The writer Thomas Wolfe wrote "You Can't Go Home Again" and he was right. What happened to 'my' America? Who changed the familiar U.S. culture while I was away? Where is the orientation program for returnees?

On a recent U.S. visit much of my confusion came from driving. It wasn't just the strangeness of a rental car. I couldn't put gas into the tank. No amount of pressing and watching and waiting for the flow and the clicking numbers produced a drop. Finally I walked over to the cashier in his little bullet-proof glass house. The pump doesn't work. "Just pull down the lever, lady, no problem." I eyed all possible levers, pushing and pulling. Finally a 15-and-a-half-year-old on his learner's permit swung in. The lever he pushed upwards was in the cradle where the nozzle rested!

In San Diego there was a huge, brightly lit, impersonal, high-tech juke box of a filling station. The pumps towered over me and there were beeps and flashing lights and hurrying customers on both sides. A computer-generated voice commanded "Make choice." There were multiple buttons and I pushed them all. The only real people were far away in their fancy super market-cum cashier's office, none being responsible for expatriates. After fifteen minutes, I settled down and read every word of instructions beginning with "regular" and ending with "have a nice day." The crunch was that I hadn't punched in my method of payment, preferably by credit card, which entailed sliding my credit card down the proper slit.

It was hard to cut into slow traffic at an intersection; judging the distance was impossible to me, a German driver used to speed. I sat at an intersection forever while my mother on the seat next to me said, "Go. What are you waiting for?" "If I'd gone in Germany, I would have been hit," I replied. "Well you're not in Germany, now." I didn't trust turning right on red either, not even when the drivers behind me cursed and honked. My own mother told her friends that The Foreigner was visiting her.

In northeast Missouri people get killed on the blacktop roads every week, even in good weather. This is because there is practically no traffic and that can make one very docile at 60 mph. Soon attention drops and drivers start dreaming or searching for crackers in the glove compartment or changing radio stations and that's when they swerve into the only other car on the road that morning.

Perhaps it was the vacation crush, but I had a five-hour flight delay in Detroit, a two-hour delay in Kansas City, and a one-hour delay in Denver. That meant missed connections and arriving in strange cities in the dark. People never lost their temper while waiting, even joking and cheering when we did move. The one time I was late at the airport (thinking never mind, there will be a delay) the plane was on time and the helpful stewardess practically checked me en route.

Driving in Missouri at midnight, I pulled into an all-night truck stop at Cameron (pop. 6500). I slammed into an invisible curb and blew out the tire. The truck stop lady gave me the number of Glenn who came right over in his pick-up truck and changed the tire for five dollars because he "didn't want to overcharge." I gave him ten. My sister said, "Only in Missouri."

I was always lost in the United States. Subconsciously, I was looking for the blue and white German signs to direct me. To turn into Interstate 36 south, one stops in the middle of Highway 63 on a left turn. Who ever heard of stopping in the middle of a highway or turning left head onto oversized trucks? The street maps were thin black lines with the names written alongside. None of the lines looked like real streets on a German map. I passed a shopping center a dozen times looking for Party City at 655 Green Street. I was expecting a real street address, not a shopping center.

Party City sells wedding decorations including bells and bubbles because even weddings have changed. Throwing rice is now environmentally incorrect but ringing little bells or blowing bubbles are fine. People don't just decorate wedding cars with shaving cream any more either. They wrap the car in ten rolls of Saran Wrap first.

If you write a check in the U.S. and the check bounces, the recipient has to trace you for the money. In stores there are big signs, "Ten-dollar fine for bad checks." How they will collect the ten dollars, if they can't even find you to collect on the check? No wonder credit cards are so popular. My sister said, "I think I've maxed out my credit card." She pulled out several and let them all run through the store's scanner. "Yup, all maxed out." That meant that she owed the credit card companies so much money that she was basically barred from further charging. I said in Germany the total bill is deducted from the bank account every month. We never owe Mastercard anything, just the bank. "Really?" she said.

Naturally, I noticed that Americans ate huge portions of sweet, starchy, non-nutritious, artificial and uninspiring food. They always had some drink tipped mouth-wards. I've thought a lot about the body size of Americans, especially since the Body Mass Index had just appeared in all the major newspapers. I wonder if this extra weight is just more obvious in the U.S. due to a state of undress caused by the casual fashions and hot weather. Imagine everyone between Dammtor and Hauptbahnhof walking by in shorts and halter tops. I bet you would see a lot of flesh that you didn't know was in Hamburg either.

In the U.S. you have to adjust and keep your mouth shut, just as you do here. Don't say, "Why on U.S. television are the Dutch soccer jerseys red instead of orange and why is the color bleeding into the background.?" Your brother will give you a smart-aleck answer about superior U.S. technology which you, dear sister, could never understand.

Back in Hamburg, I read that Esso is opening two high-tech filling stations at Koppelstraße 30 (Near Hagenbeck Zoo) and at Bergedorfer Straße. Perhaps I'll practice there with my credit card before going home again.