In my senior year of college, I did a semester abroad at Uniwersytet im. Adama Mickiewicza in Poznan, Poland. It was January to June 1988, about a year and a half before the Berlin Wall fell. The new wave of uprisings in Poland had just started.
It was a rough time and place for this pampered American girl. It was hard to get food. Things were scary. But God was watching out for me.
In June 1988, I graduated from the University of Florida while at the Polish campus. The plan was to travel by train to meet my family in Oslo, Norway, for a vacation. Norway was our ancestral homeland, and we had planned this trip for a long time. From there, I would return home to the States.
I left Poznan by train with about 10 suitcases in tow. I had requested to travel by train because I enjoyed seeing the countryside. I had also asked the travel agent to schedule a full-day layover in West Berlin, so I could have one last day in the city that had become one of my favorite stomping grounds.
By the time I boarded the West Berlin train for Malmo, Sweden, where I would transfer to the Oslo-bound train, I was exhausted. No doubt my physical appearance betrayed the long travels I had taken, and the even longer months of upheaval I had lived through.
At some point, our train was loaded onto a ferry to cross the Baltic Sea from West Germany to Sweden. I had really looked forward to being up on deck and experiencing the sea crossing. But I was so tired, I slept in my train car below deck, missing the whole adventure.
Awakened by a knock on the door, I opened my eyes to see a tall, blond man in uniform, asking for my passport.
The Swedish border guard laughed when he saw my pristine passport photo, my current bedraggled appearance, and the stamp that indicated I had been living in Poland. In one glance, a world of understanding passed between us. He continued to smile as he stamped my passport.
He was probably more than a little amazed I had a private first-class cabin on the train. I was not used to traveling first class and didn’t have a dime. That cabin was my mom’s graduation touch on my travel arrangements.
The train went a little farther until we stopped in Malmo, Sweden, in the early evening. I was expecting a short transfer to the train that would take me on to Oslo. Although I had enjoyed this journey, I was ready to bring it to an end.
As I stepped onto the train platform in Malmo and hauled out my 10 suitcases, I learned that the station was closing for the evening. There would be no Oslo-bound train until the morning.
One of the station conductors suggested in broken English that I take a taxi to a hotel.
I explained that I had no money. I was traveling to meet my family in Oslo. My travel had been pre-paid. My Polish friend’s mom had packed food for my trip, which I had finished eating. I had calculated reaching Oslo late that evening, where I already had a hotel room paid for. I wasn’t prepared for an overnight stay in Malmo.
I told the conductor I would just stay in the train station overnight. It wouldn’t be the first time I had done something like that during my travels.
But he said the station had to shut down completely, doors locked, no passengers left inside.
I looked at him and shrugged. “What can I do?”
He must have been a dad, by the kindly way he looked at me. He must have thought about what if his child were in this situation.
He told me I could stay overnight at the station. But for my security, I would have to sleep in the small, glassed-in conductor’s booth out on the platform. He took my 10 suitcases to a storage area and let me fill up my water bottle. Then he and his colleague locked me in the conductor’s booth for the night. They told me they would be back at 5:00 a.m.
That’s how I spent the night in a glass box in Sweden.
People who have heard this story have often reacted in horror. It wasn’t that bad. I had spent so many worse nights during my adventures abroad.
This was a clean train station in what appeared to be a safe city. I felt secure in that booth. I sat in the conductor’s swivel chair and rested my head on the little desktop. Still exhausted from my travels, I was thankful just to close my eyes again.
At 5:00 a.m., the conductors returned and let me out. The station was open then, so I could move into the lobby and wait for the train. I was hungry, but I had no money for food. Again, not the first time I had experienced that kind of situation.
A man from Czechoslovakia sat next to me. He spoke English really well, and we started chatting. He said he traveled to Sweden often on business. He showed me where I could buy breakfast, but I told him I was without currency.
He said, “Just a minute” and went over to the kiosk and bought me breakfast. Then he reached into his overnight bag, brought out some cheese sandwiches, and handed them to me for the train ride to Oslo.
Anyone who knows my love of cheese would guess this man was either an angel, or God had already prepared him with extra cheese sandwiches to share with me. Either way, I will forever remember that man and be grateful.
When I arrived in Oslo, hours later, I just about crawled into the hotel where my mom had reserved a room for me. My family wasn’t due to arrive until the next day, but the room was already paid for. It was a luxury hotel used by the tour company we were going to travel with.
I must have looked a sight. The reservation clerk seemed to think I was lost. I don’t blame her.
As she studied my passport, looked over at my pile of luggage, then stared at my face, I said, “I know. I’ve been traveling a long time.”
Finally, she seemed convinced and gave me my room key. At last, the long semester’s journey had come to a close. Luxury accommodations awaited. It was a surreal moment.
I ordered room service: a cheeseburger with all the fixings and a large Coke. I still remember the price: $16. It went on the room tab. I’d apologize to my mom the next day and pay her back later.
An hour later, I was sound asleep beneath a downy comforter. The next day, a new chapter would open, the start of an incredible family tour of awesome Norway and the celebration of my new life post-graduation.
When I look back on that journey from Poland to Norway by train, with an unexpected stopover in a glass box, and as I recall so many other travel moments like it, I can only say, from the depths of my heart, “Thank You, God, for Your protection, provision, and love. You are so good.”
Originally published on my Adventures with God blog. Moved with minor edits to this blog, Exploring Generations, where I am gathering my travel memories.
Exploring Generations 