There was an event this weekend for the 'Americans in Sweden' Facebook group. We met up in a mall, at a Boston-themed sportsbar with loads of screens, a bowling alley, a game room and a jumbotron. It was there I shared how hard it is, as an American, to find spots in Sweden that are fun and comfortable.
I've been in Sweden for more than a decade. Over nachos, cheese whiz and hamburgers, I told group members that you just gotta adjust to the food here.
Drinking an American craft beer, I reminded folks that Sweden is a small country and you can't expect the same degree of variety.
After the waitress took my order in English, I mentioned the lower levels of customer service you sometimes get here.
When my daughters, who joined me, were shooting hoops and playing air hockey, I couldn't help thinking how their childhood will be nothing like mine in the States.
After brownies, we left. I walked out of the restaurant, back into the mall, past another restaurant called Boston Grill, and I thought: there's no escaping it. It's just so Swedish here.
But I'm ok with that. It was a great evening. I went home, flipped on a baseball game, poured a bowl of Cheerios, and felt a sense of pride in how Swedish I've become. It just takes time.
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