(originally posted on November 28, 2007)

Dear Barbara,

We have news, although not so positive.

This article could be retitled as "Eat Shit and Don't Die"

Summary: Poo transplants turn out to save lives in the battle against hospital-spawned super bugs!

We can all rest easy now.

When the call came from Oliver that he might be offered a job in China - just three weeks after our move into our new apartment - I didn't initially do much about it. I didn't research the city in the Internet. I didn't ask many questions. I didn't even really believe that this possibility would grow into an actual reality.

I finally took things seriously when Oliver called me at work and asked me if I could get time off the following month to fly to China and check things out. Reality then caught up in a hurry. All of a sudden it was a flurry of preparations, research, prepping our parents, telling half truths at work in order to get the time off and making lists of things that our life in China would have to offer in order to make this worth it.

That was an interesting list, categorizing everything from cat, balconies and dermatologists into "must have" and "nice to have". With that list in mind, we flew to China and had our first look at Changchun.

Driving into the city, we first passed donkey carts and small dark houses that looked more like hovels. These gradually gave way to a solid wall of construction sites marking the beginning of the 'city' itself. Every once in a while there would be a break in a fence or a hole in a huge drape-covered scaffolding plastered with idyllic images of the future and you would see more of these tiny, soot-covered, windowless buildings surrounded by piles of rubble. Old China was rapidly being consumed by the new. These lone survivors would soon too be executed in the pursuit of modernity.

Everywhere you saw this abrupt jump from 19th to 21st century. This was at first disturbing but quickly became part of our understanding of the city and China itself. Everywhere you saw signs of one or more steps being skipped along the way to becoming a First World country. People with no running water but a better mobile phone plan than mine, not even deigning to having a land line installed because it was too out-dated. That was the China we were looking at. It wasn't at all pretty, but fascinating. The evolution of a civilization stuck in fast forward.

The message was clear: Get with it or get out of the way.

Favorite line at the end: "Many customers are buying one for each side of the bed."

A new tool for harmony in the marriage bed. Gives new meaning to the saying: "Don't go to bed angry."

UPDATE: Bonus round after the break! This version demonstrates the product in action. To watch Grandpa go for his rifle, click below.

All except the part of Shanghai.

So close! And Ok, maybe not.

About an hour ago they did their final sweep, and threw out whatever stragglers couldn't get out on their own, and officially ended the festivities once and for all.

We actually only made it to the Wies'n once this year, on day one. Oliver's sister and her husband came to visit and we all managed to crawl out of bed and get to the fairgrounds by 8am to join the growing crowd of beer enthusiasts outside the entrance of the Paulaner tent. After a miserable failure to get a table last year, we had worked out an entire strategy this year that included splitting into two groups staked out at the side and front entrances, a designated food person carrying the bag most likely to be searched by security (yours truly, with the bread knife stuck down the front of my dirndle for safe smuggling), and bold fake outs that managed to get us past a whole lot of people and positioned us forward in the crowd quite near the entrance.

The doors flew open at nine and the crowd (by then huge) surged forward and quickly grew pretty ugly as a giant round mass of people tried to squeeze through a small square opening. Humanity was quickly discarded in favor of push, jab and shove. Getting in the door felt more like popping, the pressure of the crowd propelling you forward and projecting you through. Not for the faint of heart.

Table grabbing was over in seconds. People flew in and flung themselves on tables right and left. Just as quickly as the rush began, it was over. The dust settled, revealing Oliver as hero of the hour for having secured a table right in front of the door, facing the raised band stand - putting us in perfect position to see the parade coming in and then the tent owner toasting the crowd with the first official beer of the season.

And how did my mild mannered intellectual manage this magic trick? By performing the wildly famousStunning Feats of Acrobatic Genius (SFAG), vaulting over the wall cordoning off the central seating area and landing on the table in question. All of our hard boiled eggs were cracked, the tomatoes were squashed and juicing, the bread knife and prosecco had been smuggled in and we had a table all to ourselves. It was truly amazing.

Oliver himself admitted that for a few minutes he knew what it must feel like to have super powers.

This wasn't even tempered a few hours later, just before noon, when our friend Katzi - a Munich native - suddenly remembered that her father was best friends with a man who most likely could have secured us a table for that day - or any day of Oktoberfest if she had only asked. Seconds later that very fellow marched in, surrounded by his marching band and merry maids in dirndles, climbed to the bandstand, poured the first beer and welcomed us all into his tent.

Oh well, duly noted for next year.

Oktoberfest starts tomorrow. At 8 am, when most of you are still stretching and yawning and keeping your eyes closed a few minutes longer, we will be pushing our way into a tent, fighting for a table. The official tapping of the keg takes place precisely at noon. We'll be there early to secure a table and will be bringing breakfast to share with our friends, including Oliver's sister and brother-in-law, who just couldn't bear to miss out on the fun.

The last time we were there for the first beer, someone in our party got bitten on the leg. Fun times. Click below on continue for slideshow of pics from years past.

Prosit!

The worst luck was primarily reserved for my trips and my bags. It started when I borrowed Oliver's brand new Lufthansa edition Rimowa suitcase for a business trip. Returning to MUC, the bag that greeted me coming round the curve on the carousel was wrapped in security tape, Chicago security having popped the locks off without even checking to see if they were really closed or not. When my trips to our US office started to increase last year, I splurged on a matching case. I've been steadily punished for this decision ever since, losing at least one wheel on every trip, culminating in a true low point when I lost a wheel going in and lost two more coming out. When the bag came out in Munich, minus all but one shaky looking wheel, I was nauseous. Pushing the luggage cart straight to the back stall, I made it to the toilet just in time. Food poisoning and only one wheel? Lufthansa eventually covered the repairs, but the 50 euro cab ride home I blamed on the breakfast omelet was paid for by me. After having placed bets with each other at check-in as to which bag would suffer the most damage, being able to wheel two of four heavy bags onto the train felt like quite a victory.

We're home - which is still Munich for another few months - and both we and our luggage are in one piece. As always there was too little time to see everyone we wanted to see and to do all that we wanted to do, but we did our best. A week later, I think I've finished all the laundry, but my feet and hands are still a mess from the desert. Leaving my family and California is always a little sad, and this time was compounded by the fact that we're moving to China. After a wonderful day walking around the City with my parents, good bye came early by way of a fried alternator that left us stranded at a Daly City gas station, a maddening 10 minutes away from SFO. So instead of lingering over mediocre coffee at the airport, goodbyes were quickly waved through a cab window after grabbing the first car to drive by in over 20 minutes. Note to self: cabs will not be dispatched outside of San Francisco, even when you start offering large bribes. Extra points go out to my parents, stranded at the gas station, forced to spend the night in Daly City until the car could be worked on the next day.

Other than a note from Fergus' babysitter that she'd found him one day wedged behind the washing machine and dryer with no way of getting out by himself, there was surprisingly little needing our attention, few fires to do be put out. So far. The big China meeting with the big boss happens Monday, after which there will finally facts to share.