Fighting for an open window

OSL - STK

I found myself in battle over an open window on the train into Sweden the other day.

It was a carriage ride resembling Murder on the Orient Express in the sense that we were all strangers who had been thrown together based on nothing other than the fact that we all needed to get from the same point A [Oslo central station ], to point B [somewhere in Sweden]. Like a long plane ride, a sense of familiarity and intimacy often develop over long journeys like this, because there is something fairly intimate about facing a stranger for over five hours as they eat, drink, read and sleep. Though there was no murder on this train, there was an open window, and then a closed window, and then a sort of brewing tension about the window that in fact divided us.

~

The cast

One man sat by himself on a single chair going backwards. He wore sunglasses, a nice looking watch and his neck was covered in tattoos. He spent the entire train ride with his AirPods on, unbothered. I couldn’t quite tell which side he sat on; he hadn’t seemed to show any loyalty and he showed no visible signs of heatstroke.

An older couple sat next in line in single seats facing each other with a small tray table between them. They were my allies as soon as they took their seats and opened their window right up, and traitors the minute they allowed it to be closed by the woman behind them.

The Woman Behind. Also in a single seat to herself, she had earphones in and spent most of the journey watching videos on her phone. She was the villain of my story.
Not long after the train pulled out, she got up to ask the older couple to close their window [one of two windows on our carriage]. She asked while standing over them, her arms reaching up and pulling it shut herself before they had a chance to respond.

Originally, we were sitting in a group of four seats with a Norwegian man who lived somewhere in Sweden sitting opposite us. He had a nice smile and we spoke briefly about our travels so far and he told us he was on his way home after visiting friends. He had his laptop and headphones and like me, spent part of the ride working. He looked hot and flustered and shared our unhappiness at the stuffiness on the train. When I got up for a snack, I stole an extra chocolate for him, too.

For a while I thought Richard Gadd was sitting behind us. Not in our carriage exactly, but in the second half of it, hidden behind the glass divider in the seats with their back to ours. I went over in my head what I might say if I got the chance to speak to him – yet all I could think of was that I’d probably have to ask him whether he was also overheating on this stuffy train ride and would consider maybe opening his window?

Later on I realised I probably wasn’t him and it was probably some kind of hot-train-induced-delusion – though it was suspiciously hard to get another good luck at his face, which has left me unconvinced either way.

The last group on our carriage were an older, Swedish pair of women. They were nice and friendly, and also looked increasingly hot and bothered.

~

After The Woman Behind closed the window

Not too long after The Woman Behind had stood up and closed the window, my mum and I banded together to ask the older couple if they could open it back up. Though it bothered me to have to do so, I tapped The Woman on the shoulder to seek her permission. She told me the wind was blowing in her face and I racked my mind trying to find the problem. We settled on the window being kept open no more than a few centimetres, and while small, the air brought me back to life.

Later on, everyone stepped outside onto a platform, and some of us, onto Sweden for the first time. The air outside, while refreshing, served as a cruel reminder of what it felt like to be a comfortable temperature – because while it felt like a victory, one cracked window on an old train carriage filled with people in late May wasn’t entirely cool.

I spent most of the time outside trying to get a good look at Possibly-Richard-Gadd, so much so that I missed the drama over the truck that ran through a sign, sending debris all over the track. It was cleared up within a few minutes and we were back on board. Shortly after we settled back in, I realised the window I’d fought so hard to have open had been shut back up. Though The Woman Behind made no declarations of honesty when I asked her, I knew she’d done it.

~

A train without windows (or strong AC)

This was followed by my attempt to open a different window – the one behind the older Swedish women, only to have it [and my tolerance] firmly slammed shut. One of them got up without missing a beat and sealed it right up.

As the five hours dragged and the push and pull about the open window raged on, I became less and less appreciative of the novelties of the old train (like plenty of leg room and large seats), and longed for the modern comfort of the one we’d caught the day before back from Bergen. This one was hot and stuffy, and I resented that only a select number of windows would open. How unfortunate that the people who seemed immune to heat were allocated the seats that gave them the power to open and close the windows at their will?

A train without windows open (or a strong AC) was not a train I wanted to be on. Which felt like a loss in ways, because train rides were quite possibly my favourite part of travel. Hours spent looking at the changing landscape out of a window while listening to music or reading.

The Nordic train from the week before was everything and more as it sped through ice and mountains. This Swedish train was taking something away from me.

~

Relocating

Eventually, I found myself taking up residence in an unclaimed seat further down near the man with the tattoos. I asked the Swedish women for permission to open the window behind them back up, hoping that if I said I was feeling sick they would concede out of fear that I’d be sick all over them.

They, too, were upset over the potential for wind to blow in their direction, so I reminded them that no breeze was felt from my seat and they were more than welcome to prop themselves there. We found common ground in a shared frustration over the lack of aircon, to which one of the women assured me she would be complaining to the conductor when they next walked past. They were clearly hot too, but we ended up compromising again on only a few centimetres.

A train with no fresh air is not a train I would ride: it was becoming my mantra, propelling me into action.

As I took my new seat and opened the window on my side a crack more than I’d originally bargained for, my eyes locked with the tattooed man. He gave me a thumbs up and smiled, and later, we joked more about the Window Saga. Maybe he was a silent supporter the whole time.

Before long, I was joined by my mum in the twin seats in front of me. It felt as though we were cast off to the back of the train, like school children.

Yet I was still hot and bothered, because a cracked window can only do so much, and I think sometime earlier I’d decided I couldn’t possibly be happy unless every window on the carriage and on the train was wide open, blowing everyone into a cool chaos. So I sat, resigned to the back of the carriage cooler than before but not cool enough.

~

As we neared Stockholm, both my Norwegian friend with the glasses and the quiet, tattooed man said goodbye as we pulled up to their stops. They stood up and left and I was sorry to see them go. The last of my Silent Allies were gone, so I put on the Sounds of Silence and replaced them with Simon and Garfunkel.

I shut my eyes for what felt like a few minutes and when I opened them back up, I felt cold. I sat there with goosebumps, refusing to put my cardigan on and left the window open until we pulled up to Stockholm. Victory.