Expatriate Family Terrorized by Wired Grandma

"My mother pitched a fit when we told her we were moving to Santiago," he explained. "We thought setting her up with e-mail would help."

"We even bought her a computer and paid for one of those Internet courses for seniors," added Eileen. "That's what that relocation person from your company recommended -- right, honey?" Bill nodded, rolling his eyes.

"But it went way too far," continued Eileen, her voice cracking. "First it was that 'All About Chuckie' Web page she created. Then all those bow ties and little suits she ordered for Chuckie online. And then came the Web phone service. OK, it was inexpensive. But she was checking in constantly. What did Chuckie eat for breakfast? How long did he nap? Did he use the potty? Number one or number two?" She buried her head in her arms.

Bill looked at her in sympathy. "And then she insisted on having the Webcams installed when she visited us last Christmas ... I just couldn't say no. He's her only grandchild." He gestured toward a small unit perched on a shelf. "They're in every room," he sighed.

"It's become a nightmare," said Eileen, looking up with a tear-streaked face. "She's figured out how to read all our e-mail. Every time we write something, she sends instant messages commenting on it. She sent us a homemade virus that made her face our default screen saver. She even hacked into Chuckie's Interactive Barney!"

"Chuckie-Wuck!" called the woman from the screen in a shrill voice. "Darling, can you hear me? Why don't you answer me?"

"Gamma!" called the boy, but the face on the computer just looked puzzled.

"We figured out how to disconnect our microphone," whispered Bill.

"We decided to tell you our story so you can warn other expatriates," explained Eileen. "We don't want anyone else to experience what we're going through."

Bill broke in. "You know, when you go overseas, part of it is to get away from this constant relative thing, isn't it? I mean, it was refreshing at first to be 3,000 miles away. But now it's worse than ever."

"Who's my cutesy-wootsey wittle boy?" shrieked the gray-haired lady from the screen.

American Family "Appalled" to be Gaining Weight on Mediterranean Diet

"We've followed our U.S. doctor's advice and reveled in the abundance of fresh fruit, vegetables, seafood and pasta," said Mrs. Simonds, who did not want to specify exactly how many pounds she has gained in 14 months. "All the experts say that the typical Mediterranean diet is very healthy. I just can't figure this out."

Her husband agrees. "I can't tell you how many articles I've read claiming that the Mediterranean diet is the healthiest diet on the planet. We've consumed tons of extra-virgin olive oil in the past year - tons - which is supposed to be so good for your heart."

Features of the Italian style of eating include a devout attention to fresh ingredients and an unhurried enjoyment of meals. Tracy Simonds agrees.

"I've never seen a culture so devoted to food. Lunches last two or three hours - you need that much time for all the courses, from the antipasto to the pasta to the meat course, then coffee and dessert, of course. And every morning we have an espresso at the bar, along with a cornetto - or two. Well, sometimes three." A cornetto is Italy's version of the croissant.

Drew Simonds, 14, admitted to having gained more than 25 pounds since arriving in Florence. "The pizza here is totally awesome. And so is the gelato - that's Italian for ice cream. And spaghetti carbonara and that Alfredo kind of noodles - that's really good, too. But, man, I've like totally porked here. Mom and Dad kept saying how healthy all this stuff was, so I was like, wow, OK, let me have thirds of that." He grabbed his stomach and shook his head. "Guess it wasn't as great for us as we thought."

The Simonds' 16-year-old daughter, Angela, refused to be interviewed or photographed for this article.

Unusual Disorder has Stuttgart Visitors Racing

Discovered only a few years ago, the syndrome has already affected 78 travelers in the Stuttgart area. It produces an overwhelming urge to drive as fast and as far as possible, stopping only for the most basic necessities like gas and water. Most of the victims have been avid car fans in their 30s and 40s on vacation from North America or the United Kingdom. The man who suffered from the first diagnosed case, an American named Robert Morrison, is a typical example. The story began at the Tankstelle owned by Klaus Blum on Germany's Autobahn 8 near Stuttgart.

During an early-morning conversation with reporters about the incident, Blum paused halfway through a sentence when he heard a baritone voice say to the cashier, "Pump number four." Ever vigilant, he walked to the window, where he eyeballed the car. Seeing military plates, he relaxed. "It's never the ones who live here," he says. "They seem to be immune."

In the fall of 1997, Blum didn't pay particular attention to English speakers, and if Morrison hadn't asked him a direct question, Blum might not have noticed him at all. "He wanted to know how to get onto something called the Stuttgart-to-Munich loop," recalls Herr Blum, who instructed the man to take A6 east from Heilbronn, then A9 south, then A8 west. Together with northbound A81, the roads make a rough rectangle, with Stuttgart and Munich on the south and Heilbronn and Nuremberg on the north.

