Restrictive Business Hours

There are so many things I love about living in Sweden. I probably haven’t made that clear enough over the last 18 months.

But no matter how many things you love about any place you call home for any period of time, there will inevitably be something you can’t stand.

One of the only things I’m still having a really tough time adjusting to even after a year and a half in this wonderful country is the unaccommodating business hours.

And I’m not just talking about Systembolaget, the government-run alcohol monopoly with some of the worst hours you could imagine. If you’re unfamiliar, catch up here.

No, it extends far past Systembolaget to virtually every type of business.

Below are major examples (and pictures, because you probably won’t even believe the words you read).

For comparison, I’ll also refer to some businesses in my hometown of Arcata, which had a population of 17,231 at the 2010 census. In the same year, my current town in Sweden had 16,350 inhabitants. For all intents and purposes, Arcata and Falköping are the same size.

Buying Food

Falköping has six grocery stories — four Swedish (two ICAs, a Coop, and a Willy’s), a Danish discount (Netto) and a German discount (Lidl).

ICA and Coop have the best hours. They’re open from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m., seven days a week.





Willy’s, where Amanda and I do most of our shopping, has the same schedule except on Sunday, when it opens two hours later.



No grocery store is open before 8 a.m. or after 9 p.m. I find that ridiculous, but that’s because I’m accustomed to much more flexible hours.

Statoil, an overpriced gas station with a “convenience” store that defies the term, is the only place in town you can get any small selection of groceries before 8 a.m. or after 9 p.m.



I’m not sure how convenient it can really be considered, though, since it’s only open from 6 a.m. to midnight on weekdays and 8 a.m. to midnight on weekends.

If you want any type of food at all after midnight, it’s the McDonald’s drive-thru until 1 a.m.



After that, your only option is pizza. We’ve got a couple dozen pizzerias in town, and to my knowledge three of them (Valentino, Happy Time and Eldorado) are open until 3 a.m. Friday and Saturday nights for partiers. That’s late for Sweden.



So, why am I complaining about this?

Because the town I grew up in, which is just as small as Falköping, is also home to six supermarkets (counting Safeway, Wildberries, Murphy’s Sunny Brae and Westwood, North Coast Co-Op and Ray’s Food Place, excluding mini-mart types like Greenview Market, Hutchins Grocery and Fourth Street Market on Samoa).

Safeway and Wildberries are probably two largest/most popular of those. Safeway is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and Wildberries is open 6 a.m. to midnight daily (same hours as our town’s “most-convenient” store). Even the Co-Op is open from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day, and it has the worst hours of any supermarket in Arcata.

With a 24-hour supermarket, you never have to worry about buying groceries around the store’s schedule.

If you want other food in Arcata at strange hours, there’s Don’s Donuts and Toni’s Restaurant, which are also both open 24 hours. Arcata Pizza and Deli, which offers a lot more than just pizza, also serves the late-night crowd until 11 p.m. Sundays, 1 a.m. Monday through Thursday and 3 a.m. Friday and Saturday.

That’s what I’m used to, which makes the restrictive hours here in Sweden feel even more limited.

Buying Medicine

What Systembolaget is to alcohol, Apoteket is to medicine. Well, the government-owned pharmaceutical monopoly was actually abolished a few years ago — maybe the Swedish government didn’t like being put in the same category as Cuba or North Korea — but in small towns like Falköping, it’s still the only option for medicine.

Apoteket is open from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. weekdays and 9:30 a.m. to 2 p.m. on Saturday. If you need prescription medication at 2:01 p.m. on Saturday afternoon, you have to wait 43 hours until the pharmacy opens again Monday morning.



That’s crazy, but maybe I say that in part because 24-hour pharmacies are becoming the norm in the United States, now mater how small a town is.

Buying Household Items

Sadly, Ö o B has some of the best hours of any store in town. It’s kind of like a small-scale Walmart — lots of random stuff at cheap (relative to this being Europe) prices. It’s open until 7 on weeknights and 5 on weekends.



Buying Books

Bokia operates several dozen bookstores across Sweden and is one of the largest book chains in the country. It doesn’t seem to be suffering the same fate as U.S. chains that Amazon has essentially put out of business.

Not that I buy a lot of my books at bookstores — I prefer Amazon UK’s selection and prices, even after international shipping — but if I did want to, I would have to do it between 10 a.m. and 6 p.m. on weekdays or 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. on Saturday.



It’s closed on Sundays, of course. What kind of a bookstore is that? I’ve never been a huge recreational reader but I’ve always imagined Sunday is probably the biggest recreational reading day of the week, no?

Buying a Cup of Coffee

Lila blå is our favorite coffee shop in town. They offer the best caffeinated drinks around, hands down. But if I’m not home and want to grab a cup at 6 or 7 in the morning, I’m out of luck. They never open before 8, close at 3 p.m. on Saturdays and are closed on Sundays.



Banking

I bank at Nordea and I often wonder why, because there are a couple of banks with slightly better hours.

If I need to go exchange currency or do an international transfer, which are pretty much the only things I can’t do online, I have to do it before 1 p.m.



