Somehow I arrived
Date: August 17, 2017
As usual, I waited until the last minute to pack and scrambled to make it to the airport 2 hours in advance. An unusually long check-in line gave me a scare, but stood no chance against my excitement and determination (or more precisely, airlines’ policy to prioritize flyers who are about to miss their flights). I showed up to the gate in triumph, ready to begin my adventure…
Then my flight out of JFK was delayed 2 hours for a technical issue (later revealed to be broken air conditioning) and required everyone to deplane. Upon arrival in London, I rushed through the terminal to my next gate, to discover that by some divine intervention the second plane had been delayed as well. Well it seemed divine until I spotted my neighbor composing a text that read “God forbid the f**k**g americans miss their flight.” It didn’t take me too long to piece together that they had been waiting for us. So I was already off to a running start in my mission to “improve mutual understanding” between the US and Sweden.
My guilt wasn’t intense enough to preclude 2 more hours of sleep before touching down in Stockholm. It appeared that the airline had lost the only item I need all year (my hockey bag, of course) but it turned out they had classified it as “special baggage” and moved it to a designated area. Sweden may be the only country in the world to 1) recognize a hockey bag and 2) treat it more carefully than other luggage. With my hockey bag in tow, I emerged from the airport and immediately jumped in a cab.
I could tell immediately I had picked a winner, because the driver, Ali, made fun of me for mispronouncing “engelska” [English] when asking if he spoke the language. Originally from Iraq, Ali moved to Sweden with his family when he was younger. After spending some time in the UK for his undergraduate degree, he’s now studying to be a dentist in madrid. Upon telling him my place of origin (New York) he replied, “I hate your country with all my heart”. He followed it up immediately by explaining that his family had to leave Iraq because of US military intervention, and that to him, disliking a country’s government and military doesn’t translate to any animosity towards its citizens. Feeling a little more at ease, we began what ended up being a wonderful conversation about politics and current events.
Ali mentioned that he really had wanted to study politics but his political prospects in Sweden were slim (“this country is run by Johnssons and Ericssons”). He talked at length about how political leaders seek to divide people by playing to their fears, but in reality people around the world share much in common. Ali hailed Sweden’s education and healthcare systems and expressed disbelief at the united states’ failure to provide universal healthcare in the 21st century. He criticized Obama for his extensive use of drone strikes and called Hillary Clinton a “mafioso” for her military action in the middle east.
We spoke about the recent events in Charlottesville and reflected on America’s unwillingness to acknowledge systemic prejudice and learn from its mistakes. Despite an overall grave tone of the conversation, we left on a high note, as Ali shared his hope for the future: because of the transparency that the internet has allowed, the younger generations will be able to recognize that we are not all that different.
Ali was nice enough to make 2 stops (one to pick up the key and another at the apartment). We exchanged cell numbers and he offered to show me around the city and practice our new languages (he is trying to pick up Spanish, which I sure as heck know better than Swedish) before he heads back to madrid.
After an unpacking session set to Swedish pop star Zara Larsson’s new album (and a struggling vacuum assembly), my studio already felt like home. I spent the remainder of the evening browsing the halls of Ica (a local supermarket chain) buying groceries and apartment essentials. I searched aimlessly for tofu before working up the courage to ask “Säljer du tofu?” [Do you sell tofu?] and was pointed in the right direction by a friendly clerk. the checkout counter proved too complex for my limited Swedish skills and I had to resort to my native tongue (which the cashier of course spoke perfectly) to ask about buying a reusable bag.
With one day in the books, I collapsed onto my Ikea-brand bed, Ikea-brand mattress cover, Ikea-brand sheet, and Ikea-brand duvet. As I lay in bed, I realized that for the first time in 22 years, I was sleeping on a full-sized mattress. That definitely made it easier to count moose to bed.
