Crossing borders

Crossing borders can be a strange thing. I’ve grown up in a Europe post the Schengen Agreement (at least the part of my life I remember), so the crossing of borders has often been “OK, according to the signs, we’ve passed the border now”. Lately, the borders have been more enforced, but to a varying degree.

Last year we went in a car with Norwegian plates between Norway, Denmark, Sweden, and back to Norway again, and there was some variation. Norway to Denmark was getting off a boat, and no checking of passports. Going from Denmark to Sweden it seemed like it was enough to be white and female in a Norwegian car. And from Sweden to Norway we started to hand them our passports, but seeing the outside seemed to be enough.

This year, between Norway, Denmark, and Germany, there was also not much checking. But it seems noticeable in a different way than when I was a kid. Mostly because of the media and the ferry company telling us to remember our passports, because they’ll check, but also because

But it seems noticeable in a different way than when I was a kid. Mostly because of the media and the ferry company telling us to remember our passports, because they might check them, but also because I pay attention to it in a different way as an adult. Are the borders noticeable if you cross them where you live? And do the people and affairs surrounding the borders affect how you feel when you cross them (if you can)?

Are the borders noticeable if you cross them where you live? And do the people and affairs surrounding the borders affect how you feel when you cross them (if you can)?

This picture was taken as we entered Norway driving north on E6 through Sweden in late July 2017.

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