Stories of a foreign country

Being in a foreign country for a semester has put me in the awkward position of needing to have a story to tell.

Other friends of mine who’ve gone to Italy or the Czech Republic have put together their own private e-mail list, sending out a big, packed e-mail once a week about their drunken antics, host families, and various sightseeing adventures. But that’s not my style. I can’t honestly say I’ve been out at the clubs all night long (partially because they close at 2 here—pubs close at 11) and I’m certainly not going to just dump my dribble into people’s inboxes. I figured I’d add a travel category (and page) to my blog, and people who wanted to know could simply drop by.

But I haven’ t been very good about posting stories from abroad. Everywhere I’ve been, most of what happens has been more or less the same. Sure, I take busses here, sure, they drive on the wrong side of the street, and sure, I’ve met people from Belgium and Germany and Gloucester---but they’re just cool people, and there’s not really anything that different about them.

I was at a pub last weekend, drinking overpriced Guiness with two guys and two girls. We all spoke in english. Then we went home.

That’s my experience here.

It’s school, it’s work, it’s hanging out. Any study abroad experience is just like that, I think---it’s a massive collection of tiny differences. The cheddar is white instead of…yellow? orange? whatever that color is, it’s not that. You need to walk on the left side of the sidewalk. Say “cheers” instead of thank you. It’s just the little things.

And although I miss my friends at home, and I’m glad to talk to them, and I certainly want to share with them the things that I do out here, I’m out here for myself. I can’t get tied up looking at my life out here through the lens of “how can I tell this story? how can I sell this story on my blog?”

Because then England will become nothing more than a series of semi-poignant observations. A litany of trivial details and pictures embellished to create a sense of meaning. And I’d rather have a meaningful experience than create the experience in order to find the meaning.

So, while I’d like to share the life abroad whenever possible, understand that most of what being here means will be impossible to write.