We had the pleasure of visiting the Siri Aurdal exhibition at the Malmö Konsthall this afternoon, and while wandering through a forest of tinted plexiglass, I spotted this view of Oliver.

Malmö, like its Danish cousin across the sound Copenhagen, is a bicycling city, and the number and diversity of bicycles inspires awe, especially when compared to Charlottetown, where cycling remains the preserve, primarily, of the young, the car-less and the sporty.

Ever since my first visits to the area a dozen years ago, I’ve looked longingly at the cargo bikes that are used to haul around groceries, IKEA purchases and children. Nine years ago, when Oliver was 8 years old, I test rode a Nihola child-carrying bike with an eye, perhaps, to using it as a family transporter, but nothing came of it. But the candle burns as bright in me now as it did then, and finding myself in Malmö again, this time with Oliver, prompted a return to the notion.

I was fortunate in this regard to have stumbled across Cargo Bike of Sweden online; it’s based just east of the central train station and an easy bus ride from our apartment, and so we headed there this afternoon.

We were placed in the care of the personable Nils, who showed us first the Cargobike Classic Electric, a 6-speed cargo bike with the classic box-in-front design and a 250 watt electric motor for pedal assist. The box was roomy enough that Oliver could fit inside it comfortably, and we could likely squeeze Ethan in as well:

For such an ungainly-looking elephant, it was a joy to ride, and the electric assist allowed us to zip along at a comfortable pace. Oliver reports that the front bucket was comfortable and stable.

After a test drive of the electric assist, Nils asked if we wanted to test ride the non-electric version, and I took him up on it so that I could compare. As you might expect, it felt like pedaling a Sherman tank, and was the best advertisement for the wonders of electric assist you could imagine.

Here’s Oliver in the non-electric model, looking suitably unimpressed (although still comfortable):

The Cargobike Classic Electric sells for 21,995 SEK ($3142 Canadian); because of a generous rebate from the Swedish state, however, Swedes pay only 16,496 SEK ($2357 Canadian), a savings of 25%. That seems like an eminently reasonable price given what standard e-bikes are selling for. Cost to ship to Canada would need to be factored in, of course (the bike comes in two large boxes, one for the bucket and one for the bike; together they weigh 50 kg).

Our cycling season in Charlottetown is shorter than it is in Malmö where you can almost cycle all year round, but this is still an attractive option, and while we might not get it together for this season, perhaps for next.

On the last episode of “Peter and Oliver Try to Eat at Kao’s” we were dogged by payment challenges, and ended up abandoning the effort and reconciling ourselves to never eating there.

Tonight, however, we met up with our friend Jonas for supper, and, having read yesterday’s post, he suggested we make another attempt at an ascent.

So we walked east 15 minutes–a path well-trod from yesterday–and found ourselves at Kao’s front door, wondering whether they were open or not. It was hard to tell from the outside looking in, whether the lights were on or off, and the hours on the door were suitably confusing that their status was unclear.

“Why don’t you just try the door,” Jonas suggested (why didn’t I think of that?).

So I tried the door.

And as soon as it was open a crack, a piercing siren filled the neighbourhood, the volume and travel of which I’d never heard the likes of before.

Perhaps the person who was closing up remembered to set the alarm, but forgot to lock the front door?

I slowly backed away, and we gingerly and all-innocent-like moved up the block to consider our next move.

Jonas, in a further paean to my vegetarianism, suggested to reroute to Raw Food House, and we heartily agreed.

This required a walk whence we came, but the company was good and the weather pleasant, so we had no complaints.

When we arrived, 10 minutes later, at Raw Food House, we found that it had closed at 6:00 p.m.

Malmö, it seems, does not want me us to eat vegetarian.

We redirected two doors up to Ciao, an Italian restaurant that had the benefit of being open, free of klaxons, and with vegetarian options.

Jonas enjoyed a mushroom pizza, Oliver pasta with beef, and I had a very tasty pear tortellini.

Perhaps we will never eat at Kao’s.

The day started well.

When we returned from a morning out, I investigated Sweden’s replacement of its paper currency a little more, to see what my options were for exchanging my old for some new; I found this helpful answer from Sweden’s central bank:

I am a foreign citizen and I have some Swedish banknotes that has ceased to be legal tender. Where can I exchange them or redeem them?

