess I live in Germany in case I get sick.
How American is that? To go somewhere you don’t really want to go for the benefits.
“Hows the job?”
“Awful, miserable. But the benefits are good. If I get sick then I’ll be happy.”
I think most people would be glad to “have” to go to Europe to get their benefits, maybe even ecstatic, but I wasn’t. Because when my wife got the European assignment we were stationed in Monterey, California.
For those who are not aware, Monterey is a city in California where 365 days a year the temperature fluctuates between 69 and 70 degrees despite being located out of doors.
Add to the amazing weather endocrinologists who speak fluent English. English speaking endocrinologists are high on the priority list, right before good schools, when you are nursing a growing goiter. Which I am.
So when I had to bundle up, ride a train to Stuttgart through 30 degree air and get my neck palpated by a Deutsch speaking Endocrinologist in an office that was hovering right around 50 degrees, all within my first week of living in Germany — I really missed Monterey. And not just for the weather.
Monterey is an historical town. Established way back in 1770 by a Catholic Priest and an explorer after they kicked out and/or converted the natives, Monterey, like Europe, is old in a very charming way. It is chock full of several old buildings, old boats and thirty thousand old rich people all driving brand new Priuses, or Priusi, I believe that is the plural.
Also, Monterey is located near Carmel, a tiny little hamlet of cottages, stores, coffee shops, and meticulously pruned trees. I believe the entire town is the commissioned work of the local painter-hero Thomas Kinkaid and was built or whittled under his close supervision by keebler elves. All of Carmel’s shops and homes are owned and patronized by billionaires and operated by migrant workers.
Speaking of the painter of light (no, not Monet you uncultured twit) the Thomas Kinkaid National Archive is located right in Monterey!
This is a picture of the Thomas Kinkaid National Archive.
Its comforting to know that somebody is making sure that our children and childrens’ children will be able to see Kinkaid paintings and know exactly where, when and how we as a culture went horribly, horribly wrong.
This example of Kinkaid’s work was originally titled “baking cookies”. 
Based on the incandescent-golden glow in every window and the two smoking chimneys I would have called it “Little Cottage with Huge Carbon Footprint.”
Kinkaid, perfect weather and English Speaking Endocrinologists; these are the reasons why I was less than thrilled when my wife called to tell me we were moving to Germany. In Monterey I was already surrounded by tiny homes, old smug people and great art. What more could Europe have to offer?
Answer: Sex shops in the airports. I had only been in Germany for thirty minutes and I found myself staring into the front end of a fancy European sex shop located right in the Stuttgart airport! It had, and still has, a big, reassuringly clean and well-lit display window full of chic mannequins in creepy clothing holding colorful toys. It is conveniently located right next to the duty free shop. At first I thought it actually was part of the duty free shop and I began counting my Euro to see what duty free sex toys I could afford. It was the beginning of March and my wifes birthday was fast approaching. She is, after all, a Republican. Nothing on earth would arouse her more than a tax-free sex toy.
Ok. I sorta lied about the location. The sex shop is not next to the duty free shop but it is chic and clean and right in the middle of the airport, two doors down from arrivals in Terminal C. All the big airports in Germany have these sex shops. And it makes perfect sense. Who hasn’t been up that creek without their proverbial leather paddle?
“Dang it! I forgot to pack my vibrator…I remember I was carrying it around while I was doing my errands. I know for sure I was holding it in my hand when I hailed the cab…”
I think I am going to like Europe.