Road Rules

Things have slowed down a little bit. No major trips in the last few weeks. Not a lot of trips, but a lot of classwork. There are times I will go out on an afternoon just to soak in my surroundings. Even without leaving the town I am able to go someplace new every day.

Being raised in Spearfish, or even going to school in Brookings, I have had the comfort of living in tight-knit communities. It doesn't take more than 15 minutes to get anywhere, especially if you hit the green lights. I have, on occasion (though I don’t recommend this) left my apartment in Brookings at 10 till the top of the hour, parked, ran, and made it to class at maybe two minutes past.

Such is not a scenario here.

Mind you, I'm not saying this is a negative or a downside to living in Jonkoping (pop: 100,000ish). I just mean that it is different from home.

This also is not the case for everyone. Quite the contrary. Of my three roommates, I come from the least populated area. James, from Tanzania, hails from a city of 4 million, the name of which I cannot spell. My other two roomies come from Istanbul, Turkey and Mexico City, Mexico, the seventh and eighth largest cities in the world, respectively, at around 8.2 million citizens.

To this man, the Lanstrafiken Buse is a new challenge all its own.

In order to successfully arrive to class at 9 a.m., a number of wheels must be set in motion. First off, I need to get up around 7:30 a.m., which is easier said than done, as it's still dark out.

After showering, blindly eating some cereal, putting in my contacts and frantically looking for my scarf, I need to be out the door at 8:21 at the latest to catch the 8:29 bus.

Thus was the case on Wednesday morning. After waking up a little late and skipping my bowl of Choko Flakes, I raced against the clock to grab my essentials and run to the bus.

Running to the bus, however, is not a simple task. I'm not sure if you've heard, but it snows a lot in Sweden, and at 8:24 in the morning, there are some pretty wicked patches of ice on the sidewalks.

I see the bus pulling away from the stop just before mine. I lower my head, dig deep, and make it to the bus stop just as the bus driver opens the doors. The snarling beast of a bus, spitting out fumes and eating up pavement, pauses for a moment.

A little background about riding the bus.

Living here just over a month, I have come to learn some of the social norms that go along with public transportation. The Swedes, though very polite and kind, helpful people, keep very much to themselves. There is not a lot of small talk on the bus. Except for the occasional abrasive teenager with his or her iPod and cell phone, I often ride the bus in silence. As I don't speak Swedish save for "Thak" (thank you) and "Hey do" (good bye) I am completely fine with this lack of verbal exchange. Also, when looking for a spot on the bus, if there is an open seat next to a stranger, it is nothing short of customary to remain standing the entire length of a given journey, rather than take a seat next to someone you've never met before. Not that this always happens, but I've seen it. I've also stood the whole way before. I don't make the rules.

Also, after riding the bus everywhere, every day, I've come to notice the differences in bus drivers. The good bus drivers can stop on a dime, placing the first door directly in front of you. The rookies fly past the bus stop and hit the breaks. Drivers, no doubt bitter and tired of their jobs, take the corners way too fast, probably just to see the looks on people’s faces. Kindly old bus drivers wave at people, and wait for the poor person running towards the bus, hands waving, whereas the stricter chauffeurs will leave you hanging, penalizing us young tempters of fate for being but 15 seconds tardy.

Anyway, I luckily reach the bus in the nick of time, only to realize I've forgotten my bus card in the pants pocket of jeans worn the night before.

I'm doomed.

I stealthily have a seat, hoping the bus driver opts not to give me the death stare, refusing to start the bus until he hears the "beep" of my bus card, or until I walk up to the front and pay him.

Today though, I am a champion. This bus driver is concerned much more with being on time than with collecting dues.

On my way home at 4:30, I still have no bus card in my pocket. The red line to Roslatt is packed with people, and this time I could easily slip in without payment. My fear of Karma however gets the better of me, and I pay the 16 Kroner (something like $2.30) for the ride.

I get home and find my bus card, placing it firmly in the plaid wallet my grandma got me for Christmas, after her dog ate my old one. This day I am victorious...but the bus will be waiting tomorrow...every ten minutes.