A pass mark

September has proven to be a milestone month in my Swedish adventure. First getting my Svenska B certificate, and then receiving my Swedish citizenship. To cap the month off I decided to apply for a Swedish passport. It's not a really big deal, it would just be a bit less hassle not having people thumb through my NZ passport to find my residency sticker. And then having to explain myself.

So at 3pm on Wednesday last week I rolled on in to the local police station here and enquired after obtaining a Swedish passport. For some reason passports are controlled by the police, and not the immigration department. Maybe it's because you're no longer an immigrant when you apply for a passport. I guess. Anyway, I went armed with all the documentation I could think of. I had my New Zealand passport, my bank ID card, my Swedish driving license, and my certificate of Swedish citizenship. I was deeply disappointed when they only thing I was asked for was my Person Number. After getting my photo taken and figerprints scanned, I had to give my height. In order to lighten the mood and to demonstrate that I was now just like a regular Swede, I laughly gave my height and announced that I was probably a bit shorter today as I'd just had my hair cut. I'd been practicing that line for a while beforehand, in anticipation of the question. So I was quite pleased with myself. A split second after the comment had poured out of my mouth, it dawned upon me that the official looking person sitting on the other side of the counter at the police station was completely bald. Needless to say the remainder of the conversation was a bit reduced from that point onwards. Fortunately the process was nearly over and I could dart out before the words Cavity Search were uttered.

So that was all well and good. Friday morning, just after 9:30am, I get an SMS on my telephone. It's from the police station, telling me that my new Swedish passport is ready to be collected. 30 minutes later I'm giving my name to a very nice lady with a full head of hair. While she wandered off to collect my passport, I dug out my driving license card to use as ID. However, when she came back she simply slid the passport across the desk to me. I asked her if I needed to sign something, or if she wanted to check my ID. She looked at me like I was confessing to a mass murder. I decided not to argue the point, thanked her very much, and left. But I think it was a litle scarey that I could just wander in and pick up a passport. I guess it would have to be a bit of a long shot to happen to know that there was a passport in a particular name waiting to be collected from a particular police station. Without actually being that person. But even so.

So that's that. Going down my list of things to do in order to become Swedish, I have cross country skiing and military service (lumpen) still to tick off. One of those I think I might just skip over. Haven't quite decided which yet.