The Curse Of The Angry Ex-pat
The waiter brought our beers and we both took a sip at the same time. We were in a small bar in a trendy neighborhood, enjoying the sun out on their patio. I leaned back in my seat, unsure of where to start. Kristin and I had been in the same Norwegian class for the past several weeks. She was funny, American, and had been living in Norway for years. As a newcomer to Oslo, I thought we could be friends.
Until I asked the next question.
“So, you’ve been living in Norway for five years, right? What brought you here?” She took another long slurp of her beer and rolled her eyes.
“The cheap beer, great weather and friendly people of course!” she said, in mock enthusiasm. I laughed, feeling awkward.
It was true that Norway could be a place of extremes. The beers we were drinking were easily going to be 120 kroners each (14 euros/15 USD). Despite the sun we were enjoying, we still had our winter coats on (in late May), and I had heard many, many stories from other expats about the difficulty of making Norwegian friends.
“You think it’s a joke, but I think Norway is the joke.” Kristin leaned forward, her voice dropping. “I can’t wait to get out.”
I made a mental note not to ask Kristin for beers anymore. While I took what she said with a grain of salt, I also started to…
