International Food Evening #1

For those of you who read this blog (thank you, by the way!) but aren't friends or family, a little introduction to provide some context to this post.

I'm currently the President of the Erasmus Society at my university. That means that if I ever decide to go into teaching, I'll have had a years' experience of trying to herd Europeans into various clubs, coaches, castle and college tours - and lived to tell the tale.

Last night, we held an International Food Evening. It was, to toot my own horn, a total success (beep beep). I'd booked one of the larger rooms to hold the event, and when I got there at 7 and remembered just how big it is, I definitely had an "oh crap" moment. I had images of 40 people standing in the middle of this room that has a seating capacity of about 80, none of whom had brought food, trying to make my Victoria Sandwich and my VP's banoffee pie stretch to feed all of us.

Turns out I needn't have worried. By 7.05 there was a queue outside of people - most of whom had brought food - and by 7.40, pretty much all of the food had gone. I don't think any of us on the committee got even a look in, which was a shame because it all looked gorgeous.

This just taps into my long-held belief that food is something that really unites people. Whether it's offering to make a cake for a fundraising event or sharing food from your country with people who might not otherwise have a chance to try it - food brings people together.

So that's why, despite losing my voice and not getting a bite to eat last night, when I looked down from atop the chair I was standing on to speak to the society and saw everyone's plates full and all of the food on the side gone, I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment.

Ultimately, while I think that for these students, getting the opportunity to explore the UK and get a sense of what it's like to be a student in the UK for a year is incredibly important, food evenings like last night's give people a sense of pride - that was my dish I heard someone enthusing about! or noticing that all of the dish they'd made has been eaten - and it gets people mixing and talking to new people and trying new things.

It also gets you a cheap meal. What could be better?

Just a quick reminder as well - I have a twitter now, it's here, it'd be great if you could pop by and follow me there if you're a twitter-er (twit?)

La fin a presque arrivé!

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.