Plane-spotting

My name is Aileen and I am a plane-spotter. It's been hard to come to terms with this label, but if I am honest with myself, I have to admit I might have a plane-spotting problem.

I never saw it as a problem, I mean there is nothing wrong with looking up if you hear a plane, right? But on several instances I have nearly cycled into a car while trying to work out if it is Lufthansa or Icelandair flying overhead. Then I thought, well I should just stop looking up. But I tried and I can't.

Everyone who has a problem blames it on their childhood and I think there could be something in it. My mother used to take us to the local airport to watch planes (back in the days when the parking was free). It kept us entertained for hours and it was cheap. On top of that, my father worked abroad, so going to the airport to meet him was definitely a positive experience. And ever since, I just like planes and airports.

At first I managed to hide my problem. I managed to convince everyone I was just really nice by offering to drive them to the airport. I think in Boston I once managed to pick-up or drive someone to the airport 5 times in a week. I used to know what times all the European airlines arrived at Logan airport. I was quite proud about this knowledge but I still remember the day that someone hit me with the bomb by telling me "that's sad".

I am not sure how I convinced Dr. P to move with me to a house under the flight path leading into Heathrow. I can lie on my sofa and every 90 seconds I can marvel at a new plane coming into land. It is so fantastic. Maybe I still have a problem, but at least I won't cycle into a car anymore.......

Don't mention the war!

I once read that it is exhausting to watch a German relax. I can say from experience that this is a very true statement.

The first time I really noticed this was coming back from USA to live in Sweden again. I had spent the last few days in USA frantically packing and saying farewell to my friends. I flew overnight to Sweden, arriving at about 7am in the morning completely exhausted and jetlagged. Dr. P came from Copenhagen to meet me, and to get there that early she had to get up at 4 am. When we finally got to my apartment about 9am, I thought maybe going to bed would be an option. I was so wrong. Before I knew it, I was in a supermarket buying paint and within 5 hours of touching down in Sweden we were painting a bookcase white.......

After meeting Dr. P's mother I realised this is a genetic trait. There should be something happening and there should be a plan. And the plan, well, it should be well-planned.

Dr. P's mother (Frau N) was going to Cambridge, and I was assigned the job of getting her to King's Cross station. She did not need to get a particular train, she just had to phone her cousin when she knew which train she was getting. So we started discussing when we should leave the house. I thought we should aim for between 8 and 8.30. But I forgot, that is not precise enough for a German. I was then asked, "will we leave at 8 or are we getting the train at 8?". For a quiet, life I answered we could maybe aim to leave the house around 8. Much to my surprise, Frau N was up having a shower at 6.30 am the next day. At exactly 8.00 hours and zero seconds she announced "I'm ready!". I don't think she was too impressed with me, as instead of running out the door, I actually finished brushing my teeth.....

Needless to say, all the way to King's Cross station a running commentary was demanded of how long the bus would take, how many stations the train would stop at, which platform the train would leave from. The funny thing is that she doesn't speak English and I don't speak German. So although she was nodding very contentedly that there was a plan, she didn't actually understand most of it......But at least there WAS a plan.

Visiting my old life

Since January I have lived in London, but I have spent eight years of my life in Sweden. This weekend I was on trip back to my old life.....

The first "Sweden feelings" I got on this trip was on the bus in Heathrow airport that was taking us to the plane. There was a couple in their sixties sitting together. In Sweden the woman would be described as a "tant" (hard to translate, basically an old-fashioned, and maybe slightly bitter older lady). The tant started talking to her husband with a condescending tone to her voice. "Please, Olle, surely you haven't forgotten your glasses". She never looked at him, but continued to nag away "I can't believe you did this, what are we going to do now? This is so typical of you!". The man (in Sweden he would be called a "gubbe"), was frantically searching through his bag, ignoring the nagging comments of his wife. At last, he pulled the glasses from his bag with a smile and triumphantly put them on his nose. The woman just commented "I told you that they were there". I am sorry for you Swedes out there, but this nagging tant incident did seem very Swedish to me.

Anyway, we all made it to Sweden and flying in over the archipelago reminded me of what a beautiful country it is. The bus trip to Uppsala was great, as in Sweden they just don't have traffic (at least not in the London sense).

It was weird to be back, some kind of mixture of nostalgia and appreciation for my new life. I am starting the slow process of trying to let go of the Swedish part of my life. I have to admit it's hard. But it's great to know I can come back anytime and visit my old life. I know some great people over here and I love to be out of London city into some beautiful countryside.

But even though I love being in Sweden, I just can't wait to get home to my cat and Dr. P in London. There I have my real home (complete with IKEA furniture and Swedish meatballs in the freezer) even though a piece of my heart will always be in Sweden.