L’Auberge Suedoise

L’Auberge Espagnole (2002) is a hit movie that shows the life of Xavier, a French student, who leaves for Barcelona for an (Erasmus) student exchange. The title of the movie, ‘The Spanish Inn’, is obviously about his new student home, which he shares with other exchange students from all over Europe. Soon the group becomes close friends, or even more – like a family. As often in movies, the ‘normal’ life of studies rather soon draws to the background and the story line continues about going out in Barcelona, falling in love, cultural stereotypes and the complications of still having a family and girlfriend at home.

On a cold night a few months ago, I watched the movie with some of my housemates, who come from Austria, Germany and Lithuania. See the parallel? Margaretavägen, the house where I have lived for the past year, was not completely a Spanish Inn, though. Our story lines included some studying and a deadline every now and then. I think we took that pretty seriously, at times. Moreover, we lived together with over 25 people and that’s just too many to get to know all of them well. With most of them, I became friendly acquainted: we had a chat every now and then, discussed the status of the mail boxes (‘still not fixed’) and continued on our respective ways.

However, with a small group of my housemates I built friendships that can definitely compete with the coziness of The Spanish Inn. United in our strive against ‘those people never cleaning the kitchen’ (which included ourselves, I should frankly admit), Sweden’s absurd alcohol prices and our landlord LU Accommodation, we bonded in a way that would probably never have happened if Sweden had been our home country and we would have returned home every third weekend.

Only in my corridor, one can taste self-made knödeln and spätzle made by a real Austrian. Only in my corridor lives Maria, who knows how I like my coffee best. (Little coffee, some cacao powder, quite some sugar, lots of milk and foam, chocolate sprinkles.) She also knows how to have an excellent conversation over that coffee. Only in my corridor, we fight over the last piece of Sylvie’s exquisite tiramisu. Or over the exact rules of Ticket to Ride. Only in my corridor, two housemates start a drinking game with shots at the word ‘Sissi’ (yes, while watching the movie ‘Sissi) and finish an entire bottle of hard liquor in two hours. Only in my corridor, I acquire new German skills without even being in Germany, though I doubt the usefulness of some collocations I learned. Ihr habt ja auch nicht alle Tassen im Schrank. Only in my corridor, students in their mid-twenties cut and paint paper flowers to brighten up the boring living room in March. (We had to replace our self-cut snowflakes at some point, after all.) Only in my corridor, the concept of ‘sharing stuff’ gets a new dimension, as my sleeping bag became shelter to people from several nationalities and even made it to Lapland without its owner. Only in my corridor I knew where to go when I received unpleasant news at 11 PM. Only in my corridor, wine glasses don’t survive longer than two weeks and yoghurt bowls can disappear for a month before being found back. In my corridor, some friends became like ‘furniture’ – you’re used to them always being around, except when they are suddenly gone.

Only at Margaretavägen, my own Swedish Inn.

Contrary to Xavier in L’Auberge Espagnole, my time abroad is not over after one year. I will go home in two weeks, but I will return in August. Not to Margaretavägen, which is a good thing. It's time for some change. For me that means, hopefully, living with Swedish people and establishing new contacts. But when, in September or October, all summer activities will have calmed down, the leaves will start going brown and the sun will again go down at an awfully early time, I predict to be thinking back with nostalgia and thankfulness on nine months in my own messy, cozy, safe and unique Auberge Suedoise.

Thanks, all of you.