Yes, my bank closes at 1 p.m. all but one day a week (it’s open until 6 on Thursday, likely dictated by Systembolaget’s extended hours that day of the week).

These limited hours aren’t unique to small Swedish towns. It’s not much better in the few big cities.

Why?

If any of this has surprised you, you’re probably wondering why it is this way.

As far as I can tell, there’s absolutely no demand for it to change. This is how it’s been for a long time and this is what Swedes are used to. Consumer preferences will never prompt an extension of opening hours. It’s obviously only expatriates like myself who have a problem with it.

There’s another reason, though, which has to do with how well Sweden treats its employees. There are countless perks for workers, such as at least five weeks of paid vacation every year.

The benefit here that I believe discourages any business from considering an extension of its hours is “OB,” which basically means inconvenient/uncomfortable working hours.

If somebody works during these hours, they automatically earn an hourly supplement to their fixed monthly salary. It varies a bit from employer to employer and I could be wrong with these details but it’s my understanding that many employers offer both a regular supplement for “simple” inconvenient hours and a double supplement for hours that are “particularly inconvenient.”

Simple inconvenient hours are generally something like weekdays after 6 p.m. or 7 p.m. until 10 p.m. or 11 p.m., when the extra inconvenient hours kick in.

Double inconvenient hours are paid on holidays, all hours between 6 p.m. on Fridays and 6 a.m. on Mondays and all other time between 10 p.m. or 11 p.m. and 6 a.m.

I understand that some industries in the U.S. offer similar differentials and that there are jobs where employees earn double-time or night shift differentials, but it’s not nearly as standard as it is here. My last newspaper could never have paid me a differential like that. My typical shift was 3 p.m. to almost midnight, often on weekends, too. That extra money would have added up fast.

If a Swedish grocery store tried to remain open 24 hours a day, it would go out of business paying its employees for all the “inconvenient hours” they would work.

Sweden’s restrictive business hours will never improve. There’s no demand for it and even if there were, a massive overhaul of labor laws would be necessary to make it economically feasible for businesses.

One Year Later

I arrived in Sweden a year ago tonight.

Today, I can say without an ounce (or perhaps I should say gram?) of hesitation that moving to here is the best decision I’ve ever made.



My shortcomings in the Swedish language aside, I’ve established a pretty respectable life here in 12 short months.

I wake up next to my dream girl every morning in the perfect apartment, in an ideal small town with exceptional train service. No member of my outstanding support system lives more than 20 minutes away. It’s taken a lot of effort but I finally feel like I’m starting to be able to call a few friends “close.” I have an amazing job that pays well and is secure until at least next summer.

I’ve grown accustomed to a lot of things I never thought I would, too:

• Strong coffee, and lots of it

• Incessant conversations about weather

• Trying to argue in a culture that avoids even minor confrontations at all costs

• Lunch replacing dinner as my main meal of the day

• No shoes indoors

• Planning everything in advance, whether it’s doing laundry or visiting a friend

• Complete and total division of work and leisure time, with zero overlap under any circumstances

• Outrageous food and drink prices

• Queuing (that’s European for “waiting in line”) for everything

• Striving to come across as modest and humble in a country where bragging is practically a jailable offense

As far as my Swedish is concerned, it’s obviously going to take greater self-discipline, but I think what it’s really going to take is a commitment to spend more time here this year.

After having lived in Sweden for only a few weeks last fall, I took a solo vacation to Glasgow. We went to Sicily for Amanda’s birthday in November. I visited Germany and Denmark with my brother in January. Then I spent more than 10 weeks over three separate trips in the United States. All told, I spent 85 of my first 365 days as a resident of Sweden, outside of Sweden. That’s less than 77% of my time actually spent in this glorious country. Pretty difficult to focus on learning a language under those circumstances, but that goal now sits alone at the top of my list for the next 12 months.

I’m looking forward to what my second year here has in store.

Kräftskiva - Crayfish Party

After missing midsommar and the raucous celebrations that accompany the late June solstice, I couldn't wait to experience another popular Swedish summertime tradition last weekend - kräftskiva.

While many Swedes incorrectly refer to it as a “lobster party,” kräftskiva actually translates to “crayfish party.” And while crayfish may be part of the same shellfish family and resemble mini lobsters, slurping meat out of a salty crayfish is a much different experience than using a fork to dip a tender lobster tail into drawn butter.



Kräftskiva is a very popular Scandinavian tradition that originated in Sweden. Late every summer, at the beginning of crayfish season, families and friends gather to eat tons of crayfish and drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol. I wasn't the only one who woke the next morning with a pounding headache.

Party accessories are common, and Amanda decorated the tables with crayfish plates and napkins and spread crayfish confetti everywhere. At some parties, I'm told guests even wear crayfish hats.





More than a dozen members of Amanda’s extended family joined us as we sang special crayfish drinking songs.





For dessert, I made chocolateballs for only the second time ever. They quickly became my favorite no-bake sweet during my visit last winter and after another warm reception, I'm thinking about making them professionally soon.

Expat

I’ve been very remiss in not writing sooner. The last month has been an absolute whirlwind and I should have posted a few times along the way. Consider my blog active now as I plan to update it at least a few times a week.

