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| Stockholm, Sweden |
Travel prices have undergone a revolution. The discount airlines are taking over with their low fares, achievable because they have no complicated hundreds of seat classes, no meals, lots of internet bookings, and flights out of more obscure airports that charge less. Kelly and I took advantage. From my internet and train station searches, here were the two travel options I had to choose between:
1. Train from Berlin to Stockholm - €250 per person, 20 hour trip, 2 train changes
2. Train from Berlin to Hamburg and RyanAir flight from Hamburg to Stockholm - €100 total per person, 8 hour elapsed time (4 hours of total travel time).
Clearly, I chose option 2. It feels like cheating to be able to fly for half as much as a train costs. Turns out, it was a little more complicated in execution. Once at the Hamburg train stop, it was a 1 hour subway and then bus ride to the airport. No problem, we had budgeted three hours to take care of just that kind of necessity. Our budget proved to be far too lean, however, when we arrived at the Hamburg airport, only to learn (that slowly sinking in kind of learning) that our flight was out of the Hamburg Lubec airport. This prompted my question, “There’s more than one airport in Hamburg?” The astute reader will by now already know the answer to my question. Now, we even had budgeted enough time so that at this point, we could take a bus back to the train stop and another to the correct airport. Enough time, that is, if the requirement were that we had to get there before our flight left. But due to European law, we had to be there no less than 40 minutes before our flight’s departure time, or we could not board. Reluctantly, we computed the only way we could possibly make it was via an €80 cab ride. From my internet checks, I knew there were no later flights that day, and the hotel in Stockholm was already paid for (and not cancelable) the first night. Despite its high cost, it was the best option, both for convenience and for the budget.
We hopped in the minivan cab, making it clear we had exactly one hour to make it to the other airport. Our driver said it would take about an hour. Again, I stressed that we would not be able to board our flight if we were late, and in this way indirectly communicated, “Please drive as fast as the stereotype I have of Germans.” What followed was one hour of the most uncalled for, dumbfounding collections of Murphy’s law one-lane roads and merciless car cutoffs I have ever been witness to. For the entire non-highway portion of the trip, we were on a single lane road behind a number of 18-wheelers. I kid you not, as soon as one of the 18-wheelers pulled over, our driver began speeding up, only to slow immediately as a car executed a right hand turn onto the road in front of us that was as rude and brake-inducing as they come. Our driver managed to pass this obviously non-German, only to begin braking for a bus that was just pulling back onto the road from its passenger stop. It was a daisy chain of building frustration. I was tense; Kelly was in the fetal position with hands covering face mumbling to herself in what I think was, ironically, German.
As we got closer to the airport (according to our driver), the airport began moving away from us. This is the only explanation for how many more turns and kilometers it took to get there than we were told. My watch’s minute hand slowly crept past the large number indicating we had failed to meet our deadline. I felt my muscles relax as I surrendered to the reality that we had lost. Memories crept in of the time (years ago) friends and I had tried to check in for a flight out of Cancun 56 minutes before it departed, only to be told we had missed the one-hour Mexican check-in law. This turned out to be the one time a law in Mexico was upheld. Anyway, due to my more relaxed muscles, I was only very irritated (and not mind-numbingly irritated) when again, in the home stretch, we got behind two cars, each crawling along and performing the old I’m-going-to-turn-here-yep-here-I-go-actually-on-second-thought-not-here maneuver.
Cut to me flying out of the cab (having already paid the fare at a stoplight 3 frustrations back) into the airport, and putting on my best “Seriously, something really urgent and empathy-inspiring has happened” face. To Kelly and my great luck, they were cool about it. We were about 5-7 minutes past the deadline, and they had already blocked off the entrance to the baggage check line. The woman had a guard come out and remove the barrier so we could scan our bags and check in. After checking in and having a seat, both Kelly and I began to decompress. We discussed how idiotic our driver had been, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands in that "what can I do?" pose after choosing to position himself behind armies of slow drivers (while more savvy drivers effectively whizzed by the multitudes). But we made our flight.
Sweden is a beautiful country. During the hour-long (I use a lot of hyphens when I write) bus ride from the airport to the city, I enjoyed the view of expansive plots of land covered in grass and trees, which had begun to show only the very first signs of autumn brown. Making our way through the subway station, I spied many beautiful Swedes, with their blond and light brown hair and smooth, fair skin. As we boarded the subway train to get to our hotel, I relished the song (seriously, I thought it was a song) of the siren who was operating the subway, until I realized that she was not singing, but merely speaking the stop information. Ah, Sweden, my senses welcome you.
Swedes use the phrase “hey hey” as hello and goodbye. After hearing it a few times, I told Kelly that is how they say hello and goodbye here, as I immediately recognized it as similar to “hi hi”, which is used in Denmark. Kelly promptly forgot, and thought the waitress at the Hard Rock (where we had dinner, more on that below) was just trying to be cool as she approached us. Nothing like a cute swedish waitress doing her best Dwayne from What’s Happening impression. It did sound remarkably similar.
Many of you may be saying to yourselves, “Why would you travel all the way to Sweden to eat at the Hard Rock?”. The answer is that we were cold, hungry, and it looked really good after walking 4 blocks and finding no restaurants. It was identical to a Hard Rock in the States, except for the DOUBLING OF THE PRICES. A burger was $20, the barbecued chicken I ordered cost $25, soft drinks (no free refills, though the waitress gave them to us because we were American and she knew we were used to it) were $5, and every meal allowed you to add a side salad for “only” $10. Holy Swedish Krona what is going on here?! Why did nobody warn me Sweden is twice as expensive as the U.S.? My guess is the prices are born of Sweden's already high cost of living combined with a weak dollar. Seriously, our budget is going to get raped here. Our hotel is $70 a night, and is a tiny windowless box with no toilet. Kelly and I have been getting along extremely well, having only a few minor spats here and there, but this room and its frighteningly close quarters have the power to end all that.
And now for the personal interest story at the end of the news hour. During the trip, Kelly has been using the izzle dizzle talk used by Snoop Dog. She picked it up from me, but now has taken off on her own and is using it constantly. For those who don’t know about it, you insert an “iz” in between each syllable of each word, so “house” becomes “hizouse” (house is an often izzled word, by the way, as in “Snoop Dog is in the hizouse”). I realized how far Kelly has taken it when, while walking in the cold yesterday, she uttered in isolation: “bizurr”.
