Six Months in Sweden

I don’t think it fully hit me until I said goodbye to my parents and sister at Schiphol.

Walking away from them, toward the gates and security, something shifted. Between the noise, the early morning, the last hug, and the “be safe,” it suddenly clicked:

holy shit… what am I actually doing?

Not for a holiday. Not for a weekend. But six months.

Six months felt serious. Especially for university. This wasn’t a small adventure anymore. This was real life, just somewhere else, without a single person I knew or who could help me.

Sweden always felt like one of those places that only existed in my grandpa’s stories. A country he talked about with a quiet longing. And of course… the setting of all those insanely good crime shows.

But walking out of Stockholm Arlanda felt unreal.

I had done solo travel before, even an internship in Greece. But this felt different. In Greece, my parents flew with me to Athens and then I continued alone to an island. New, but manageable.

This? This felt like the country was too big to even understand yet.

I didn’t even have my transport figured out. A three-hour journey still stood between me, my university, and my apartment. And I had arrived on a Friday, which became a problem in itself (because I had until 12:00 to collect my apartment key, or I’d be stuck for the entire weekend with 35 kilos of luggage and no plan.)

So I did what every slightly panicking student does: I booked the fastest option I could find.

“Just take the FlixBus,” they said.

So I did.

And I arrived completely broken.

It was 35 degrees, I was carrying more than I could physically handle, and I was already realizing: this was only the beginning.

Somewhere between the quiet mornings, long café hours, train rides through forests, and conversations with strangers, Sweden slowly became something more than just “a semester abroad.”

It became a version of life I didn’t know I needed, and now somehow always want to go back to.

So here’s what I learned:

1. Don’t let your arrival day define your experience.

My first night was chaos.

After an 18-hour journey, I arrived at my student apartment completely exhausted. I got my keys, walked in, and found a room that was basically an empty kitchen with a bed. No comfort, no pillow, nothing familiar.

I sat down and thought: okay… I live here now.

So I went out again. I still had nothing to sleep on, nothing to cook with, nothing to properly start this new life. I bought a pillow, food, and everything I thought I needed to survive the night.

Spoiler alert: it was not enough.

I didn’t sleep at all.

It was 45 degrees inside, I couldn’t open my window or door properly, I had no idea how to lock anything, and there were no curtains.

At 4 in the morning I gave up, waited for IKEA to open, and took a 40-minute bus ride to fix my room.

I came back carrying more than I could handle again, only to realize I had bought the wrong curtain system, still had no light, and only one glass to drink from.

That wasn’t even the last time that happened.

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2. The first weeks are chaos. And that’s normal.

Because it was summer, the entire student campus was almost empty. I had no one to ask how anything worked, how to hang curtains, how to unlock my window, how to actually live in the room I had just moved into.

It took me days just to open my window. Almost two weeks before I managed to cool my room properly.

I was constantly tired, still figuring things out, and somehow already expected to attend a summer course 40 minutes away.

So if you’re reading this thinking, “what are the chances this happens to me?”  probably low.

But something else will.

Not everything will go wrong, but something will. And you will still be okay.

That’s the point.

And also: don’t romanticize the chaos phase of moving abroad. It’s exciting in hindsight, but in the moment it’s just… messy.

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3. Sweden is difficult to start in, but easy to grow into.

Swedish people are incredibly polite, but very private. Everything feels open in public spaces: school, work, cafés, but outside of that, people keep to themselves

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At first, that can feel lonely.

But it’s not personal.

It just means you have to create your own spaces, especially in the beginning. Other international students become your anchor.

4. Loneliness changes when you stop isolating yourself.

Coming from the Netherlands, I was used to constant background noise, headphones in while cycling, shopping, walking.

In Sweden, I slowly stopped doing that.

Not because I was never alone, but because I started noticing how often connection happens in small, quiet moments. Waiting for the bus. Standing in line. A simple “hej” on the street.

People don’t overdo interaction here, but they do notice you.

I’ve had countless small conversations with strangers I would have never expected.

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5. Fika is not optional.

If there is one rule in Sweden, it’s fika.

It’s not just coffee. It’s not just a break. It’s a lifestyle.

I spent so many days in cafés, reading, studying, or just watching life happen around me. It became one of my favorite parts of living there.

It’s also the thing I miss the most now.

6. Eventually, it becomes yours.

After about a month, things started shifting.

I knew where to go. I had favorite cafés. I understood the buses. I recognized streets. My room became my home.

And slowly, without noticing, I had built a life.

That’s the strange thing about moving abroad:

One day you realize the place that once felt foreign... feels like yours. And you want to do it again. and again. and again.

Stockholm, snow, and the first moment it clicked.

After about two weeks, when the tiredness finally left my body, I went to Stockholm.

Walking through Gamla Stan, I texted my grandpa:

“I get it. I think I’m getting an apartment here.”

That was the first moment Sweden felt like home.

Not temporary. Not unfamiliar.

The next time it happened was when the first snow fell. I put my chair in front of the window and just watched.

And I think the real turning point, the moment it fully settled in, was Kiruna in Lapland. but that deserves its own story.

And maybe most importantly, it taught me this:

A temporary place can become part of you forever.