If you are a tourist and discover that you have invalid Swedish banknotes after you have left the country, you can send them to the Riksbank, who will redeem them. The Riksbank will deposit the appropriate amount of money in your bank account (even if it is a foreign bank account). However, the Riksbank charges a fee of SEK 100 for every redemption case, so there is no point in trying to redeem less than SEK 100.

This investigation required that I take my cache of Swedish cash out of my wallet, which required that I take my wallet out of my bag.

Hold that thought.

Oliver, meanwhile, was deep inside Yelp, figuring out where we should eat lunch, and decided we should go to Kao’s, a vegetarian place about 20 minutes walk from our apartment.

We made our way through Möllan toward Kao’s, passing familiar haunts (“hey, Oliver, that’s the bar where Jonas and Olle and I go at 3:00 a.m. when we’ve been out drinking”), and arriving very ready to eat.

To purchase lunch–a buffet–at Kao’s, you pay at the bar next door.

“Shall we pay now,” I asked.

“Either now or later,” replied the barkeep.

I decided to pay in advance, lest I forget.

This was a wise move: I’d left my wallet, absent its currency, on the table in the living room of the apartment, 20 minutes walk away.

“We’ll be right back,” I told the barkeep.

My first thought was that we’d simply walk back to the apartment, retrieve my wallet, walk back to Kao’s, and enjoy lunch.

But it was hot. And we were hungry. And we were on a schedule, due to meet Olle at 4:30 p.m. at the central station.

My next thought was “hey, Oliver has a bank card; let’s find an ATM.”

We wandered around, following the architectural scent of banks, but to no avail.

“I could pay with Google Pay!”, I exclaimed.

But it turned out that when I’d activated my SIM card, I hadn’t set up mobile data. And to get the mobile data settings, I needed mobile data. And I needed mobile data to use Google Pay.

At this point we realized that Skånetrafiken buses have free wifi on them, and it’s possible to connect while the bus is standing in front of you at a bus stop. Hilarity ensued as I tried to connect to bus wifi and Google the settings for my SIM card, all before the bus pulled away. I failed.

I was almost ready to give up, when an open wifi access point appeared on the horizon. I connected, got the Lycamobile APN settings, and got myself fully online.

Back to Kao’s. Kao’s has an old terminal that doesn’t process Google Pay.

“We could take the bus back to the apartment!”, I exclaimed.

I’d even installed the Skånetrafiken mobile app on my phone, ready for just such a situation.

And now that we had mobile data, I could buy a mobile bus ticket.

Back to the apartment on a bus that magically appeared in the right place at the right time.

Found my wallet waiting for me.

Sold Oliver on the idea of not going back to Kao’s, as, by this time, we were really hungry.

Walked to The Masala Box inside the Mitt Möllan arcade and had a delightful vegetarian lunch.

Which I paid for with my credit card.

From there the day only got better: we took the bus to the central station, rendezvoused with Olle, bought sushi for supper, took the bus to Luisa and Olle’s allotment in the near-countryside, and enjoyed a very pleasant evening in their garden, eating sushi and drinking tea.

Experience has taught us that it takes the first day in a new place to get set up for paying for things, taking public transit, and making phone calls. We achieved all three, with some adventures to include in our fringe show about father-and-son travel hijinks to boot.

I have a long history of securing SIM cards for travel: if you have friends in Europe and want to interact with them socially, it’s a necessity.

Fortunately, this is something that has only gotten easier over the years, as mobile connectivity has become ubiquitous and mobile network competition vigorous (especially in service of the various diaspora), getting a SIM has gone from something requiring complex gymnastics (sometimes involving passport registration) to something easily picked up at the local newsstand.

There’s also a lot more information about prepaid SIMs for travelers online; the Prepaid Data SIM Card Wiki, for example, has a very helpful page for Sweden.

The other thing that’s happened of late is that roaming fees have been eliminated in Europe, meaning that it’s much easier to get a single SIM for a European trip rather than requiring a new one for each country.

Following the advice of the aforementioned wiki, I resolved to procure a Lycamobile SIM, as it’s advertised as being possible to top-up from outside of Sweden, which has always been a sticking point for me. Lycamobile is a UK firm operating an MVNO in Sweden, and it seems uncommonly diaspora-focused, which is a good thing in terms of multi-language documentation, and accessibility in our neighbourhood here.

