Another week

This morning I made a mental note that our passports were all on a shelf in my parents' living room. I updated the note on my phone an hour later because I knew I wouldn't remember it in a few days, in fact I had thought that they were in the passport drawer in Stockholm. But at one point I had realized that next time we needed to travel outside Scandinavia, Zoe and I, would be the US in early May, when we are attending my yearly core conference, and figured we would fly out of Copenhagen because we leave the day after Zoe's birthday. And hopefully the note on my phone would prevent me from panic when I later wondered where they were.

Scandinavia has a passport union, that has been in place for over fifty years, which means that we don't need to show passport when going between Stockholm and Copenhagen. I once encountered an anomaly, which is when you travel by plane and check in luggage. Then they ask for your passport or ID. Also the child, if the child checks in luggage. That time I happened to have Zoe's passport with me, because that is obviously the only type of ID a child can have (as far as I know, in most countries) and when I asked the check-in lady if she didn't have problems with that often, she snorted that she had never encountered it. Apparently parents rarely check in luggage in their children's name within Scandinavia, who knew?

I'm off to another two days of Stockholm, picking up Zoe from school and being with her until Wednesday morning. Then she flies down to Copenhagen on Friday for a weekend with me here. Another week, another three flights. 

Jumping on hotel beds

"You are my favorite travel buddy", I whispered into Zoe's ear after we had settled into the shared ride at exactly 2:50am, taking off for Newark airport. She had woken up immediately as I gently touched her, put on her skirt and sweater herself (she had slept in the rest of her clothes to make this easier), and taken down her little owl suitcase from 4th floor herself. Without as much as a whinge. We chatted about houses and cars and lights as the driver took us to our way-too-early-but-cheap flight.

Zoe and I are off to a conference in Vancouver where I have a paper, and a workshop to attend. Since I'm alone with her in New York, I have no option but to bring her, which is also my preference. There are two simple reasons for why I like to take her 4000 miles across the country and pay close to a 1000 dollars for her to be with me: Firstly, I don't want to lose out on any time with her these days. With her dad wanting her 50% of the time, I am making the most of it, even if it means having to go home early from the conference dinner and see few actual research presentations. The other reason is that not only is she easy to travel with, she is simply a delight (to paraphrase my 90 year old aunt) to travel with. She hardly ever complains and sees everything as fun exploration and reminiscing with me because we have most likely been on that type of plane, in that specific airport and bought that type of airplane snack before. She cried exactly twice, once when she squeezed her finger in-between her suitcase handle and the suitcase, and once when I interrupted her and asked the shop assistant if they had a different type of sushi rolls. Zoe wanted to explain to me exactly what she wanted and I just overruled her, leading to her frustration. I apologized and we were good again. She got the sushi she wanted (we flew via SFO, which has a great sushi place where I have been many times) and we ran to the gate, boarding as the last people.

Onboard the first flight, she quickly fell asleep together with me, her cuddling up on my lap, me nodding most of the way. When we woke up the plane was shaking from turbulence and I hate that. The big secret about me, (and yes, I recognize the irony) is that I actually *hate* flying [blush]. I am just plain scared to fall down. This also feeds into the desire for me to always fly with Zoe because the thought becomes slightly more bearable that we should both fall down together. But Zoe held my hand and comforted me. She suggested we watch some tv on the iPad because that usually helped her, she said and we did. I was very relieved when we hit the ground safely.

On the second flight we reached a milestone. Normally, my attention has to be devoted mostly to her, even if she is watching cartoons or playing on her iPad, and if she is sleeping it is mostly on my lap, limiting my movement. This time, however, she watched cartoons (with my noise canceling headphones) so focused that I pulled out my computer and proceeded to write on a journal article that I'm working on at the moment. I managed to write almost a page, something I have never done on a plane with Zoe before.

We landed and walked the kilometer and a half from the gate to immigration where we had to take the non-resident queue. It took us 30-40 minutes to reach the front, which Zoe patiently waited out with only a bit of complaints. I cursed the officers and fellow passengers for not pulling out the mom traveling with two kids, one 1 1/2 year old who did NOT have 30 minute's patience. But obviously everyone in front of her felt it was more appropriate to listen to the little one crying for most of the time. Finally, it was our turn and I proudly walked up with our rainbow passports. "Where is her father", the young attractive officer asked. "New York", I answered shortly. "Do you have a letter from him?" I froze for a bit. I normally always travel with a letter, I make sure other people traveling with Zoe have a letter but this was just a short trip within the same continent and I had not even thought about bringing passports until two days before. I sighed. "You are actually the first one ever asking for that", I replied honestly and received the obvious "you should always travel with a letter" but after a few more questions he let us through. I joked with a friend later that I was now the child-smuggler.

Zoe jumped eagerly on the hotel bed as we finally got in and we both went to bed early after a long successful travel day.

Passport Please

"Did you remember to give Zoe her own passport", I texted her dad, just making sure we would have it when we return to Stockholm after Christmas. For some reason you need your passport if you're traveling with plane from Denmark to Sweden and are checking in luggage (and possibly the other way but I have not tried this yet). I was surprised one time when we did check in one suitcase and they asked for Zoe's ID. Normally I would just have checked in in advance or printed out boarding passes in the machine, taking only hand luggage and go straight to the plane without having to show ID any place on the way. The Scandinavian countries have had a passport union for like 100 years and I really only bring our passports with us because with our lifestyle we never know where we might have to go on short notice. "Oh shoot" was his answer, or that is my censored version of his Scottish cursing, because he had not given it to Zoe when he dropped her off in Copenhagen airport and it was now in Edinburgh with him. Luckily Zoe is the owner of two passports and all I need is to go and pick up her US passport at his place tomorrow before I leave so we can get back into Sweden. Because after Christmas we certainly will be checking in luggage.

The logistics of the last few days have been rather insane, there is really no better word for it. I was in China when Zoe's dad left for Christmas in Scotland and he had generously offered that she spend Christmas and new years with me in Denmark (next year we will probably switch, something I don't want to think of right now). This meant that he had to drop off Zoe in Denmark with my mom. But having 50 minutes between planes meant he didn't have time to take her out and go back through security, similarly to another time where I was going to Munich. After trying to get a plane ticket so my mom could get in to pick up Zoe and realizing that around this time of year they are at least kr1000/$150, I started looking into other possibilities. It turned out that a friend of a friend is working in the airport and after a bit of back and forth emails he volunteered to come pick up Zoe at the gate and take her down to arrival where grandma would be waiting. All this was taking place when I was on a plane from Shanghai back to Sweden and I called them the minuted the wheels of my plane touched the ground. "Everything went well" my mom reassured me and I sighed in relief. Zoe was happy to be there but apparently now speaks a lot of Swedish and more English than Danish. We will get that sorted out I said and went home to my cold and empty apartment.

Today I had dinner with a friend (my only friend in Stockholm) who gave me a present for Zoe. Packing was easy because all I needed to do was repack: take out my formal presentation clothes from China and put in all the presents. Now all I need is to pack some clothes for Zoe because apparently, she was sent to Denmark with only a snowsuit, her big doll and the clothes she was wearing. But the important part was that she made it and that she is happy. I can't wait to see her, this is the longest we have ever been apart. But I gotta remember that passport, or she will be stuck in Denmark with grandma.