Wow. Should have kept my white Puegeot mixtie...

After a wonderful and enlightening visit in Stockholm, I am now on the train to Göteborg. It was blustery in the city earlier this morning, but now, the clouds seem to be clearing, bathing the Swedish countryside in sweeping white sunlight. Except for the occasional road, all you see between two of Sweden’s biggest cities is patchwork farmland—small squares of undeveloped fields and red cottages, threaded with thin brown fences and white birches. Yellow hay bales and horses, gray streams and tall grasses.

My last few days have been good so far. No major culture shock yet, though my scientific eye hasn’t been able to resist noting what is different and what is not. In many ways, things here are the same—the cars largely the same, but smaller; lots of plants are the same as Massachusetts and Washington State, but smaller (birds are different though); American brands litter the grocery stores, but there is far more Swedish; TV stations show the same shows (less commercials, though); music reeks of the same American-name brands (fortunately and unfortunately).

I mean, to put it lamely, it is purely the culture, the general habits of Swedes, that is different. Using the Swedish kronar. The efficiency of public transit. The plentiful offering of coffee (both espresso and instant). Biking your toddlers to school. Paying bills without checks. More push-up bras. Hard cheese for breakfast. Gelato spoons for everything. Cruisers instead of fixed gears. Far more vowel stress. And, obviously, the scenery.

I think if I had not been to Sweden before, all of these things would be terrifying. But now, it feels more like a personal challenge to see how much I can assimilate. Evidentially, I’ll have to get better clothes, and yes, learn far more Swedish, but things feel friendly. Very optimistic. I like these old streets of Gamla Stan, the hidden corridors, the old lamps and iron shutters. I like how the subway is just as efficient as having a car, I like biking sitting up, and I like the bustle of train stations. But most of all, I like knowing that this foreign place is in my blood—and I can feel it.

Anyway, yesterday I had my first experience with the Swedish social system. After going to the Swedish bank, SEB, to set up an account, I was told that I would have far more fees associated with my account as a foreign student if I did not have a personnummer, or a Swedish social security number. So, I immediately set out to the tax office in Stockholm. Upon arriving, I was confronted by at least 200 people in a shallow-ceilinged room, all waiting to talk to representatives. I took a number (which, evidentially, is a common tool for many things in Sweden), and proceeded to wait with the other immigrants in the room—for three hours. Thank god the guard at the door let people with tickets come in and out while we waited, but man, it was a test of patience, of which most small children failed (there was a lot of crying there; once again, iTouch, you save me from insanity).

As she was signing my form, the lady at the desk told me that I would receive my number in the mail at the address I listed in about four weeks. Then, I would be able to apply it to a bank account and get some fees waived, and I could also apply for a ID card, which would put my passport away in a safe drawer for my later social outings. And of course, the number would assist me in all other social security benefits that I may need, including legalities involving work. So, all in all, time put to good use.

Unfortunately, I also learned that day that (1) to have a debit card costs money, even as a student, and (2) the most kronar Bank of America will allow me to take out at a time from a bank is 2000SEK, about 250USD. That was very lame to hear, considering that setting up my bank account might take more effort than I thought, and I’ve got to get rent out. We’ll have to see on that one; once I get to Göteborg, I’m planning to get to the bank again. 

Ah, what timing. The train is pulling in.