After asking around several places and finding that they sold top-up for Lycamobile, but not SIMs, I finally found one at the nearby Pressbyrån in the bus station. I paid 49 SEK (7 CAD) for the SIM, and purchased a 100 SEK (14 CAD) top-up at the same time. I didn’t need to show ID, and I could pay by “tap” with my Canadian credit card (itself a huge improvement over the old days when foreign credit card acceptance in Scandinavia was spotty).

The 100 SEK top-up turned out to be exactly the right amount of top-up, as once I set down to register a plan online, I found that for 99 SEK I could get a 30 day plan with 8GB of data and unlimited calls and texts in Sweden, with 3GB of the data eligible for use while roaming elsewhere in the EU (Canadian readers will, at this point, be wondering why we would  pay as much as 8x more than this for the Canadian equivalent).

Registration on the Lycamobile website was easy and in English; I didn’t require a Swedish personnummer (also a sticking point for previous adventures), and I was able to get English support by dialing 3332 from the phone.

Epilogue

I was generally happy with the Lycamobile on my trip through Sweden, Denmark, Germany and the Netherlands, with a few exceptions:

• While I had no problem sending and receiving SMS and calls in Sweden, the LYCA SMART L bundle I purchase didn’t include calls or SMS outside of Sweden. So I had to purchase 50 SEK of “top-up” to be able to use the SIM for anything other than data once I left Sweden, or to call or text outside of Sweden while I was in-country. This was my fault for not noticing the limitation on the description of the bundle.
• Even once I purchased the top-up, I continued to have issues with sending SMS outside of Sweden; I think this was because I didn’t set the “message centre number” (SMSC) in my SMS app on the phone, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to set that in Android 7.1 and Android Messages. I reverted to using Email, Telegram and Signal as a workaround.
• It’s hard to tell from the Lycamobile “My Account” page on its website, but I think that I only used about 500 MB of my 15 GB of data over the 13 days I used the SIM; I was unusually conservative in my data usage, based mostly by my chastening at the hands of Canada’s exorbitant mobile data rates.
• Each time I switch countries (Sweden to Denmark to Germany to the Netherlands), I had to switch the country on the SIM (via the Lycamobile SIM app that gets installed when the SIM is inserted), and then change the APN for data to data.lycamobile.se (it appeared to get erased every time I switch the country), and then, at least some of the time, reboot the phone, to get data to work properly; once I got it working in a country, it worked consistently and without further issue.
• The mobile data was vast and almost ever-present as we were traveling, with a few dead spots on the train in remoter areas.
• As I’d read elsewhere–and one of the big selling features of the Lycamobile SIM–I was able to top-up from outside of Sweden.
• I had occasion to use Lycamobile telephone support a couple of times, and found it courteous and helpful (and English speaking).

After a long day(s) of travel, we arrived in Malmö yesterday around supper, by train from Copenhagen Airport.

By putting our jetlagged heads together we managed to find our Airbnb, a convenient 20 minute walk from the Triangeln station (a station that didn’t even exist the last time Oliver was here, in 2011).

Although we hadn’t made arrangements to meet our Airbnb host, he was conveniently there, just back from a day selling kimchi at a local food festival, and I summoned my last 5% of battery to ask all the pertinent questions (how do we reserve a laundry time? what’s the wifi password? how to we light the stove?).

Once we were on our own and with bearings, we received a kind invitation to pasta with broccoli and garlic from Luisa and Olle, and so walked the short 10 minute walk to their apartment and enjoyed the pleasure of their company well into the evening. As Luisa has said of previous visits, we just picked up the conversation from where we left it off 2 years ago.

Our first sleep in Malmö was fitful, as anticipated; more so for Oliver who, unbeknownst to me, stayed up late trying, in vain, to get his Fitbit on Central European Time (he is a man after his father’s heart; indeed, after his grandfather’s heart even more).

We woke up at a surprisingly normal hour this morning and headed out in search of coffee and breakfast and SIM card; on the way we found the new letterpress studio, Typotopia and, just up the way, a Fotoautomat (with old school analog photo processing).

We found coffee and croissants at Kaffebaren på Möllan, a Lycamobile SIM at Pressbyrån.

We also found that Sweden decided to switch its old paper money out for new, so my Herculean feat of archiving my SEK for re-use on this trip was all for nought.

