Back in February of 2018 I decided to take the plunge and apply for the Erasmus+ Exchange Programme and to this day it was one of the best decisions I made for myself, however at the time my brain only processed one aspect of the experience… “I am going to get paid to go live abroad!” Arriving in Canterbury on my first day on the other hand, proved me wrong.
My friends who went on Erasmus in the previous year hadn’t divulged much of their experience except the touristy side of it all. Everytime I asked about food shopping and studying, they always replied with “Yeah, it’s fine. You’ll be fine.” The difference? They had all gone up in pairs and I had applied by myself, becuase the social butterfly that I am, during my first semester of my new course I decided to keep to myself and not talk to anyone.
Fast-forward to me getting accepted at my first preference university — Canterbury Christ Church- to then signing all the papers, booking the flights, getting stamps of approval from every faculty and entity in existence in Malta, assuring my overprotective mother that I will survive, to finally actually boarding the plane. I arrived in Canterbury, alongside another student who I had learned had applied for the same university and first things first, compared to Malta… so. Much. F*cking. GREENERY! I spent 22 years of my life seeing sea, sea, and more sea, having all our trees chopped down to make space for buildings we don’t need to trees, to arrive in Kent and be bombarded by a fresh earth smell and vibrant shades green (No, I don’t have photos of my drive up to Canterbury as I was just in awe at all the trees that were actually alive.)
Arrived in Canterbury. Excited. Picked up the keys to my flat. Even more excited. Put the key in the lock. Still excited. Walked into my flat. Excitement faded but still there. Opened the door to my new room. Excitement gone. Or as we say in Maltese… baħħ (very loosely translated, poof.) A bare room. I wasn’t expecting the room to be done up in any form of decor, obviously, but the walls were (well, they still are) white and oddly bumpy, the curtains; a bizarre, blood-pouring-out-of-the-elevators-in-the-shining type red. A cork board, meant to be pink but over the years (or however long it’s been up there), faded. The bed, hell, you couldn’t even call it a bed, there were no linens, no pillows, not even a bloody quilt! I walked into the kitchen, no pots or pans; went upstairs, standard bathroom; shower, toilet, no toilet paper though, no hooks for towels, no shelves for soaps. Then it dawned on me, there was a washing line outside…but… no…washing…machine.
I sat down on the bare, springy mattress and thought back to what I had brought based on all the wonderful things my friends had shared from their experiences, I even thought about the first meeting they had given all us applicants. No one ever mentioned anything to us about what you might find when you move in, no one, except are parents, told us about how we needed to prepare financially for these circumstances, particulalry, how was I meant to do laundry. Yes, you do research but you get caught up in all the castles, and clothing shops, and restaurants and blah, blah, blah, you don’t think too deeply about life itself, afterall all you’re doing is the same routine you do at home, in a different country.
So, how did I get on?
It’s now October, I have bargain-hunted my way round Canterbury and done up my room (thank you Primark), I have done my first food shop (didn’t realise how far a 20 minute walk could actually be until I had to walk it back with four full shopping bags), cooked my first meal (and many others) and have successfully managed not to poison anyone. Did laundry for the first time ever, found out washing machines are five minutes away from my house and cost £3.20 per wash but all my whites are still white, thank a deity I loosley believe in. I also came to the realisation that what my friends told me about housemates differs from experience to experience because you don’t find the same people everywhere and by that I mean, I live in a house with a lovely young lady who smokes weed daily from the moment she wakes up till before she goes to bed.
I guess, what I wish I had known before was more of the culture shock I would experience, that things are no longer going to be easy because ‘mummy’s there’. Logging onto Messenger a few minutes after walking into my room my friends all jumped in saying “Yeah it’s normal” and “We had to buy everything; we had your exact same reaction when we arrived”. This experience, while incredible, has its hardships in more ways than one; I miss my mum; my friends; Molly (my car, not my pet); my books; my cozy room and my oh-so-comfy bed, you know, the basics. While I settled in quickly, nobody told me, or my friend who came up with me who also had the same reactions I did, I didn’t realise how drastically different it would feel out here. I also wish someone had pushed me to work harder over the summer because, damn, it’s expensive living alone and my Erasmus grant only covers rent.
But, it’s all ok now. The initial shock has passed, while hard, some things get easier to cope with every day. I do wish, however that someone told me to ‘just breathe’ because it was all going to be okay.
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