Below is a visual representation of what it looks like trying to get through the airport to your international flight in the era of COVID testing. Now, I’m not complaining. Well, OK, a little. Things are dicey now and I know precautions are needed. After all, an airport is one of the most crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder places around next to a major league ballpark’s men’s room during the seventh inning stretch.
And as we’ve seen on the news, for every 10 people who take the whole thing seriously and keep their masks on the whole time and use a lot of hand sanitizer and stay six feet away from EVERYTHING, there are another 10 jerkstores who let their noses flop over the top of their masks like it’s a crook peeking out from a sewer trying to see if the coast is clear. I feel like yelling, “Hey, geniuses, germs like nose holes too!” So, yeah, the precautions are needed. But the system itself might need a shot in the arm (topical pun). Because even after reading numerous websites to find out what we needed to d do to get where, and receiving tips from people who’ve been through it, getting from Boston to Stockholm was like playing bureaucratic Whack-a-Mole. Each step presented a hurdle that ranged from a minor inconvenience to shit-we’re-gonna-have-to-live-in-this-airport-aren’t-we? HURDLE 1: Because nations don’t always agree with each other (surprise), we BOTH had to take TWO Covid tests in as many days to meet the requirements for two different countries: One no more than 48 hours before our flight and a second no more than FOUR hours before boarding the plane to take us to Amsterdam. HURDLE 2: We had to take the four-hour-ahead test at a makeshift testing site in Logan Airport, right next to a decommissioned Dunkin’ Donuts (I assume it was shut down because maple long johns screw up the test results.) Also, the test cost $200 apiece ($100 per nostril) and was conducted* by a slightly disinterested staff who probably wished the Dunkin Donuts next door was still open. *OK, they didn’t actually conduct the test, they handed me the Q-tip and I stuck it up my own nose. But, yeah, $200. HURDLE 3: The woman at the entrance to the baggage check-in area (or rather, the series of fabric straps connected to posts that created a maze which really should have a chunk of cheese at the end) said that unless we had the results of BOTH Covid tests, she could not let us pass. Now, I knew my favorite color, the capital of Assyria, and air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow (African AND European), but because we hadn’t gotten the results of the first Covid test, we were blocked from entry. We waited several tense minutes until the email we were waiting for finally popped up in our inboxes. We were in. HURDLE 4: At the baggage check-in stand, the woman behind the counter happily took our Covid tests results, helped us check our bags, and even saved us some money by suggesting how we could shift stuff from one suitcase to the other to meet the weight list. But when we told her we were going to be in Sweden for about five months, she flinched noticeably. We thrust some papers in her face showing that this was a real university-based working trip. I did my part by trying not to look like the world’s dumbest terrorist. When she was finally confident we weren’t attempting to defect, she allowed us to proceed, but not before giving us some additional paperwork on Covid testing that she said we’d have to fill out before the plane landed in Amsterdam. HURDLE 5: At the gate, with a few minutes left before boarding, we were suddenly told that the additional paperwork we were given would have to be filled out NOW to be able to get on the plane, which, technically, is before we landed in Amsterdam, I guess, but, c’mon. I scribbled some answers on the form, and I was unsure of some of the answers, which made the whole thing look pretty sketchy, but they let us on anyway. HURDLE 6: After hanging out in the Amsterdam airport terminal for SIX HOURS, when it came time to get to our next gate, we needed to get past a customs agent who looked a little like David Puddy. He scrutinized our Covid tests and our why-we’re-staying-in-Sweden-for-six-months papers, made a phone call (mostly to look efficient, I’m guessing), then let us through. HURDLE 7: After finally landing in Stockholm, a friendly, smiling customs agent politely informed us that we weren’t going anywhere until we could not only produce the right Covid test results, but also the EXACT TIME WE TOOK THE TESTS, to insure it was taken in the proper time frame. Which meant scrolling away on our phone (me with my big, fat fingers) looking for a timestamp on one of our Covid forms and wondering if they would make us stay in this nearly windowless room for five months, unable to go forward or backward. Luckily, the Fulbright Scholar brains kicked in and the timestamp was found on the printout version of the test, which is the literal last place anyone would think to look. The race was over. Other than having to confine ourselves to a modest-sized apartment for a good portion of 2021, we don’t foresee any other major challenges in the coming months. Other than resisting the desire to yell, “PUT ON AN EFFING MASK, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU???” to an entire country every other hour. Another story… Swedish Word of the Week Akvavit – Also known as aquavit or brännvin, it’s a gin or vodka-like spirit that, according to the rules of booze, must be distilled with dill or caraway. It was believed to have been first mentioned in a set of 1467 instructions for lighting gunpowder. Exactly 400 years later, Alfred Nobel invented dynamite, which clearly means Swedes like blowing shit up. Occasionally while drunk. We made an aquavit cocktail tonight.
