I headed back home. For just a bit. A quick Christmas celebration until heading back to the darkness that is the Swedish winter.
The morning started with where the previous night ended. The two blurring together. I never went to bed. I kept my ass up by eating popcorn, granola in the hopes of finishing off all my milk before I left, and watching late night Swedish TV.
And it was around the 4 in the morning hour when I had to catch the night bus headed into town. I started having epiphanies. Revelations if you will.
Apparently around the 23 hours of sleep deprivation mark, my body decides to shut down. I fumble with simple tasks like getting my passport out. Or stripping myself of all metal before the security check. Or bringing my phone charger with me. Leaving me with a hunk of electronics and a dead battery.
When arriving in London I realized a couple of more things. One being that I entertain myself in strange ways when traveling alone. For example, by mocking the accents of the Brits to myself. “’Ello” became my favorite. Which obviously morphed into “’ello guvnor.” Good times. Does this make me a bad person? Yes. Yes it does.
Always buy salt and vinegar chips in England. They are delicious.
When waiting at my gate for my flight in London, a father and his daughter walked by. The daughter was maybe 8 years old. I was sitting on the floor. Eyelevel with everyone’s butts. And I quickly realized a rule that should govern all fatherhood when it comes to daughters. Little girls should not wear sweat pants with the words “Wild Chick” written across the butt. It’s just not right.
I hate SAS. Seriously.
Letting them rip on a plane is risky business. Especially when listening to an iPod. You just can’t be sure if anyone else can hear. Luckily, as we have already established, I am a bad person.
Never travel with small children.
Canada is a walking stereotype. I stepped off the plane and overheard an Air Canada employee explaining to her friend that her daughter had closed the bedroom window last night. And now it will most likely be frozen shut all winter. I walked into the terminal and was inundated with bad ‘70s design. Not that retro look that the Swedes are sometime able to pull off but bad carpeting and seat covers. While walking through the terminal, the guy in front of me made the following comment: “At least it’s not snowing anymore eh.” Directly to my right was a Tim Horton’s. And a large maple leaf painted onto the wall of the terminal. Welcome to Canada apparently.
But after 26 hours of travel, and enough revelations to put St. Bridget to shame, I made it back to the US. And I couldn’t have been happier.
Welcome to America.