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This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Leeds chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.
It feels very surreal to be sat here, in Italy, writing my first official article for Her Campus, which is hopefully going to be one of many. For those who don’t know, I am three weeks into my one-year study placement in Bologna, a sprawling city in the North of Italy and home to one of the oldest universities in the world, which I am blessed to be studying at.
Being here has brought me unexpected friendships, new opportunities and the chance to finally put into practice the language I have been learning for the last two years. After hours of studying the inner workings of Italian linguistics in my lectures and proudly wearing the Italian flag on a themed pub crawl, I was finally able to experience first-hand the culture I had admired from a distance for so long and so far. It has been everything I hoped for and more.
However, despite how lucky I feel to be in the city of historic porticoes and the infamous €2 aperol spritz, it has undoubtedly been a challenge to get here. After hours searching for information on the various Italian universities I could attend, I chose Bologna. I felt the history in its streets and its rich literary tradition resonated with me and of course, I was thrilled to be living in the birthplace of the spaghetti bolognese.
But this was only the beginning. Before departing for my dream destination, I was faced with the challenge of applying for a visa. Along with the many other documents needed for this, I needed a housing contract, and for that, I needed a house. Apparently, so did everyone else, because after finding my dream property, I decided to sleep on my decision and awoke the next day to find it was gone. Like any rational human being, I cried for hours and decided a year abroad wasn’t for me. Though this didn’t last long as I eventually found a room on one of the streets on the edge of the historic centre, nestled between two of the ten gorgeous ancient portes, the remains of the old city walls. It’s not perfect, it doesn’t have a gorgeous garden or a balcony with a view like the others, but it’s perfect in its own way.
Hours of printing and various emails later, I was finally ready for my visa appointment. Nothing could have prepared me for the rundown building and the small, over-crowded room I was going to enter, with screaming children everywhere and a small booth with a thin curtain being the only thing between me and finally being able to make the big move. Finally, the words I had been waiting for, but perhaps not delivered as reassuringly as I would’ve liked: “this all looks…ok.” It was enough for me to leave the application centre with a beaming smile feeling rather
proud of myself.
Next came the flight and emotional goodbyes. Staring out of the car window with rain running down in rivers, I really felt like a character from those cringey 2000s rom-coms, hoping to run home like Rachel Green declaring “I got off the plane” and returning to the comfort of my friends, my family, the familiar. What I wasn’t expecting was to actually do so, though for the more embarrassing reason that my friend and I had missed the flight, too busy in duty free to hear our names called over the tannoy. It felt like another sign that I wasn’t cut out for moving abroad. Nevertheless, I booked a different flight for 6 days later and tried again. Tears were shed on the plane but when the doors opened and I was met by the smell of hot continental air, I felt a little more optimistic about my new adventure.
My friend and I rushed to get the keys to my new room, getting the first taxi available, which was a shockingly expensive Uber (a word of advice: Uber in Italy is relatively under-developed so the only Ubers available were the equivalent of a private cab). We arrived, got the keys and after half an hour I was on my way for some tagliatelle and a gelato. By midnight, I was ready to take my suitcases and set up in my new place. I headed to the building, repeating to myself the various instructions I had been given about how to enter. I stood by the door and tried the key. Nothing. Another key. Nothing. I tried every key on the keyring. Nothing. By which time I was hysterical, calling my mum and looking at flights, sure that I was coming home (me being dramatic is a theme here, I’m afraid). All this makes me eternally grateful for my friend who offered to let me stay at her flat for the night and promised it would all be different in the morning. Whilst I didn’t trust her at the time, I see now exactly what she meant. I returned to the agency the next morning and was able to get the key I needed and finally see my new home.
Which leads me to today, writing in that very room. Anyone reading this might believe that after all this I wouldn’t recommend studying abroad. On the contrary, I encourage everyone to travel for studies. I have learnt so much in such a brief amount of time, meeting people from all over the world. At first it felt like freshers all over again, the typical awkward introductions and “are you here for university?”, but after all I must be doing something right because I have already made friends who I genuinely love spending time with as we all navigate a new country and a new normal together.
Since my chaotic journey here, I have been to the bar countless times, enjoyed a cappuccino on every corner of the city (before 11am, of course, as this is an Italian unspoken rule). I have seen the city’s ‘Seven secrets’ and done England proud with my karaoke rendition of Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’. However, this is just the beginning of what is sure to be a challenging but unforgettable journey. A journey which I hope you will join me on as I document the ups and downs of my time in Italy and beyond.
Until next time- A presto!
Editor: Molly Stevens
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English (US) ·