Much later the same day, the man was back. When he returned a third time the following morning, looking haggard and unshaven, Blum got worried. He suspected his rest stop was being cased by a criminal, possibly a drug addict.

Polizist Georg Schutz and his partner took the call. Nowadays, undercover police would tail the suspect until he stopped for gas, but back then they didn't give a second thought to tracking him down, blue lights flashing. "Until we had that high-speed chase in early 1999 where six people died, we didn't think anything of simply pulling these suspects over," Schutz says. "Once we realized some of them would react with increased adrenaline, we changed tactics."

After Schutz stopped Morrison, he was struck by how exhausted the man seemed. He had trouble giving them his name, he didn't know the name of his hotel, and he barely remembered his recent stop for gas. Schutz took him into protective custody.

As they puzzled over his case at the station, another officer mentioned that Morrison's disorientation sounded like Jerusalem Syndrome, a psychosis involving tourists who suddenly believe they're incarnations of Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, or various saints. He had read a FOCUS magazine article about the syndrome a few weeks earlier. The officer suggested they call psychologist Annenika Heiss.

Skeptical but intrigued, Heiss agreed to come. The theory seemed to make sense after she'd spoken to the driver. "He was obsessed by the idea that he was in a race with the other cars on the Autobahn. He was driving toward a checkered flag that wasn't there."

Morrison remembers only the very earliest stage of his delusion. "I left the airport parking lot in my rented S-class Mercedes," he reminisces, "and I could see the Autobahn about a mile away, glistening silver in the sunshine, surrounded by green fields. It was like ... I don't know. A stampede? I just felt this incredible urge to join that herd of cars, and once I got out there I didn't want to leave. Ever."

Psychologists don't yet know why those traveling in Stuttgart are affected more often than tourists in Munich. Heiss suspects that the large number of service members on temporary duty at the military headquarters is a key.

"In Stuttgart, people with spare time visit the Mercedes and Porsche museums and go on factory tours. They ride in a taxi -- Mercedes. They take the subway -- the Hauptbahnhof station has a huge Mercedes star on top. They can't get away from the automobile," says Heiss.

She has studied similar syndromes in tourist destinations around the world. In Venice, people are apt to try suicide. Forty-nine foreign tourists have attempted to kill themselves since 1995 -- and two dozen more have succeeded, with victims coming from the United Kingdom, France, Spain, Germany and the United States. Those affected are mostly singles around age 40 and are often depressed.

In Florence, it's Stendhal Syndrome, affecting art lovers from eastern Europe, mostly females age 25-40. "They see all this incredible artwork -- paintings, cathedrals, sculptures - and they're overcome," says Heiss. "Sweat beads on their foreheads. They become faint, they have trouble walking, they pass out."

The Hawaiian Islands seem the least logical place for psychological stress, but during one five-month period last year, doctors there treated 114 cases of "Coconut Syndrome." The euphoric anticipation they felt upon arriving in the tropical paradise suddenly shattered, leaving them overwhelmed by their problems.

There's little recourse for preventing such outbreaks, according to Heiss, but the Autobahnpolizei is trying nonetheless. They have focused on the root of the problem: fast cars. Rental clerks now take note of lone male travelers who request to upgrade basic models for something with more motor muscle.

Auto dealerships, too, are vigilant. It used to be that anyone with a valid license from his home country could take an hour's test-drive. No longer. To keep the speed demons away, test-drivers -- local residents only -- have to sign a form forbidding them from driving at high speeds or on test-tracks. The latter clause was put in after a ring of gearheads started counterfeiting the magnetic-strip passes used by DaimlerChrysler employees to access the banked test track at the Böblingen production facility, just outside Stuttgart.

Finally, the police have enlisted the help of the American military. "We're educating our TDY visitors, but it doesn't always help," says EUCOM public affairs representative Lisa Jones. "If someone doesn't show up, we used to assume he was lost. Now we assume he's got the syndrome."

c. 2002 Amy De La Hunt.

Stuttgart Syndrome is completely fictitious, as are all the characters and events named in this "news" story. The other syndromes, however, do actually occur in visitors to Jerusalem, Venice, Florence, and Hawaii. Articles about the disorders have appeared in various newspapers and magazines, including FOCUS.

Amy De La Hunt and her husband Matt lived in Stuttgart, Germany, for six years -- long enough to acquire a taste for German food and drink. They recently moved to St. Louis, Missouri, where they spend just as much time and energy searching for their favorite "import" brands as they used to way back when they first moved to Stuttgart and were desperate for a taste of America. Amy currently works in a bookstore (three cheers for employee discounts!) and writes for a variety of publications.