It's Thursday night. You just finished classes for the week
because like a smart college kid you keep your Friday's free. You're passing
through the student center, thoughts occupied by what mixer to buy with Flex,
when a certain advertisement on a bulletin board catches your eye. Just when
you thought college couldn't possibly get any better, it does—cue discovery of
studying abroad.
Convincing your parents was no problem at all: "Of course you can go honey, it will be a great cultural experience!" Which in your head that translates to, "It will be a drunken barhopping, Euro clubbing, hook-up fest." The only thing Pops didn't spring for was you flying first class. But you're like fuck it; I'll be like Denzel in Flight, drunk on that plane anyway.
The rest of the semester you really buckle down and focus on
training. Not brushing up on foreign languages. "Dov’e la birra?" is
easy enough to learn. No, training is going out an average of 4 nights a week,
going out HARD. Overseas, you'll be going on 10, 11, 12 night drinking streaks!
You're not even going to survive the 'Opening Tour' if you don't train your
liver, first. But if it does give out, grazie
Dio that there's free healthcare across the pond.
Finally, the embarkment comes. You failed all your finals
just in anticipation. But don't worry, classes abroad are such a joke the
former Jersey Shore cast could ace them…well, pass. (And if you’re aiming for
A’s while taking classes in a foreign country, do us all a favor and get Taken).
Anyways, arriving in Europe is like a dream come true. You
and all your friends got this dumb grin on your faces for like a week straight.
Also, if they're not even your friends now trust me, they'll immediately become
close ones soon. You see the sights during the day and, if you're smart, you
scout out potential bars and clubs. Though, if you're really really smart, you
scout out nearby mini-marts and grocery outlets so you can pregame the bars in
your tiny ass rooms. After, of course, your live-in family cooks you a feast fit
for Adele and Jessica Simpson, all the while forcing wine down your throat
until your teeth get stained purple.
But as for the (post) pregaming: in Italy
you can pickup a fifth of Absolut for 9€... like $12. Or, you can buy a single
Red Bull and vodka at the clubs for 8€... which (according my online bank
statement) will set you back $11.32. ‘Merda!’
<—This means “shit.” But at least at bars in Italy at least it's
customary to not tip!
But, eventually classes do start...which hardly affects
anything. Trust me, there are worse things than being hungover in class.
Staying in the night before, for example. Or hooking up with a tranny. (Don't
ask). But anyways, on one of your weekend trips you swiped a barf bag off the
plane and stashed it in your school backpack. Problem solved.
You soon learn that really the only tough thing about
studying abroad is budgeting. Well that and dealing with the occasional
non-English speaker (the nerve). Unless your parents are too lazy, or rich, to
actually figure out conversion rates and make your bank account look
Swiss-worthy, you're going to have to budget yourself. You'll save the souvenir
buying till the last week, eat cheap ass Doner Kebabs twice a day, pregame the
bars, and scrap the fancy restaurants for fixed-price unlimited wine and pasta
joints. It's way more fun being inappropriately loud and drunk with 15 other
friends anyways.
Now personally, I have no shame going to a McDonald's every
once in awhile abroad. It's not everyday you can buy a beer with a Happy Meal.
But tourist beware, for some likely socialist-related reason foreign fast food
is expensive as hell, so save it for when you're either homesick or simply
can't handle one more friggin' pannini: "Um, come si dice ‘condiments?’"
But sadly, after weeks or months or even a year of your
foreign occupation, the fact that "la dolce vita" won't last forever
hits you like, well, the guy that sings "Forever." It's a strange
feeling because while you are excited to get back to the land of peanut butter,
large showers, and air conditioning you know that you're going to be too poor
to come back abroad until after like 8 years of employment. You know you made
great friends from Boston though you're from Seattle, you know that cursing in
English again just won't be nearly as satisfying, and no matter how hard you
try, you know you'll never be able to relive the greatest time of your life.
Hopefully you wait ‘til you get home to cry, sentimental pussy... Arrivederci stronzi!
[Shout out to Gonzaga-In-Florence Summers 2011 & 2012]
