Crying in Stockholm
Welcome back to my crying series! Here I tell you why I cried in each city on my big European solo-travel tour. These blogs rely entirely on the fact that I have cried at least once in almost every location I’ve visited so basically it functions on my misfortune, unless it’s a happy cry – which I have enjoyed many of along the way as well.
Today we’re talking about why I cried in Stockholm, Sweden. I spent eight days in Stockholm, which is probably too much time and also too little. The problem with my eight days was that after a while, I saw all the tourist attractions and did plenty of exploring. By day four, I was reaching for things to do as a traveler with a tight budget in a very expensive city.
However, by day eight things had turned around, I made new friends, saw new places and started to feel comfortable with the city. On my last evening, I had a wonderful night out with three girls from my hostel dorm room. We put on our best clothes and walked to a nearby wine bar in Nordhavn for a few drinks and small bites. The sky was coated a dull blue that evening which slowly turned grey and began to rain, so we took our little wine party from the patio to the bar inside.
A blurry depiction of the walk to Savant Wine Bar in Stockholm. The evening of my Stockholm cry. (photo: Lauren Mulvey)
At the end of the night we returned back to the hostel pretty late. Most of us were leaving the next day, off to our next destinations: Spain for me, Italy for another, and northern Sweden for a pair of girls hoping to celebrate Swedish midsummer.
Back in the room I used my phone flashlight to get things in order for my early wake up the next day. I did my routine check to make sure my passport was tucked away in it’s designated backpack pocket. But as I unzippered the pack my heart sank, no passport.
It was surely a mistake. I searched through my backpack, my purse, my locker, my suitcase. It was nowhere to be found. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. Did someone steal it? I trusted that all the solo-travelers who had filtered in and out of my room during my stay wanted nothing to do with stealing my identity. Did I lose it? For the most part, I’m an organized person; I could never anticipate losing something this important. A pair of sunglasses? Probably. My favorite chapstick? Definitely. Passport? Nope.
I went down to the front desk and asked if they found it. The man at the desk checked the lost and found with no luck, grabbed a tiny sticky note and very nonchalantly wrote down the address for the U.S. Embassy in Stockholm and slide it across the desk in a manner that said “tough luck.”
Sticky note in hand, I rushed back up to my room, sat on the floor and tore my suitcase apart with the girl in the bunk above me. And after taking out everything I own and not finding the passport, she gently helped me fold all my clothes and repack the suitcase, offering some words of encouragement here and there.
Then the tears came. I sat in the hostel stairwell and called my parents on Whatsapp. I told them the situation, and for 20 minutes they tried to communicate with me through the tears, but mostly just watched me cry in horror. This was my worst nightmare. My trip being delayed, losing money I spent on flights and accommodations because of a stupid mistake. I couldn’t believe I let it happen.
But the cry felt good. On a long solo trip, there are many moments of homesickness, confusion and overwhelm. I felt like I had spent many days holding back tears so the release was necessary. As I tried to breathe and self-soothe, I started to think about the last time I saw my passport: check-in.
Arriving at the hostel I used self check-in which is located on some touchscreens next to the reception desk. I remembered taking out my passport to input my indentification number on the screen. On the hard floor of the stairwell, through my shaking breaths, I realized that the reception desk had to have more information or even footage of me checking in from their security cameras.
I went back downstairs to find a different man at reception and a few older men discussing something. Emerging from a long cry my cheeks were stained with tears, eyes puffy and red. The men give me horrified and pitiful look, to which I gave a “mind your business” glare in return.
When it was my turn I approached the desk to another confused look from the receptionist. I told him the situation this time in a firmer voice. I would not leave without a better answer. As I spoke, he almost immediately turned to a small drawer behind him and pulled out a bulging worn paper folder. He pulled from it a driver’s license and asked if it was mine. I shook my head, no. Next he pulled out a dark blue passport. Perhaps, an American passport – could it be mine? My heart leapt at the tiny glimmer of hope. It took him a lifetime to open the passport to the photo ID page and turn it towards me. But when he did I saw my 16 year old face staring back with a smirk. It was mine.
Reception had an entire folder of missing IDs they had found in the hostel. I stayed there for eight days and they made no effort to return it to me after I left it at self check-in. The man handed it to me and I started crying again with relief and whimpered “thank you.” He gave a chuffed laugh as I turned away.
The Stockholm Archipelago in the late afternoon — a must visit location in Sweden. Video captured pre-cry. (video: Lauren Mulvey)
Though I’m not sure if my crying made me think clearer in this situation, there is certainly an argument for that here. If there’s a moral to this story, it’s probably that you should check to make sure you have your passport at least once a day when traveling. For me it felt like another failure, and after two failures over the course of a week I was starting to feel defeated. But crying in Stockholm (and Copenhagen) have taught me to be gentler with myself. Sometimes you mess up! You’ll figure it out though.
But seriously make sure you have your passport. Where is it right now? Do you know? Go find it.
