It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but every once in awhile I have an experience that makes me stop and think, “Oh my gosh…I live in Sweden!” And generally, it isn’t even about *Sweden* per se, but about being somewhere other than the United States. Kind of like when Dorothy tells Toto that she doesn’t think they’re in Kansas any more.
I had not one, but several of those moments last night. The first occurred at Malmö’s central police station of all places. Dr. Darling had to go there to renew her passport (nothing like waiting until the last minute…we leave for Germany in less than two weeks!), which was an incredibly simple and relatively inexpensive process compared to what’s involved at home.
The lobby and reception area of the police station looked like a fancy hotel, and what’s more…there was NOBODY there. Okay, there was one other guy waiting in the lobby with us, but had someone taken me into this building blindfolded, I would never have known I was in the main police station of Sweden’s third largest metropolitan area on a Friday night.
After finishing up at the police station we biked between rain-drops on very wet streets about six kilometers to get home. This was as especially Wizard-of-Oz-esque, because I can guarantee you that if I were living the life I had in the U.S., I would NEVER, EVER have chosen to ride my bike anywhere in weather like that!