The first full day Cat, Tris and I were in Scandinavia (which is a convenient way to say that we flew into Denmark and had a hostel in Copenhagen, and were commuting by train to Malmo in Sweden), we decided to do a little bit of exploring Malmo, giving it as much attention as we could up front, because after Eurovision ended, we weren't likely to go back, because we needed/wanted to explore Copenhagen too.
We hopped off our train at the Malmo C train station and started walking in the direction of things that looked particularly good for Eurovision. It wasn't too terribly long before we'd walked the length of everything Eurovision and found ourselves in the regular city again. I saw some signs for Triangeln, a shopping center and one of the train stations within Malmo, so we went in to take a look. Triangeln itself isn't actually very exciting, at least what we saw of it. It's a pretty standard mall that happens to have a train station either in it or nearby. It's made slightly less (or more, depending on how you see it, I suppose) by the fact that it was totally under construction while we were there. We found a restroom (one that didn't cost 10;- Kr) and then found ourselves at a coffee shop on the second floor of the shopping center. 
As I was scoping the place out for photo taking opportunities, my eyes accidentally met those of an older man in a wheelchair, at whom I gave a brief nod (which is standard American body language for "I've acknowledged you're here") and continued my scouting mission (which was in part for outlets and in part for particularly European things of which to take pictures.)
However, this man thought it was particularly important to strike up a conversation with us. Something about either the way we were dressed, my holding a camera, or our speaking English must have clued him in on the fact we were not from the local area, so he started in English, asking where we were from, etc. It could have been an exceedingly interesting conversation except that, and yes I'm a horrible person, I couldn't understand a word he was saying.
We shared a few more pleasantries with him before he was off, and then we took our seats and acquired our food, which I ate slowly because my jaw was giving me some problems. And then he wheeled right on back up in his wheelchair, and in his exceedingly heavy accent, asked us to enjoy some of the candy he'd gotten.
Of all things, he'd acquired some Salmiaki for us. As if it wasn't bad enough that I was still in a poor mood from international flights and my jaw hurting, he had to come back so that we could further fail to understand the words he was saying, and then he wanted us to try Salmiaki. I have horrible friends, so I already know what Salmiaki is, but for the uninitiated, it's exceedingly unique salted licorice that occurs almost nowhere other than Scandinavia. The locals seem to love it, and I just can't find it in myself to think of it as anything other than wretched and disgusting. Surstrommung is one thing, but Salmiaki is another entirely.
So we each graciously take a piece and pop it in our mouths, and are powerless against the local who I'm sure is having a ball with the foreigners at this point. He then described the Malmo and Copenhagen city water, as I suppose a proud resident of Malmo would – Malmo's city water is excellent and apparently people such as his friend from Copenhagen come over to Malmo in order to get his drinking water.
And then I saw it, and will never be able to unsee it. I don't know if this is why he approached us (me, initially) but he had a hole in his trachea, which had been randomly closing and opening as he spoke and was breathing. I don't know how he was speaking with that hole there, I certainly couldn't speak when my trach was open. I wanted so badly to ask how it had happened and if he had been recently discharged or if he'd been running around with his trachea open like that for a while.
He eventually parted ways with us, permanently, which was good because I was having a heck of a time with the sandwich I'd gotten, and I still wonder what exactly it was that prompted him to talk to random strangers from out of the country. In retrospect (later on that day) I realized that I'd been wearing a shirt which revealed pretty easily the scar from my own trach, but if he was interested in us for that, it seems like he would have said something. Maybe he was going to say something, but then it turned out I was traveling with Cat and Tris, and asking three Americans about a scar is more difficult than asking a single one.
Oh Malmo, you hold many mysteries.
Sidenote: I wanted to have a few photos selected for this post and inserted into it, but I am in the process of moving, which I'll probably be posting about soon, and work has been surprisingly busy, so I haven't had an opportunity to sort through the photos yet.