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Here’s the key to packing to move to another country for six months: don’t have a lot of shit to begin with.
Also important: Don’t have any fashion sense. When it came time to pack suitcases to prepare to live in Sweden for six whole-ass months, I thought, “Pft. No big deal.” In my head, I always thought of myself as a frugal traveler. I don’t need a lot of shit, a lot of things to take with me. What, am I eating dinner with the duke? (Queen? Premier? Grand Vizier? Whoever’s in charge over there?*) Am I gonna be climbing Mount Whatever and I need my ropes and my parka and my shoe spike clamp things? Nope, all I need is a couple of decent pair of pants, a shirt or two, t-shirts, two pair of shoes (one for running just in case some shit happens), underwear, a toothbrush and I’m off to Fiji… or Peru or something like that. Throw shit in a bag, zip, poof, I’m gone. I used to kind of hope there was an alien invasion or something so that I could show everybody how it was done. “LEAVE IT! JUST LEAVE IT! JUST TAKE SOME UNDERWEAR, A PAIR OF PANTS, A SHIRT, THAT JAR OF PEANUT BUTTER AND LET’S GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!” But in reality, planning what to take to live for six months in Sweden took some time, more than I want to admit. I realized there are clothing-related things to consider. What about the weather, is it going to be cold there? (It’s Sweden, but they get warm weather too, right?) Am I gonna try to work out while I’m there or is this a six-month vacation? Can I wear a Chicago Bears t-shirt there or does the logo mean something offensive? AND WHAT ABOUT THE GRAND VIZIER? I decided the best solution, the best approach, was to start by packing the essentials – not just underwear, socks, t-shirts, shoes, but the clothes I KNOW I’m going to wear. The one pair of jeans I own. The two flannel shirts. The pairs of khakis that still fit. The Chicago flag t-shirt that I think I look pretty good in (if I stand just right, keep my arms flexed and suck it in a little). My new “End American Fascism” t-shirt because, you know. Etc., etc., and a few other things. Next, I moved on to the stuff I thought I MIGHT wear. I mean, I MIGHT wear my blue sport coat and ascot (“Yo, Grand Vizier! Thanks for the invite. Nice party… ooh, look, caviar!...”). A second jacket wouldn’t be bad. Maybe that one “classy” shirt I have in case they suddenly solve the pandemic and we’re able to go to a fancy Swedish restaurant. And, come to think of it, I have a more than few cool Chicago t-shirts that the fine people of Sweden might like to check out. I put all that stuff into the giant, fresh-from-Marshall’s suitcase and realized, huh, I think there’s still some room in there. Which was a surprise. My size 14 shoes alone generally take up most of the space in a carry-on suitcase but not only were there TWO pairs of shoes in there currently, but a lot of other stuff too. I kept going… Leather jacket. More fancy-dress pants. A Dot Day 5K t-shirt. A sweater with a hole you can’t see unless I raise my right arm. A slightly tight Bears cap. The extra running shorts that kind of cut a little too tight in the you-know-where. It all got in. Damn near all the clothes that I own and wear on a regular and semi-regular basis, into one fairly big suitcase. I was both impressed and disappointed. Impressed because, if I had to, I could put dang near everything I own into one bag. Disappointed… because I could put dang near everything I own into one bag. It’s a little humbling, to say the least. The idea that someone could say “Get your shit and get out! No, no, not TWO bags, just the one.” And I could do it pretty easily. But it’s done. Clothes packed. Suitcases zipped. Sweden’s gonna have to be impressed by me for my mind and not my fashion sense. NOTE: There was a lot of stuff that was definitely not going to make the trip. I have clothes that are the fabric equivalent of squatters, random items that have no part in my life, but somehow found space in my closet and dresser and refused to leave. “Hey, Ken, what's up? I’m a purple velour sweater that you’re NEVER going to wear, but nonetheless, I’m going to sit her on the top shelf of your closet until you die. Oh, and if you see red turtleneck in the fourth drawer of your dresser, tell him** I said ‘Sup.’” *I found out that Stefan Löfven is the Swedish prime minister and the leader of the Swedish Social Democratic Party who was chosen for a second term on January 18, 2019. **In my world, a red turtleneck is a “he.” Not sure why. SWEDEN FACT OF THE DAY I’ve been trying to use Duolingo to learn how to speak a little Swedish. I’ve learned the word for beer (ÖL) and sandwiches (SMÖRGÅSAR). I’m pretty much set. |
HallåBecause I'm married to a very smart woman who received a Fulbright Scholarship, we're spent six months living in Sweden and, in particular, Stockholm. Having never lived outside the U.S., I figured I better keep notes. These are those notes. Archives
July 2021
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