This week I set two simple goals: go hiking, and see the northern lights. I figured, even if clouds prevent viewing the northern lights, I’ll still be able to go hiking and get some sweet drone footage. With spotty weather in the forecast, I signed up for 24 hours on the train. The plan: Copenhagen to Malmo to Stockholm, then from Stockholm to Tromso, Norway, at a latitude of 69 degrees North.
Wednesday morning I arrived in Stockholm. I had one obligation, to conduct an interview for my film project at 10. It went quite smoothly(I am starting to get the hang of this Question-asking thing) and provided a valuable new perspective, through the lens of an attorney. With six hours to utilize before my night train North, I strolled the waterfront and visited the city hall gardens. The town had been blanketed in snow just two days earlier, leaving the sidewalks slick and icy. In the Afternoon, I took a bus out of town and essentially got lost in a forest when Google Maps failed me. The trails were not installed into the maps and my GPS was out-of-whack. Totally disoriented, I should have missed the train, but a local contractor, who barely spoke English, helped me find my way back.
Fast forward two days. The night train that should have ended in Narvik was cancelled and held up in Kiruna, about 3 hours away. Unfortunately, mother nature doesn’t always cooperate, and some things aren’t meant to be. As an apology, the train company provided a hotel room, lunch, and dinner. It turned out to be a sweet deal. During the two days in Kiruna, it dumped more than two feet of snow, with gusty winds and frigid temperatures. I failed to achieve both of the week’s goals; no hiking, no Northern lights. Instead, I spent the days reading, writing, relaxing in the sauna, and gobbling down all-you-can eat buffet. Ironically, Thursday night was Thanksgiving. I shared a wonderful Swedish meal of Salmon, Rein Deer, potatoes and veggies, with a kind, funny, Australian couple about 80 years-old. Bon’ appetite. The group that was headed for Narvik, about 8 or 10 of us, made the most out of the unfortunate circumstances.
Now, let me attempt to describe what occurred Friday evening. The whole ordeal was hectic, unfortunate, and embarrassing(but I’ll tell you anyways). The train back to Stockholm was set to depart at 6:25 PM. Earlier in the day I had looked up the location of the train station. Google Maps showed it was just a five minute walk. At about 6 o’clock, myself and a one other guy, a train conductor named Lukas, from Prague, left the hotel. We politely passed on the opportunity to taxi. Dragging my Osprey roller bag through inches of snow left two deep rivets along with my footsteps. 5 minutes passed, then 10. We circled the area where the train station was supposed to be. It didn’t take long to realize that we were nowhere near any buildings, and the roads on the maps did not match what we saw in front of us.
When we realized the train station was nowhere in sight, we turned around and trudged back uphill, about two hundred meters towards the street. I was carrying three bags: my backpacking pack, an osprey roller bag, and a re-usable grocery bag. Lukas led the way from the walking path to the street, forging through thigh deep snow. Without a shoulder or sidewalk, we drew cars’ attention immediately. The first two cars flashed their headlights and honked. Then a city worker in a pick-up truck approached and rolled down his window. Lukas bellowed a distinctive, “HELP!” I quickly added that we were lost and trying to find the train station. The Samaritan said, “Hop in.”
It turns out we were more than a kilometer from the station. Because the local iron mines could collapse underground, the Swedish Gov’t is funding a long-term project to re-located the entire city, three kilometers, house by house. The train station had moved in the last year, and Google Maps wasn’t up to date.
I sat in the back seat and Lukas rode shotgun. We barely had time to say thank-you by the time we arrived at the train station. Ecstatic, we hopped out of the truck. I grabbed my backpack and suitcase out of the truck bed and approached the train smiling. Familiar faces from the hotel laughed as we appeared, still covered in snow. No more than 15 seconds later, I froze. I had left the grocery bag in the truck’s rear seat. The contents included my rain jacket, kendama, camping stove, special camera/gimbal batteries, my dinner, and worst of all, my Eurail Pass.
My stomach dropped, heart sank, and ecstasy vanished. I swiveled around to glimpse the truck pulling out of the parking lot. It was too late to yell or run it down. Still wearing my backpack, I ran up the street the opposite direction towards the main road, speaking out loud to myself, “No, no, no, no, no”- over and over again. It was surreal, almost like an out-of-body experience. I waited a few minutes, to no avail, trying to think through my plan of action. Hustling back to the train, the clock was ticking: 6:22. The train would depart in three minutes. I needed to make a decision; if I stayed, the next train wouldn’t come for two days, I wouldn’t have a place to stay, and I likely wouldn’t recover the bag anyways. Standing outside in the snow alongside my Swedish friend Christian, and Lukas, I was mentally paralyzed. Fortunately, the train’s ticket checker, a kind middle-aged blonde lady, assured me that the missing Eurail pass would not be an issue(on this train at least). I boarded the train. Overwhelmed and out of breath, I dumped my bags in the cabin and began to think through what had just transpired.
Ironically, just one day prior, I had written a blog titled, 8 Tips for Traveling Europe. Number two on the list was “Budget Conservatively”: be prepared to lose things and replace broken gear. Standing in the aisle outside the cabins, Christian leveled me out, reminding me about the blog. He asked what advice I would give myself in this situation. When I am able to assess the situation through a 3rd-person point of view, it makes dealing with challenges much easier (this technique can probably be applied anytime).
Life goes on, and my adventure continues, albeit with a slight speed bump. I firmly believe humans learn more from our mistakes, misses, and failures than our successes and accomplishments. With the benefit of hindsight, my brutal mistake taught me:
- NEVER trust Google maps, or any sort of map for that matter. Find the location and confirm it with a human being, ideally a local resident.
- Don’t try to get cheeky and keep anything of value in your grocery bag. Valuables should be zipped away, even if that means accessing them less efficiently.
- Slow down, avoid rushing, and always double check your belongings
- Purchase ‘pass protection’ for your Eurail pass! 14 Euro and you are covered up to half the value of the pass, about four hundred dollars(I now need to purchase tickets out of pocket and keep receipts to be reimbursed). Usually I don’t splurge for insurance but when there’s this much on the line, it is the wise thing to do.
If I was the only person to make such a foolish mistake, I wouldn’t bother sharing my story with you today. But due to the absurd circumstances and hectic turn of events, I think you’ll understand how it all went down. When I explained my misfortune to the train attendant, she was anything but surprised. Apparently people leave all sorts of things on trains: cameras, entire suitcases, phones, and even themselves. “People don’t know anything” she said.
Kyle Huber 