Oliver’s Fitbit is now on Central European Time and we are following closely behind.

If you’re just joining us, this is a story that started back in 2016 with a rather stressful airport security experience in Toronto–the mother of all bad airport security experiences, you might say. So stressful that it kept me and Oliver out of the air for 18 months.

It’s been a long road back: a big milestone was Autism Aviators, back in May, which was a huge help for Oliver and me, taking us through a realistic airport experience from start to finish in a positive light. It helped reset our stress, and removed some of the triggering power of simply being at the airport.

Next came our June trip by air to Ontario: it started off wonderfully, with an easy, breezy security experience in Charlottetown and a comfortable flight up to Toronto.

The flight back from Toronto didn’t go so well: it wasn’t quite the mother of all bad airport security experiences, but it came close, and while some of this could likely be blamed on a return to the scene of the crime, it demonstrated that the “accessible” line at Pearson Airport is anything but, at least where those with autism are concerned, as the staff were, compared to Charlottetown’s, dreadful morons. Things all came to a head when the agent asked me who takes care of Ethan, and Oliver replied that we both did; this wasn’t an acceptable answer for the agent, and he didn’t handle it well. Things went downhill from there, Oliver got very anxious and lost control, and agents at the next lane started to talk about Oliver. With Ethan’s help, and with complete and total focus on Oliver for about 20 minutes, things calmed down to the point where we could continue. “The daughter of 2016,” said Oliver just now.

I was touch and go on whether we could make this trip to Europe: Oliver really wanted to go; I really wanted to go. But I wasn’t sure I had it in me to help Oliver through another experience like that.

We talked about it, though, and decided to do our best. I boiled the trip down to two security experiences, one in Halifax and one, on the return, at Schiphol in Amsterdam: all our other intra-European travel is by train. But I would be lying if I said I haven’t had some anxiety in the days and weeks leading up to today, as has Oliver.

Oliver’s psychiatrist suggested we consider Lorazepam as a short-acting anxiety-mitigating med; I was anxious about this, in part because Lorazepam, for some people, has the opposite effect, causing anxiety rather than reducing it. So he tried it out on Sunday night. And it had no noticeable effect at all.

We headed to Halifax today with plenty of white space in our schedule, so there was no need to rush. Just before heading to check-in at 7:00 p.m., Oliver took 1 mg of Lorazepam. The line ended up being rather long, and over the next 30 minutes he eased into a mellow that rendered him slightly more relaxed and a lot more sleepy. He wasn’t catatonic, though, and was happy and conversational and even a bump at check-in (I reserved us seats, but for the return flight, not for tonight) didn’t phase him.

When it came time to go through security, we asked to go through the “family line,” and the friendly CATSA triage agent happily ushered us to a line with no wait where we were greeted by another friendly CATSA agent who ushered us into an empty checkpoint where we were greeted by a third friendly CATSA agent who gently walked us through our carry-on disgorging.

Oliver then simply walked through the security gate.

And then I walked through the security gate, and it was set off; a “random selection” said the agent. Oliver remained unphased, and took a seat to wait. A jig and a jag with the sensor wand and I was released. We gathered up our luggage and headed to the departure gate. Calm as can be.

Why was this time so smooth when Toronto was a debacle?

Certainly the Lorazepam helped, but I’d credit it with a nudge toward mellow, not with saving the day. The attitude and helpfulness and palpable lack of anxiety demonstrated by the CATSA staff was a huge help. Autism Aviators was a huge help. Oliver working really, really hard to keep calm was a huge help. It was a good idea to leave lots of time and to arrive plenty early. It was a good idea to spend our pre-check-in waiting time outside of the melee of the airport proper. It was a good idea to visit security before check-in, just to get the lay of the land.

Whatever combination of work, pharma, planning and luck were at play today, I’ll take it: it wasn’t until we had cleared security that I realized how worried I had been about Oliver and this trip. For months. It’s nice to have that weight off my shoulders, especially as we start our summer vacation.

(As I do with all blogs posts that concern the intimate ins-and-outs of living with autism, I asked Oliver to read this with an eye to accuracy and privacy, and he gave his okay for me to post, with hopes that others will find his experiences a helpful guide for their own travels).

Oliver and I haven’t traveled internationally together, alone since 2013 when we went to Tokyo when he was 12 years old.

