This entry isn’t about food, but I’m sure you’ll allow me
this one.
A year abroad is one of the most rewarding experiences you
can hope to have, and when employers say that they value someone who’s had
experience of living in a foreign country, they’re talking about how a year
abroad helps you learn truly invaluable skills. The most important skill you
learn is, without much doubt, patience in the face of petty and ultimately
useless bureaucracy.
My time down in Montpellier is winding down, and this is
constantly reinforced through Facebook by friends who have started their countdowns to
leaving; attempting to sell the things they don’t need anymore and making plans with their friends from home or university upon their return. Most, in
fact, are already enjoying England’s green and pleasant lands – well, they’re
putting up with the rain, more like. The number of us Erasmus students left here
is dwindling as people pack up and head home. I think everyone’s feeling the
same: a mixture of sadness to be leaving; a sudden need to do everything they
haven’t managed in the past eight months; a desperate hurry to get a tan; and
the sudden realisation that this year, the year that we all were probably the
most nervous and the most excited about, the year that made a lot of us choose
to do a language at university, is almost over. All the anticipation; the
endless forms we filled out (both before we got here and for probably a good
six months after we arrived); the rubbish landlords/colocataires/floormates we somehow
managed to put up with; the unfeasibly early lectures – everything that is part
and parcel of a year abroad is drawing to a close. And I think everyone is left
looking around them, confused, wondering where
on earth did the time go?
I certainly am.
Given that I’ve only got slightly under a week left here, part
of me feels like admitting that in some ways I’m actually looking forward to
going home is akin to admitting that I’m quite keen on kicking puppies. There’s
enormous pressure surrounding a year abroad as people tell you that it’s going
to be the best year of your university career – no, your entire life – that can often mean that your
experience can feel somewhat lacking as you hold it up to the expectations you
had when you first arrived.
The French YouTube star Norman of “Norman fait des vidéos”
fame has one video where he talks about the eight rélous (which essentially means ‘pain in the bum’) you always find
at parties, including the “râââh ça va” guy, who responds to anything from
spilling his drink over someone to the neighbours complaining about the noise
with “râââh, ça va” (“aaah, it’s fine”). If I had to describe my experience of
life down here and the ethos of the Montpelliérain;
from the way my halls dealt with increasing the security of the buildings after
someone was shot at a corner shop just across the street; to the university’s
attitude to letting you know pretty much anything,
it would definitely be “râââh, ça va”. Montpellier is the “râââh, ça va” guy at the party – and that is something that
we’ve all struggled to deal with at some point or another in the time we’ve
spent down here.
Yes, a year abroad is without a doubt one of the most
incredible years you will ever experience – but this isn’t always in a good
way. It’s incredibly stressful and can be incredibly frustrating, and you will have moments where, despite the
fact that it’s 30 degrees and it’s only May; what you really, really want is to
be home, watching Jeremy Kyle and complaining about the constant rain.
I’m going to be heartbroken to leave. I’m going to miss the
cafés, the buzz that surrounds the town at night, the proximity to the beach,
the bread, the cheap yet still drinkable wine, and the friends I’ve made who,
it feels like I’ve only just realised, won’t be at university with me next
year. But being reluctant to leave doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to look
forward to being home, too. I cannot wait to see my family – some of whom I
haven’t seen for two years – again. I’m simultaneously excited and scared about
what fourth year is going to be like, and I cannot wait to move back into a
house with an oven. I have no shame in saying that I am excited about going to
seminars where you’re encouraged to actually talk about what you’re working on,
rather than just being lectured at by a prof for an hour and then by another student
for the other hour. I’m looking forward to being at a university where they
seem to have some idea of what you and they are meant to be doing.
I think that all too often, our lecturers, friends, family,
and we ourselves put too much hope into the year – which is why admitting
you’re really missing home or that you’re actually quite looking forward to
being back can feel like you’ve cheated on your year abroad experience. You’re
not meant to be excited about being back home, you’re meant to be dragged,
kicking and screaming, onto the plane and are supposed to be in a sulk from the
minute you get back. But actually, I think all of us have something about
England that makes the idea of being back that little bit easier to deal with –
and we should be honest about this. Not just amongst each other, but when we
talk to the people who are about to go on their year abroad.
A few months ago, I met up with a couple of friends who had
been in Montpellier a few years earlier for their Erasmus year. We got to chatting
about our individual experiences and I took the opportunity to have a
good-natured whinge about the university here. The two looked at each other and
looked at me. “Speaking to you made me realise just how much we've filtered of that year,” one of them said. “It’s only when you mention them that we remember the really annoying parts of the year.”
So my advice, to people coming home or preparing to go away
is this: it’s perfectly okay to not have the amazing, fantastic, best time of
your life that you’ve been told you will. It’s okay to really miss home. It’s
okay to be actually quite ready to come home by the end of it. And all the
little irritations of the year? Give it time, you’ll forget about them and just
remember the positives – and then you’ll be the person telling the next
generation of Year Abroaders that it’ll be the best year of their lives.
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