Sweden!!! Part 2...

“Would you like anything else to drink?” the Swedish flight attendant asked me in very slow, deliberate English.
“No thanks.” I shook my head, good with my water.
“And you sir?” she asked the man next to me.
“I’ll have a glass of champagne please.”
He was already finishing his fourth cocktail and we’d only been in the air a little over two hours. I finished reading my book and started another one. I kept stopping to close my eyes, hoping sleep would finally come and rescue me from my wandering mind but it was the book keeping me grounded in all it’s silly girlishness. Each time I tried to sleep, my mind would reel in 70 different directions until I couldn’t take it anymore and was picking up the book again to shut off the instant replays of the past week and of not being ready to go home.
Anyways, where were we? Oh yeah, so I woke up on Wednesday morning…
“Melissa.” Olov whispers to me.
“Hmm?” I can’t open my eyes.
“I’m running late for work. I overslept. I’ll see you later.”
“Kay.” I sigh.
I slept for another three hours before waking up almost in a panic. It’s 9am and I feel I’ve slept the whole day away. I’m freaked out that I don’t “have time.” (I have nothing but time.) I’m still overwhelmed by thoughts of “I have to do this, go there, see that…” The list goes on as I realize I have one foot on the crazy train and I take a step back and take a deep breath. I carefully eat breakfast and head down to Creem to get coffee and write.
The man behind the counter has dark skin, black hair and warm deep brown eyes. He says something to me in Swedish.
“Sorry, I speak English.” I reply
“Oh, ok. My Swedish isn’t all that good anyway.”
“Really? Where are you from?”
“Iraq.”
Oh boy…
“What brought you to Sweden?” I ask before he can ask me where I’m from.
“My parents moved here years ago.”
I nod.
“Where are you from?” he asks of course.
Canada? US? Canada? US?
“United States.” I quickly reply.
He nods. “Vacation?”
“Yup.”
“How long are you here for?”
“A week.” I smile.
“What do you think about Stockholm so far.”
“Oh, it’s amazing!” I try not to squeal.
“It’s cold here.” he tells me, while looking out the window.
“I know! I love it!” I laugh, thinking about Chicago.
“My name is Benny.” he offers his hand.
“Melissa.” I smile and shake his hand.
“Good to meet you. Look, let me write down my number. If you need anything, or if you get lost or anything, call.” he picks up a pen and paper.
“Will do. Thank you.” I take the paper, order and pay for my coffee and sit in the window, journal in hand.
I wrote for two hours, feeling proud of myself for sitting still and allowing myself to take the time to do so. I have to keep reminding myself that the point of vacation is to relax. Why do I feel like I have to be going 100 mph? Why do I feel like I have to see and do everything when all I really want to do is wander? That is what makes me happy. Walking around, people watching, sitting in cafes, shopping, and exploring architecture. That is what I like to do. I don’t understand why I give myself such a hard time about that. I like making the city I’m visiting feel a little bit like a home away from home by frequenting the same coffee shop or restaurant, taking the same path to wherever that day, etc…I guess because I travel alone it’s nice to make some sort of connection at the very least, with people who work in these various places.
So apparently, Stockholm is home of Acne Jeans company. I keep reading about these jeans so I set out to find the store. I get off the train at the right stop but I think I took the wrong exit. After pulling the map out 15 times I decide to just say screw it, I’ll ask Olov later and being wandering. I walk up and down hills with various upscale shops and what looks like some residential areas. It’s all beautiful and I feel like I can’t open my eyes wide enough to take everything in.
After a while though, I start getting angry that I accepted I couldn’t read a map and pull it out again. The map will not win! I’m going to find this shop.
Sure enough, I figured out where my mistake was (wrong underground exit) and headed in the right direction from where I was, which wasn’t far from the store. I eventually find it and walk in to it’s minimalist displays and head for the back to try on jeans.
