Dispatch XXXV

The morning was bright and sunny when we awoke in Boden, Sweden, even if it was below freezing. The previous evening we had arrived at the town’s tiny train station and hauled our bags to the Quality Bøden Hotel for the night. This morning our plan was to return through the town’s quiet streets to board our 11:51 train to Haparanda on the Swedish border, from whence we would cross into Tornio, Finland, and strike north to Arctic Circle and Lapland, where, I was told, I shared some genes on my mother’s side of the family. Solid plan, except …

The train was canceled.

Haparanda, Sweden

Oct 28, 2023

Day 638 — From Sweden to Finland

The morning was bright and sunny when we awoke in Boden, Sweden, even if it was below freezing. The previous evening we had arrived at the town’s tiny train station and hauled our bags to the Quality Bøden Hotel for the night. This morning our plan was to return through the town’s quiet streets to board our 11:51 train to Haparanda on the Swedish border, from whence we would cross into Tornio, Finland, and strike north to Arctic Circle and Lapland, where, I was told, I shared some genes on my mother’s side of the family. Solid plan, except …

The train was canceled.

But no worries. A bus would come at 12:22 and drive us instead to the same town. At least that’s what the little rambling message that crawled along the lighted sign above the door told us, assuming we had deciphered the Swedish messaging correctly. Nei for no; tåg for train; bussima for bus at 12.22.

We passed the time reviewing the denizens of the Boden train station. Foremost among them, were four young men lying on wooden benches absolutely zonked. Their snoring gave no indication of their origins, but when they woke, chattering in Arabic, I guessed Middle Eastern. Nothing gets by me.

Then across from our bench, sat an elderly couple, clearly deeply in love. The little woman wearing her white tossel cap joked with her big husband, kissing and hugging him as often as she could. He caught my eye and smiled a little sheepishly between snatched kisses. Nearby a stocky man with short hair sat beside his quiet young wife. Both expressionless, waiting.

After awhile I noticed the sleeping men coming out of there tupor. They gazed around the room, utterly lost, and began scrambling left and right like four Keystone Cops. Their heads of hair were wild and thick from sleep. Rapid discussions ensued, then all four grabbed their gear, stood before the train schedule’s rambling message and simply blinked. What could all of these symbols mean? The messaging confused us, and that was only because everything was written in Swedish. To these men, the words crawling in lights above the door were as foreign and meaningless as Chinese or Cyrillic Russian. I wanted to help but wasn’t sure these men were even bound for the same train - I mean bus - and the best Arabic I could resurrect was salaam (hello) or shokran (thank you), or maybe an inshallah (God willing), and none of those were going to be very useful.

Now the four scrambled in a cluster to the platform outside, then back inside to the station entrance, and then outside again to the other side. For a time there was silence. At one point, the stocky man, noticed a phone on one of the benches. He had just picked it up when one of the four skidded into the station searching furiously. The stocky man handed the boy his phone. Visible relief. Then the other three returned, one by one, all still flummoxed. It really was quite a show.

By this time the bus had arrived, and so we boarded. The elderly driver revved the engine and prepared to pull away when the four burst together out of the station. One of them said something I couldn’t hear through the window to the bus driver.

“Haparanda, ya!“ Called the driver of the bus. “Haparanda!” and he waved them all in as if they were a flock of ducklings. The men it turned out, were, like us, headed to the Finnish border. Why or how they had found themselves in the North of Sweden was beyond our comprehension, but they probably couldn’t fathom why a couple of around-the-block Americans like us were on the same bus either.

Meanwhile, another little mystery was unfolding. The cute, elderly couple, the one where the woman was hugging and kissing the gentleman in the train station so publicly, had boarded the same bus that we had, except now she was alone. Where did the loving hubby go? Cyn and I joked that they probably weren’t happily married for 55 years like we had thought, with seven children scattered happily throughout Europe, but had in fact hooked up on Tinder and just passed the weekend at one of the local hotels banging the headboards! She was smiling a lot.

Once she was in her seat, her partner in crime waved to her at the window, and was gone faster than the Road Runner in a Wiley Coyote cartoon. Late for his next tête-à-tête, no doubt.

The bus was soon rolling into the wilds of Sweden along a two-lane highway through some of the most beautiful and pristine winter landscape we had ever seen. On either side of us for the next several hours we passed nothing but dense woods, deep snow, and ice-encased trees stripped to their branches.

(Photos - Chip Walter)

Haparanda

At 2:30 PM our bus pulled up at the train station where we hoped we could catch a train across the border. Our affectionate woman had already arranged to be dropped somewhere in the heart of the town, and for all I knew she’d be hooking up with the bus driver later as a way of saying thanks! I mean … it is Sweden.

At the town’s edge, everyone piled off at the train station — the Middle Eastern Four, the man and his wife who had found the lost phone, and us. As we were about to debark, I mentioned to the bus driver that we intended to cross the border to Haparanda’s sister city, Tornio, in Finland.

“Stay,” he said, holding up his hands, “we go to the Shell gas station.” When the Middle Eastern boys heard this, they stopped. They too were headed to Torino. The old bus driver waved everyone who had gotten off back on.

Five minutes down the road we were at the Shell station. We and the boys found a small mall near a giant IKEA store. It was bitter cold: 19°. We dropped our bags inside wondering how we might grab a cab or bus across the border, but when I consulted our Apple Map I found that our hotel in Torino was a mere 18 minute walk from where we stood!

“Want to walk across the Finnish border?” I asked.

“We walked into Mexico,” said Cyn. “I guess we can walk into Finland.” (You gotta love her her!)

Finland

Out we went into the cold. Soon the early winter sun would disappear. It wouldn't be getting any warmer. We followed the path over the hard crunching snow. It took us through a tunnel under a highway and there stood the sign telling us we were at the border. Cyn stood with her bags, and several hundred yards away we could make out the northernmost edge of the huge Bothnia Sea that separates Norway and Sweden from the rest of Northern Europe. Nearby sat a cluster of buildings, and, we hoped, our home for the night.

(Photos - Chip Walter)

Fifteen minutes more hauling our rollers through the snow, fingers growing numb, we made it to the Olof Hôtel, where, we were very happy to see, the owners had gingerbread biscuits and hot free tea.

This is Dispatch XXXV in a series about a Vagabond’s Adventures - journalist and National Geographic Explorer Chip Walter and his wife Cyndy’s effort to capture their experience exploring all seven continents, all seven seas and 100+ countries, never traveling by jet.

If you’ve enjoyed this dispatch, please take a look at Chip’s other adventures (and misadventures) … and don’t forget to check the Vagabond Journal and our Travel Recommendations to help you plan YOUR next adventure.

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