Looking down from the window, it’s hard to tell if the snow is masking green fields or the frozen expanse of the Stockholm Archipelago. I flew in during the dark, and my memories of flying here in the summer months are far too distant to lean on now—those long, golden Nordic days feel like a different lifetime.
Normally, I’m a dedicated aisle seat person. As an amputee, it just makes life infinitely easier for getting to the bathroom or having that extra bit of floor space to stretch out my leg. I know that for the people sitting next to me, it sometimes means they have to wait a beat longer to shuffle past while I navigate the space, but it’s a trade-off I usually have to make. However, today the woman at check-in offered me a window seat in the fourth row. I paused for a second, but contemplating the rare opportunity to see the Swedish landscape in proper daylight, I immediately said yes. There is something grounding about seeing the world from 30,000 feet, especially when you’re heading toward a city / area as visually stunning as Stockholm.
Checking in at an airport is a much more formal “process” for me these days. I usually request wheelchair support to help navigate the sheer scale of modern terminals. The reality of the situation is that it’s often a incredibly long walk to get to the plane, and in the case of today’s flight, ours was parked at one of the furthest possible gates. I had a really good chat with the young woman pushing the wheelchair. She told me she had been to Finland many times because her father is Finnish, but she hadn’t actually done much additional travel outside of that. She looked quite young, perhaps just starting out in her career, but she was incredibly professional and kind.
Back home in Sydney, the process of going through airport security is usually quite fast. The attendants there instantly notice I have a prosthetic, and we have a silent understanding of how the screening will go. But being in a much colder climate and wearing long pants, it wasn’t instantly obvious to the staff here that I had a missing leg or that I was wearing a replacement. When they asked me if I could take my shoes off, I had to explain that I couldn’t—at least not easily. She understood why immediately, and the situation was handled with total grace. Interestingly, I had a woman perform the pat-down today. In Australia, that process is almost always strictly divided by gender, so it was a small but notable cultural difference in how security is managed here.
The other big transport difference I noticed today was on the Metro. I got onto an extremely busy carriage where every single seat was taken. Almost instantly, a younger woman identified my need for a seat and offered hers to me. It was a moment of genuine kindness that felt remarkably seamless. It stands in such stark contrast to my experiences in Sydney. Even when I’m wearing shorts and my prosthetic is clearly visible, I often have to be the one to speak up and ask for a seat on a crowded train.
I’ve thought about why that is, and I think the problem in Sydney is that most people are simply so absorbed by their phones that they don’t even bother to look up and see who is standing in front of them. People in Stockholm have mobiles, of course, but they seem far less “consumed” by them than people back home. In Sydney, it’s now quite common to literally have someone run into you while they’re walking on the street or even crossing a busy road because they won’t take their eyes off the screen. I haven’t seen that happen once since I arrived in Stockholm. There seems to be a different level of presence here.
The flight from Stockholm to London was a very pleasant two and a half hours—a perfect duration that doesn’t leave you feeling entirely drained. I’m treating this part of the trip as an important “greatest hits” side quest. The main agenda items are taking in the ABBA Voyage show—which I’ve heard is a technical marvel—and seeing a new modern stage version of Yes, Prime Minister.
It’s been almost 20 years since my last visit to London, and I was pleasantly surprised by how much easier the journey from Heathrow into the city has become. I caught the Piccadilly line and it was remarkably straightforward; I emerged from the Underground and arrived almost immediately next to my hotel, The President at Russell Square. Before I arrived, I’d read various reports about the “mountain” of stairs I might need to navigate at certain London stations. As an amputee, stairs—especially wet or crowded ones—are always a bit of a mental hurdle. I was bracing myself for a struggle, but thankfully the lifts were all in working order, making the transition from the platform to the street completely painless.
Tonight, I had dinner with a dear friend and former colleague from Sydney who now works at BBC Radio London. She was kind enough to give me a guided tour of her workplace, and as a long-time ABC person, I couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities between the two organisations. From the specific types of broadcast equipment to the general “ordered chaos” of the workplace configuration, it felt like home. It turns out there are also a huge number of Australians working in the BBC newsroom; it seems we really do get everywhere.
It was a funny sensation to be in an environment that was simultaneously familiar and entirely different. As I entered the building and waited for my friend, I played a little game in my head, trying to work out what different people’s roles were based on their appearance and how they carried themselves—comparing them to the archetypes I know so well from the ABC. The most significant difference I noticed, however, was the cultural diversity. The BBC felt much more representative of a global city, with many more “brown faces” among the staff than I usually see in our Australian newsrooms.
I also had a bit of a fan moment, taking photographs in various locations around the building that I recognised from the brilliant comedy show W1A. For anyone who hasn’t seen it, it’s a pitch-perfect mockumentary that satirises the BBC’s own corporate culture—the endless meetings about nothing, the management jargon, and the absurdly over-complicated “solutions” to simple problems. Standing in the actual lobby where those scenes were filmed was a highlight.
Over an excellent meal and a great bottle of wine, we spent several hours catching up on the massive changes in our respective lives. It’s been nearly ten years since she made the move to London, and while we stay in touch on social media, I realised it’s probably been five years since we last sat across from each other in person. We were the very last people to leave the restaurant, lost in conversation.
She was also an excellent ally to have when it came time to negotiate the public transport for the trip back. It had started to rain, which made the London streets pretty slippery, and some of the stairs we encountered were quite steep. My prosthetic can be a bit unforgiving on slick surfaces, so having someone there who understands the rhythm of the city was a huge help. Thankfully, all the lifts were working at the stations we needed for the return leg too.
After several days of bracing against the cold and wearing heavy long pants, it felt like a total luxury to finally put on my short pyjamas and hop into bed. Being an amputee means I have to keep a very close eye on the skin health of both my “good” leg and my stump. The combination of the biting outdoor cold and the dry, blasting central heating indoors had caused my skin to become quite itchy and parched. I applied some moisturiser, and the relief was instant. I think for the rest of this trip, I’ll try to wear shorts whenever the indoor environment allows for it, just to give my skin a bit of a break.