My self-addressed envelope with a Washington, D.C. postmark showed up in Arcata on August 3, only 113 days after I submitted the first paperwork in San Francisco. That’s less than four months when they warn it can take between six and eight, though it didn’t exactly feel that quick.

I booked my flight the next morning. Since one-way fares are inexplicably the same price as roundtrips with most major airlines I have a return flight scheduled for June 29, 2011. I’ll probably visit California for two weeks before returning to Sweden in mid-July.

The next two weeks were filled with difficult goodbyes and sorting through box after box of everything I accumulated in five years in Sacramento. I threw most of it away, repacked some to store in Arcata, filled two suitcases with clothes and shipped the rest of my personal effects from Oakland. Those boxes should arrive by the end of next month.

As challenging as it was sorting through everything I own, trying to see everyone one more time was harder. You leave hoping you can pick up right where you left off with everyone when you visit the United States or eventually move back, but you have to be realistic. Some people will change, and not always for the better. Others won’t make any effort to stay in touch. It’s a sad thing to accept.

I woke up in Anaheim early on my last morning as an American resident and took a quick walk past the Disneyland entrance. Seeing all the young kids lining up at the main gate with their excited smiles, I remembered how thrilled I was to meet Mickey Mouse the first time. I guess my definition of excitement has intensified a little over the years.

It’s only happened a handful of times in my life, but I couldn’t put my emotions into words on the way to LAX that evening. The gravity of this whole thing didn’t sink in when my passport arrived, when I bought my flight, when I packed my bags or when I said goodbye to friends. It finally hit me during dinner with my family, overlooking one of the runways at the airport. The fear, shock and sadness I felt as I boarded a plane in Los Angeles finally gave way to excitement when I landed in Gothenburg and saw Amanda waiting for me. Who needs Team Edward or Team Jacob?



The jetlag was short-lived but I’m still getting settled this weekend. I woke up to a delicious breakfast (with a taste of America) the first morning.



The next day I registered with the Swedish Tax Board yesterday and my Social Security Number will arrive in the mail soon. Next week’s tasks include obtaining a driver’s license and polishing my CV (curriculum vitae, basically an expansive résumé used in Europe). Amanda starts school in Jönköping on Tuesday and I may start a Swedish course that day, too.

The Waiting Game

I’m writing my first-ever blog post from prison. The United States is my cell. I couldn’t even cross the border into Canada or Mexico if I wanted, because my passport is sitting on the desk of a Swedish immigration officer 5,300 miles (or should I say, about 8,500 kilometers) away in Stockholm.

After weeks of thoughtful analysis and careful contemplation earlier this year, Amanda and I came to the not-so-easy conclusion that we would spend at least the next three-plus years together in Sweden while she completes her education. It makes the most sense based on factors I’m sure I’ll explain further in future blogs.

I would need a residence permit to cohabit with a significant other. The permit provides virtually all the rights of a Swedish citizen but must be renewed periodically.

Government websites warn that the process of obtaining the permit typically takes six to eight months, start to finish. I should have assumed they don’t just throw that number out for fun.

I spent more than 100 hours in late March and the first week of April filling out form after form and preparing a packet of documentation that would blow any immigration official’s mind: a detailed history of our friendship before we started dating, photographs from our frequent vacations together, letters, Skype logs, phone bills, photocopies of plane tickets, passport stamps and other travel papers pertaining to our relationship.

If the immigration board is primarily trying to halt paid, contractual or other arranged relationships between people who haven’t met each other or lack a genuine, established situation, my submission to the Consulate General in San Francisco on April 12 clearly squelched any routine speculation. We were called back to the Bay Area on May 13 for what turned out to be painless interviews that were nothing like the comedic scenes with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds in “The Proposal.” They didn’t ask her what toothpaste I use or how I like my eggs. None of my questions involved her favorite Starbucks drink or designer brand.

San Francisco sent its recommendation along with my passport and all the other documentation to the consulate in Washington, D.C. for further review. At some point, everything eventually made its way across the pond to the immigration board in Stockholm.

There was a lengthy questionnaire dated July 1 waiting for Amanda at her dad’s house when she returned to Sweden on July 10. She mailed it back to Stockholm the next day and based on what I’ve read on forums on thelocal.se, the website for Swedish news in English, we may be rapidly approaching approval. Many who have been in our boat have written of receiving their residence permit within two weeks of mailing back that questionnaire.

This process is “only” in its fourth month, and things do seem to be moving swiftly ahead of the six to eight month estimate. However, with very little help from our case officer over the phone, we really don’t know when to expect communication next. In reality, it honestly could be a few more months

Let me tell you, it’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever known. I’m in a virtual holding pattern. I quit my wonderful job in Auburn at the end of June (perhaps far too early) and I feel trapped in the country. Granted, I still have plenty to take care of in coming weeks, including a yard sale to get rid of all the junk I’ve accumulated during five years in Sacramento, moving out of my downtown apartment and selling my car. It’s beyond frustrating, though, that I can’t even buy my flight until receiving the ultimate confirmation from the immigration board.

For now, I’ll stay restless at night and we’ll continue to wait. You gotta love bureaucracy.