Frightfully, I am now entering the last phase of my dubiously named ‘year’ abroad and despite the fact that I have spent nearly seven rather manic months habituating in a foreign country I still feel somewhat inept, incapable and quite honestly incompetent. Don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware that I am not as linguistically challenged as I was prior to this experience. Indeed, after the Christmas period I came back with a certain air of confidence. I knew that this time around I was going to be able to navigate my way around an airport with relatively no problems after previously being reliant on other people and to be quite frank, a travelling novice. I knew that if I needed to talk to somebody I could do more than look like a vacant magpie who had just seen something shiny. And I knew that upon return I had somewhere to live thus avoiding any hassle of aggravating landlords with my general incompetency in life. Nevertheless, with just three months left of this experience, I now and again sometimes feel like my five year old anxiety ridden self, facing 6ft high hurdles whilst tied by the ankle to a random stranger with a lazy eye. Because, no matter how much I enjoy tapas, no matter how much red wine I consume and no matter how much I kid myself that I can fain a Spanish accent, ultimately, I will always be foreign.
Many people will tell you that the Erasmus life predominantly consists of a few major factors. Factor one: Work ethic will become obsolete. By the time exams came around this January, I and fellow Erasmus students were as useful at studying as a snooze button on a smoke alarm. Writing an essay or learning a few facts became secondary to playing cards, watching films and going for a ‘well deserved’ beer. As soon as the exam day arrived our confusion and fear rivalled that of a person being told to complete a rubix cube with their feet whilst being held at gunpoint. Inadequacy and nerves got the better of some of us so badly that the simple request to write one’s name down on the exam paper became such an unspeakable riddle, any remaining brain function decided to take a stroll out of the room with a defeated wave.
That said, thankfully factor two is wonderfully correct: Teachers are easy on Erasmus students. Considering the fact that we had spent most of the term avoiding classes or avoiding deadlines, myself and friends somehow managed to achieve relative success in last term’s modules. Although, sometimes I find the work is not the main reason to avoid class. When the new term started in January it signalled the restart of some subjects and the beginning of new ones. Thinking I had learnt my lesson from last term I decided to sample a few classes before finally enrolling in them. However, apparently, turning up a week late to sample a class is enough to throw a fully qualified teacher into a world of confusion. The class was at 9am so things were already off to a bad start as I am as effective in the morning as an owl with a blindfold. In addition, Spain had decided to be blaringly sunny with icy rain inadvertently pelting itself at my face so by the time I had entered the class I was looking somewhat shell shocked. When the teacher arrived she gave a warm greeting to all other students before taking a double look at the needing to be defrosted English person on the front row. Before I knew it, I was being interrogated about my origins, what I had previously studied and why I was there. Each answer I gave was received by such an intent frown and look of disconcertion, I wondered if somebody was giving this teacher an enema.
Indeed, moments of questioning my general deformities as a human being do not stop there. Our true test as Erasmus students came when we all realised classes that we had decided to skip were in fact meant to be dedicated to ‘research’; research that would form a presentation that would be given in class the following week. Having no clue of said presentation and an empty file of research, it is no wonder that when we quizzed the teacher after the class she stared at us like we were the Grinch who stole Christmas. Thankfully last minute student resilience came to the rescue and our presentation was surprisingly not a catastrophe. However, I still remain dubious whether the applause was patronising, genuine approval or appreciation for the fact that we had used up some presentation time just showing a video.
Nevertheless, whilst we may find it slightly difficult to immerse ourselves fully into education we have succeeded in other areas thus making the third factor of the Erasmus year very true: it is like one long holiday. Part of me hates to admit it but over the past few months a lot of my language acquisition is based on alcohol or the act of drinking. Vocabulary about hangovers or being drunk now just rolls off the tongue and majority of my photos consist of me having either blurry eyes or a drink in my hand. Furthermore with a ludicrous amount of time on our hands we suddenly decide spontaneity is the way of the life. Before thinking and after receiving the second instalment of our student loans, it was deemed completely logical to book as many journeys as humanly possible, regardless of the consequences. By the end of the month, shifty looks were beginning to pass amongst the group until one person spoke up, realising that whilst we can afford flights, we cannot afford to sleep or eat anywhere in our chosen destinations. Journeys cancelled and funds looking replenished, we reverted back to the poverty stricken lifestyle of the Erasmus student. 50 cent wine, 1 euro boxes of cereal and a curious appreciation for Eroski’s own brand of flans.
Indeed, it would appear that whilst we may not have much money, learning Spanish had reached a peculiar plateau and we are slowly pickling our livers, what remains is an experience like no other. With only a couple months left to go I do slightly fear for my sanity on my return to my merry land of England. Not simply because I would like to revert back to the nocturnal lifestyle but because I will not return with the exotic ‘lived abroad’ splendour that I had anticipated. Instead of a confident strut will be a self conscious shuffle due to excess alcohol weight. Rather than self-assurance in language, confusion will emit from every pore of my being as I realise that nobody understands random outbursts of Spanglish. And, quite depressingly, in place of a glowing tan will simply be wind burn as apparently we are living in relatively sunless wind tunnel. Nonetheless, Erasmus may soon be over but what remains are the memories, no matter how blurry they may be...tequila anyone?
