Lost in Translation: My Crash Course in International Travel

Over a decade ago, I was working for a Finnish company when they requested that I fly over to teach InDesign to the rest of the marketing team. While you're probably thinking, this could have been a Microsoft Teams meeting, back then we didn't have Teams yet! Up to this point, I hadn't been to any other country. This would be my first. I was incredibly excited, thinking, how lucky am I to get to go to Finland?

What I didn't realize was just how unprepared I was.

I was going for a week, so of course, like any normal human being, I checked a bag. Mistake number one. I kept thinking to myself, the more I bring, the better off I'll be!

Flying out of Cleveland, Ohio, I had several flights to get to my destination. My first stop was Chicago. It was only an hour-and-a-half flight—easy peasy. But when I arrived at the airport, it suddenly struck me: where was my winter coat? I had forgotten it in the car. My first order of business was to buy a winter coat… in the airport. Good times.

Once that crisis was solved, I had two hours to wait. Anxiety crept in, and the waiting was torturous. I’m not gonna lie—I cried. A LOT.

Since this was a work trip, backing out wasn’t an option. I was alone in Chicago, boarding my flight to Stockholm, Sweden. Thankfully, I was flying SAS and had premium economy seats. Remember, this was my first international flight. I was floored by how massive the plane was, how many people were there shoving their things into the overhead bins, and everyone getting their necessities organized in the seatbacks.

I immediately sat in my seat, which was plush and comfortable. I remember thinking, I can sit here for 8.5 hours, no problem! Two gentlemen were seated next to me, and all of us were heading to Sweden for the first time. When dinner time arrived, I laughed out loud when they brought by a basket of warm rolls. Was this REALLY what international flights were like? My mind was blown when I received actual cutlery, and the food wasn’t half bad.

Stockholm, Google-maps, and a Century-Old Ship

When I arrived in Stockholm, my saving grace was that I was staying inside the airport at the Radisson Blu. Better yet, there was a McDonald’s in the airport—a true taste of home sweet home!

Still, I was exhausted. I didn't know the language, and hell, I didn’t even know how to navigate the trains to get where I wanted to go. Every person I approached spoke to me in Swedish, at least until they saw the "deer in headlights" look on my face and immediately switched to English. A rush of relief washed over me. Okay, I could actually order food and get help with this train situation.

I purchased a train ticket to go into the city of Stockholm. My goal was to see the famous Vasa, a massive warship that had famously sunk back in 1628. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

As I sat quietly on the train, a couple boarded with a baby in a bright yellow, old-style buggy. I was amazed by the simplicity of the stroller, thinking it looked like something straight out of the 1800s. #SillyAmerican. I began to smile and wave at the baby, like any normal human being would. The parents said something in Swedish, and I sheepishly replied that I didn’t understand. As it turned out, I was the first American either of them had ever met.

The moment I stepped outside the train station and into the city of Stockholm, fear swept over me. I had no idea where I was going, and I had forgotten to charge my phone. I immediately called my husband crying, telling him I was lost. There were so many people walking around. Needless to say, with my husband guiding me from some 4,000 miles away, I found the Vasa. It was absolutely amazing. How could people build something that massive entirely out of wood?

I didn’t stay long, though. The sun was setting, my phone was near death, and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to the airport. It took a bit of troubleshooting and asking strangers for help to find the train station again, but I eventually made it. My flight to Vaasa, Finland was early the next morning, so off to bed I went.

The Vasa ship, sunk in 16

Welcome to No-Man's Land

Arriving at my gate the next morning, I expected to see another big plane with lots of people. Booooooy, was I wrong.

We walked right out onto the tarmac to get to the plane, and I’ll never forget it. It was a tiny prop plane. There were only about 40 of us on board, and the flight attendant immediately saw the horror cross my face. She smiled and said, “We use this plane because it’s better for the environment. I promise you it’s safe.” Now, as many of us know, living in America, we aren’t always "environment first," so this wasn't something I had even considered. I was just hoping it wasn’t going to crash into the sea.

