So I spent a few days in Stockholm, wandering the city, attending parties and visiting the local museums of what has turned out to be a very hectic town. There is a feeling of frantic energy in the air that is a little uncomfortable, insisting that you quicken your pace - like when someone is waiting for you to surrender a public phone. But I had a good time there nonetheless, and my hosts were lovely to me.
Tuesday rolled around, the day of my flight, so I went down to the central station early in the morning. My bus left at nine and I had no intention of missing it. I hopped the bus and made my way to the airport, striking up a conversation with a french man who sat next to me. He was there on business and went on at length about it, but I only half minded because it was the first time in a while that I had gotten to speak french - when he, very rarely, let me speak. So we made the airport and went through the whole check-in routine, and I met a very nice (and cute!) waitress at the coffee counter that expressed an obvious interest in me - cruel fate, why do you taunt me with what I can't have? Anyways, she told me I know where to find her, if I ever made it back to sweden. But I digress :) So I went throught the whole airport security ordeal to find that my flight had been... cancelled. Damn it. I had chosen such an early flight so that I could make it to my destination in time to find a place to stay - but I would have no such luck as the next flight would be in six hours. I was fortunate, or so I thought at the time, to meet a british columbian who offered to put me up in her hotel room for the night when we arrived. Anyways, I spent the afternoon in the airport enjoying a free foosball table and meeting my fellow passengers. When we finally boarded the plane, we were greatly relieved, as the airport had been beset with a thick blanket of fog all day, and we were unsure if any flights were going to make it out at all. So two hours later, our plane touched down, and my BCer let me down, as she'd changed her mind about putting me up. The fellow I'd met on the bus offered me a ride into the center of town, which I accepted. Now this fellow was a rather frantic man, and a chronic womanizer, who had given his card to at least two girls on the plane. On top of that, he'd bought a whole mess of candy which he had had to hide in the engine compartment, as his girlfriend would know it wasn't for her, but for another girl; why? She doesn't like candy. Anyways, he dropped me off at a central train station, and I found myself, homeless and lost, smack dab in the middle of the city of lights: Paris.
Tuesday rolled around, the day of my flight, so I went down to the central station early in the morning. My bus left at nine and I had no intention of missing it. I hopped the bus and made my way to the airport, striking up a conversation with a french man who sat next to me. He was there on business and went on at length about it, but I only half minded because it was the first time in a while that I had gotten to speak french - when he, very rarely, let me speak. So we made the airport and went through the whole check-in routine, and I met a very nice (and cute!) waitress at the coffee counter that expressed an obvious interest in me - cruel fate, why do you taunt me with what I can't have? Anyways, she told me I know where to find her, if I ever made it back to sweden. But I digress :) So I went throught the whole airport security ordeal to find that my flight had been... cancelled. Damn it. I had chosen such an early flight so that I could make it to my destination in time to find a place to stay - but I would have no such luck as the next flight would be in six hours. I was fortunate, or so I thought at the time, to meet a british columbian who offered to put me up in her hotel room for the night when we arrived. Anyways, I spent the afternoon in the airport enjoying a free foosball table and meeting my fellow passengers. When we finally boarded the plane, we were greatly relieved, as the airport had been beset with a thick blanket of fog all day, and we were unsure if any flights were going to make it out at all. So two hours later, our plane touched down, and my BCer let me down, as she'd changed her mind about putting me up. The fellow I'd met on the bus offered me a ride into the center of town, which I accepted. Now this fellow was a rather frantic man, and a chronic womanizer, who had given his card to at least two girls on the plane. On top of that, he'd bought a whole mess of candy which he had had to hide in the engine compartment, as his girlfriend would know it wasn't for her, but for another girl; why? She doesn't like candy. Anyways, he dropped me off at a central train station, and I found myself, homeless and lost, smack dab in the middle of the city of lights: Paris.
