As much as I’d love to be signing post-cards on the beaches of Marbella fulfilling the fantasy of the 3 S’s (sun, sex, and sangria), I’m left with the sour taste of Madrid in my Erasmus mouth.
Time of my life they said. Time to discover myself they said. Time to get a holiday tan they said.
As much as I’d love to be signing post-cards on the beaches of Marbella fulfilling the fantasy of the 3 S’s (sun, sex, and sangria), I’m left with the sour taste of Madrid in my Erasmus mouth. As opposed to familiarising myself with the quaint cobbled streets of the Spanish capital, I find my passport at hand wondering whether Easyjet even have a Frequent Flyers’ club. I would be lying if I said I didn’t know the number of escalators from the metro to Terminal 1 yet I most definitely could not truthfully tell you the name of any museums let alone recommend any ol’ place that offers Spain’s finest tapas.
What would I know? I’m just a whiny and unappreciative student who hasn’t quite taken the Erasmus reins into my hands and stormed the fort that is fun. Who wouldn’t give their right arm to have a doss of a third year and prolong university for that much longer, and, oh did I mention, relive Freshers? Add that to the Spanish culture, exotic cuisine and life-long friendships I’m supposedly experiencing and making and hell, why even return to London for final year?
It’s just little old melodramatic me who likes to tell everyone the situation in Spain is worse than it actually is, and no I’m not the European Union teetering on the edge of Spain’s unstable economy. I joke, I jest, but really I advise you jumped-up and excited second years polishing your passports and bottling up your sun-cream (you know who you are), put away those friendship bracelets, take back your ‘lads on tour’ t-shirts and stop updating your Facebook status and location and instead start saving… tickets to London never looked so precious.