Finding My Footing in Luleå

There was a truly hilarious moment today when I realised just how much of a fish out of water I am: my wheelchair got stuck in the snow. I’ve flown up to Luleå in the north of Sweden, and throughout this trip, I’ve been using wheelchair support to navigate the airports. Usually, the terminals are massive and confusing, and with the added complexity of security checks for my prosthetic limb and hip, the assistance just makes the journey so much smoother.

Luleå is the most remote stop on this trip—a municipality of about 80,000 people on the far north coast, only about 90 minutes from the Finnish border. It’s a part of the world where the lakes and rivers literally freeze over for months, and daylight is a rare commodity. The hour-long flight from Stockholm was spectacular; as we descended over the coast, I realised the vast expanse of white below wasn’t land, but the frozen ocean. The line between earth and sea is completely blurred this far north. It was absolutely stunning.

Upon landing, a young man met me to assist with the trek to the terminal. We walked down a few stairs onto the tarmac, which was blanketed in snow. He started pushing me, but the chair struggled immediately in the deep powder. I offered to walk—I can manage that distance—but he was persistent, and we eventually crunched our way inside.

I was greeted by my friend and colleague, Carrie. She’s a fascinating mix—half Swedish, half Australian. She lived in Australia for 15 years, which seems impossible to me; the time has flown. She eventually fell in love, and her partner moved back to Sweden with her.

We spent the day sightseeing, starting with a visit to the local recycling centre. The Swedes do recycling on a scale that puts us to shame; it’s not just bins for cans and bottles, but massive hubs for clothes and everything else imaginable. Afterwards, we drove around the area. Everything is a blinding, flat white. We visited the harbour, which was being prepped for a big festival where people ice-skate over immense distances.

Walking on the ice and snow is a challenge with my disability, but I discovered the kick-sled. For me, it functioned like a Nordic walking frame. You’re supposed to put one foot on a blade and kick with the other, which I obviously can’t do, but using it for stability made me feel incredibly mobile and confident.

We also dropped by Carrie’s workplace—a local radio station. It was a “busman’s holiday” moment, seeing a station operating in a format so similar to my crew at the ABC. Despite the distance, the role in the community and the staff energy felt exactly like home. They’re currently in the thick of Winter Olympics coverage. We paused for a coffee and a kanelbulle (cinnamon bun) before heading to Gammelstad.

Gammelstad is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and we stepped into a 15th-century Lutheran church just as one baptism was ending and another was beginning. I saw a woman running through the snow carrying a baby who looked absolutely frozen! The highlight, however, was the “church town”—hundreds of tiny red cottages nestled in the snow. It was overwhelmingly beautiful. We drove back over the frozen river and through forests where the trees were bowing under the weight of the snow. I felt like a child; I was beside myself with excitement at an environment so alien to the Australian Outback.

Later, I ventured out independently while Carrie rested. Luleå’s shopping district is fairly standard for a country town, but I enjoyed a quiet coffee before navigating the bus system back to Carrie’s. I’m not entirely sure I paid—the driver said something in Swedish, I tapped my card (I think?), and he let me on. When I hopped off 15 minutes later, I was momentarily lost—every house looks identical when covered in white! Thankfully, I heard a voice call out, “James, I’m here!” and Carrie guided me home.

The evening ended with a dinner party with several of Carrie’s colleagues from Swedish radio and TV. They were a lovely, eclectic group. The highlight of the night was the Melodifestivalen (Mello) fever. Even in the middle of a sophisticated dinner conversation, the intensity of interest in the Eurovision heats was incredible. Everything stopped so we could watch the final entries and the voting. They seemed genuinely shocked that an Australian knew as much about the contest details as they did.

The Swedes really do love their Mello. A perfect end to a day in the deep north.