If I ever lamented the fact that I never had the “university experience” of living in a dorm, getting coffee in my building, etc., I can relax now. I’m 33 years old and I’m living in a shoe-box apartment with my husband. It’s a completely new start.
As we wheeled four suitcases, and three carry-on bags into our apartment, Noah’s colleagues were supportive and perhaps a little anxious about our first impressions. We knew it would be small, but my god. . . In three easy strides from the front door, you’ve passed the bathroom, dining table, master bedroom and now you’re standing in the kitchen? The only thing after those three strides is the “living room” and the guest bedroom.
I can safely say that I’m now living in a dorm with my best friend.
We murmured our amazement, which I hope didn’t sound like shock to my husband’s new co-workers. It was actually relief and awe. I was still getting used to the idea of living in another country for the long haul. The apartment would easily figure into that.
It has no air-conditioning, but plenty of windows. It’s small, but the excessive white and spartan Ikea furnishings make it spacious. There is no television, but we have two laptops and Wi-Fi for Netflix. The kitchenette is about 8 feet across, it comes fully equipped with a fridge/freezer, sink basin/drying rack, and stove/oven. Oh yes, and of course, a microwave. Small (very small) blessings.
Later that evening, after a quick trip to the nearby grocery store, we watched Arrested Development on the laptop and drinking whiskey. Below us, we could hear the laughter and chatter from the students. Around 10 p.m. the sun finally set on our first night in Orebro, Sweden. Our new home.