Two stunningly attractive but painfully thin, hungry looking women are carefully arranging pairs of jeans on a table. There are two very tall parallel shelves that are all filled with various style and colors of jeans. I grab several pairs and try them all on. Hmm. I’m not sure yet. I decide that if I can’t stop thinking about this one particular pair, I’ll come back tomorrow and get them. It’s getting about time for Olov to come home, even though we haven’t decided to do anything tonight.
I quickly find the underground and head back. I sit in the kitchen and write more until I hear the key in the door.
“Hi!” I smile as he walks in.
“Hey.” he takes his shoes off.
“How are you?”
“Good. You?” he walks in the kitchen and leans on the counter.
“Good.” I nod.
“I’m starving. Are you?” he asks, opening the ‘fridge.
“I can eat.” I reply. Of course I can eat…
We make some dinner, neither of us saying much until everything is consumed and he tells me his friend Eric is bartending tonight at a bar at the University.
“You wanna go?”
“Sure.”
We leave a little while later, taking the bus up there. We’re walking along various paths and I’m listening to him tell me about previous jobs he’s had.
“It’s hard to get a job in Stockholm without really good references.” he explains.
“Interesting.” I nod. He’s pointed out a few times that I say that a lot. He’s also made the comment that because I listen to and talk to people as a part of my job, I have to at least “act” interested in conversation. He can’t tell if my interest is genuine. I’ve never thought about that before. Nine times out of ten, my interest is genuine, regardless whether or not I’m at work.
“That’s the place.” he quickly points to the cute little house ahead of us.
We walk in, say hello to Eric who is American, order a beer (Olov) and a water (me) and sit down with another friend of Olov’s. This not drinking thing is getting easier. They immediately begin speaking Swedish. Two girls then appear, and sit with us. I introduce myself and Olov. Again, more Swedish exchange. My skin begins to heat up and I feel my face getting hot from nervousness. I feel too shy to say anything at this point. The girl closest to me turns and speaks English to me. We talk about my time there and her job. Eventually the two girls and myself walk outside to chat more. They ask me question after question about where I live and what else I’ll be doing in the city. I enjoy their company. I’ve noticed that Swedish people keep to themselves for the most part until you strike up a conversation with them. After that, it’s like having a friend for life.
I get chilly and excuse myself to go back inside. Olov is still at our table.
“Hi!” I smile.
“Hey. You ready?”
“Sure. You?”
He nods and stands up. I grab my bag, and we say goodbye to Eric and the two girls and start heading down the path again.
“I think we’ll take the underground.” he says as we begin approaching the station.
“Kay.”
Somehow talk of running starts.
“Run to the train station?” he asks.
Oh really…
“Really? You wanna race?” I giggle.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I have my bag…” I trail off.
“I can hang on to it.”
“Nope. I’ll be fine.” I reply, suddenly feeling defiant.
We’re quiet for a moment until I say, “so, when we startin’?”
“I don’t know, um…”
I see he’s about to start and I take off as fast as my legs will go. He’s ahead of me in no time. I try my absolute best to speed up but I literally cannot run any faster. My vision is blurred and my shins are screaming but I don’t want him to beat me too badly!
“Whew!” I exclaim as we stumble into the station.
“What? I’m not out of breath.” he calmly states.
“Stop lyin’!”
He exhales hard and we both laugh, stepping on to the train. It doesn’t take long until he decides the next stop is the one we need to get off at.
As we exit the station we walk along dark, quiet streets. I’ve noticed there isn’t much graffiti in Stockholm, nor are there any “bad” neighborhoods. (none that I know of anyways) People keep to themselves, minding their own business, not starting any trouble.
“Hey, that’s our bus!” Olov piped up and took off.
Shit.
Shins still screaming, I take off after him trying not to plow into him once we get to the bus’s door. We both plop down into our seats and exhale.
“So the run to the train station was the warm up?” I laughed.
“Yeah.” he smiled.
At home, I once again try to sleep but it’s not coming. I will be delirious by the end of the week if I don’t get some substantial sleep…