Last week, cousin Thorsten came to visit from Germany.

In case you aren't sure which side of the family he is from, maybe this will tip you off ...

So, it was a whirlwind ten-day visit, one in which I insisted that we do, visit and try anything and everything within a five-hour drive from us and that we HAD BETTER ALL HAVE FUN doing it. Which means that we spent a good 24 hours in cars, three hours on ferries, countless hours hiking/walking/complaining-about-hiking/walking, and one solid hour wondering if we were going to get strip-searched at a U.S. border.

And it is possible that there may have also been at least one instance where I was required to adamantly enforce the WE-ARE-GOING-TO-ENJOY-THIS rule.

Despite the occasional manifestation of the rather ... uhhhh ... let's go with 'obstinate' this time round ... individual that possibly takes my place when things aren't going according to THE PLAN (anyone who attended my wedding rehearsal may be somewhat acquainted ... ), Thorsten's visit was 10 days of großartige deutsche abgefahrenheit.

As ambassadors of our respective nations, I think it is fair to say that it was a successful cultural exchange, and that we left each other with valuable lessons in cross-culture communication and customs.

For example, I can now change my oil, oil filter, air filter, spark plugs and spark plug leads like a good German mechanic ...

But more importantly, I can now curse like a proper German garbage man.

Torte on the other hand, discovered the delicacy that is North American cuisine ...

However, I think the real success of the trip can be summed up in the fact that by the end of the ten days, I not only got him to stop looking so German in every frickin' picture (which seems to now explain the contents of my husband's family photo albums in their entirety), but I also managed to convince him that the 80s are over, and they REALLY want their fanny pack back.

You are welcome, Germany.