It was a short, 45-minute flight. Landing in Vaasa, Finland, there was no customs, and the airport only had four bays. That’s it. It was the smallest airport I had ever seen. I was officially in country number two, and I was so tired—mentally and physically.

I grabbed my luggage and headed toward the exit. Thankfully, since I was on a work trip, there was a nice man waiting for me with my name on a sign. It couldn’t have been a more welcome sight. I didn't have to worry about navigating anymore.

My driver spoke English since he worked for the same company. As we drove, the scenery consisted of lush green, high-cut pine trees and giant fucking rocks. All of the houses were painted red, which I later learned was because it was the only color that was cheap, weather-resistant, and historically gave off a "wealthy" vibe. There was so much land, land, and more land. No signs of Walmart, no Target, no McDonald’s… I was in no-man's land.

The drive to Jeppo, Finland took an hour. I stayed on company property in their housing. They had a kitchen staff that fed me, and my room was essentially a dorm. It featured a very, very, very twin bed with the littlest mattress I had ever laid eyes on, and a tiny pillow. In Europe, they don’t always have American-style hotel rooms, beds, or sheets for that matter. I was in for a long three days.

The one thing I'll never forget, though, is the Finnish water. My skin and hair had never felt so soft! It came straight from the natural springs—the cleanest water I would ever have access to. Still, I cried a couple more times that week just because I was so tired, jet-lagged, 4,300 miles from home, and dealing with a seven-hour time difference.

But a car picked me up in the morning to take me to the office, and for three days, I successfully trained my marketing coworkers from all over the world on how to use Adobe InDesign.

Mcdonalds at Arlanda, Stockholm airport.

By the end of the trip, I was so excited to get back to the Stockholm airport, shove my face with McDonald’s, and eventually get home to have the biggest breakfast at Bob Evans. Needless to say, folks, Finnish food is pretty bland, and they eat A LOT of fish.

I made it through the Vaasa airport with no problem (four gates, remember?). I landed back in Stockholm around 1:00 PM, and my flight home wasn't until around 4:00 PM. In Stockholm, you have to go through customs to get into the international wing, which was entirely new to me. I hadn’t realized this and casually wandered the airport thinking I had plenty of time. By the grace of some angel, the customs line wasn’t long when I finally figured it out, and I still made it to my gate with time to spare.

Boarding time approached, came, and went. This was the last flight into Newark for the night, and I was beginning to panic. The flight faced several delays and was then cancelled. CANCELLED!!!

I had never experienced a canceled flight in my life, let alone in another country. I was stranded. Of course, I hit the panic button and called my husband. But from 4,000 miles away, what was he supposed to do besides try to calm me down? I had to figure this out by myself.

I looked around, holding back tears, and saw a chaotic line gathering around a desk. People were yelling, people were on their phones, and people were waving their arms in the air. Bingo. That is where you find out where you’re supposed to be!

The line moved painfully slowly. When I finally approached the desk, the woman took my information, handed me a piece of paper, told me to get on a bus for a specific hotel, and said they would email me my rebooked flight details later. Ummmmmm… excuse me?

Luckily, I had made a friend while waiting at the gate. He had just returned from a summer of backpacking abroad, and he was definitely not panicking. Our duo quickly became a trio when we found another lost guy, and the three of us headed to the hotel together. Thank God, the airline paid for the hotel, dinner, and the rebooked flights. These guys were younger than me and far more traveled. I was blown away by their courage, their curiosity, and their determination to sleep in hostels, travel without solid plans, and live life by the seat of their pants.

My rebooked flight email finally came at 11:00 PM. I had been too anxious to sleep, terrified that I would miss the email and, in turn, miss my flight. I was rebooked on a 7:00 AM flight into Washington Dulles, which meant a 4:00 AM wake-up call for me.

It was an insane, chaotic experience to go through on my very first trip overseas. But looking back, it completely prepared me for anything. Now, whenever I step into an airport, I know I can handle it. Of course, my anxiety still laughs at me from time to time—but it can fuck off.