Now he is 17, going on 18, and a burgeoning young adult, and we are off to Europe for the next two weeks.

Tonight we travel overnight to Malmö, Sweden, by way of Frankfurt and Copenhagen; we’re in Malmö until Monday, then by train to Berlin where we’ll spend three days (not nearly long enough). On Thursday, August 30 we join our friend Martina on the train from Berlin to Amersfoort where we’ll join a larger group of ragtag revolutionaries for the STM18 birthday unconference hosted by Elmine and Ton (and their daughter, who we will meet for the first time!) A short dash into Amsterdam for the night of Sept. 2 and 3 and then back to Halifax on the 4th, arriving back in Charlottetown on Sept. 5, just in time for Oliver to start grade 12 the next day.

We left Charlottetown just after 1:00 p.m., stopping at the Handpie Company in Albany for lunch (our first time at their dreamy new location in the old Bank of Nova Scotia). We made quick work of the drive to Halifax, parked the car at the Quality Inn (where they’ve upped the ante in the airport hotel wars, offering two weeks free parking with any reservation), and took the shuttle across to the airport.

As I type we are sitting in the fashionable lounge of the Alt Hotel Halifax Airport, where we have sought respite after the only recommendation from the friendly airport information desk clerk about how to kill two hours here was to “walk up and down the hall.” The hotel has tuck shop that serves coffee, and the lounge has all manner of comfortable nooks with power outlets and free wifi. If you ever have to spend any time at YHZ, come over hear and your time will be much more pleasant.

The next quest is Condor check-in for the flight to Frankfurt, followed by security and boarding. We’ve already interviewed the first-level CATSA agent about the best way to proceed, and he advised that we ask for the “family line,” which has relieved us greatly. Good on you, Halifax.

My friend Mark, upon learning that I fancied the odd fountain pen, suggested I consider attending “Pen Night,” an irregular gathering of pen afficianados held at The Bookmark bookstore in Charlottetown.

So I got myself on the mailing list.

And then watched half a dozen Pen Nights sail by, always finding myself otherwise engaged.

Fearing that the statute of limitations would see my name dropped off the list, I resolved that tonight would finally be the night.

Which is how I found myself, a few minutes after 7 o’clock, gingerly making my way into the midst of a small crowd of about ten of the pen-passionate.

And what a welcoming crowd they proved to be: generous with knowledge, patient when asked silly questions, and completely comfortable lying in the warm bath of nerdiness.

The evening began with a show-and-tell, where we were each invited to talk about a new pen, or a new paper, or a new experience. I proudly showed off my inexpensive German public school Pelikano fountain pen, passed around some lovely Japanese cardstock I picked up at Wonder Pens in Toronto in June, and passed out some of my Prince Edward Island postcards, printed this summer on my letterpress (if there was ever a group that would appreciate them, it was this).

The evening continued with a report of a trip to the Pen Show in Washington, DC, followed by a how-to for the process of converting inexpensive plastic fountain pens into a “eyedropper pens” by converting them so that the pen body, rather than a cartridge, holds the ink. Pen hacking, in other words.

We finished up with all manner of conversation, and questions, and the passing around of various things.

It was simply delightful. And I expect that I will now attend regularly, come hell or high water.

There are two public outdoor pianos in Charlottetown.

One of them is at the foot of Queen Street, under the eaves of the Charlottetown Tide Station. It was placed there by Downtown Charlottetown as an Instagramable tourism trope, and it is almost completely inoperable.

The other is a City of Charlottetown micro-grant-funded piano under the gazebo at Confederation Landing Park that is a project of Arduino for Autism. Despite having braved two summers outdoors, it’s still remarkably sound and vaguely in-tune. It also has lights.

We knew about the lights, but had never seen them until the other night when we stopped by while walking Ethan through the park. I’d always assumed the lights were broken, or that there was a secret switch or key that needed to be activated to turn them on. As it happens, all we needed to do was to plug the piano in to the electric outlet right beside it and, presto, the lights sprang to life.

Oliver sat down and took the piano through its paces. This prompted a vigorous discussion as to whether the lights were primarily affected by the pitch of the notes or by the volume of the sound; we didn’t reach a definitive conclusion.

If you’re going to visit an outdoor piano in Charlottetown, I recommend this one over the touristic one: it works better, is more fun to play, prompts more thoughtful discussion and, in the end, has more soul.