My experience studying abroad in London in 2004 helped me satisfy both spectrums of my college career. For the teenager in me, I dabbled in romance, made lifelong friends; for the serious unemployed grad, I made contacts in British media and got an internship at a prestigious American magazine thanks to my “international background,” i.e. stint in London.

More than anything, it not only satisfied my wanderlust but also satisfied a need I never knew I had: knowing that if I ever retire my vagabond shoes, I’ll have the luxury of being able to call a place once foreign to me home.

Those considering studying abroad need encouragement. They need to know how much such an experience will change their lives, because it will, and that it’s okay to jump in to what may seem like the unknown black hole, because it is. But they also need to understand how HARD it can be; illusions are dangerous things to break, and the broken glass teardrops of a fragile disposition sharp and shattered, indeed. Let me introduce you to my first-semester roommate.

I studied abroad in Athens, Greece for a year. The school grouped us with at least two other same-sex students, and threw us in apartments. The facilities were wonderful for Athens–tiny little flats, but in one of the best neighborhoods, and every Saturday the farmer’s market bloomed beneath our balconies. Liz (let’s call her Liz) was agenuinely sweet girl, sugar-coated with the youth of being a few years younger than the rest of us, and passionately dedicated to her Classical studies. But after a few weeks, she began to realize…she wasn’t going home–for a while. Her lifelong friends were partying it up without her, she could rarely afford the long-distance call to Ohio, and even when she could, no one related to what she was experiencing. She couldn’t stroll into that cute corner market down the street and simply buy what she needed, because the luxury of a common language had been stripped, hanging on by a few, simple words of mutual understanding. And all that weight!
she lost last year? Yep, slowly creeping back on from the PILES of rich (absolutely delicious) food bestowed on us by staff, cheap restaurants, and that nice old lady in 2B who we thought (weren’t sure) was trying to tell us she had granddaughters our age. The streets were filthy, the air saturated with industrial pollution, and the men catcalled us EVERY TIME we hiked the mile down (or back up) the long, broken-marbled hill to the school. To say it was a cakewalk would be a serious misconception. She broke down in week four, sobbing plaintively through her classes, and locking herself in the bedroom as soon as she got home. Liz made it through the first semester (God bless her), and the moment finals were over joyously crammed her bag full of souveniers that said nothing about her experience, and sang her way to the airport.

Now, granted, this was a bit of an extreme case. Most having a hard time adjusting will snap out of it within a few weeks and decide to have the best time of their lives. But not everyone does, and I believe the rose-colored overwash of romanticism is, at least partially, to blame. She had a fantasy of what modern Greece would be based on what she envisioned ancient Greece to have been, fueled by the well-intentioned, inspring testimonies of those who had gone before. No one had the heart to explain, or perhaps didn’t want to remember, how badly the sewers stank, the realities of not being able to flush toilet paper, and that the little old ladies pushing their way through crowds were more dangerous than they looked.

I felt bad for her. Hell, sometimes I felt bad for me, but I felt worse no one had prepared her. No one with experience had taken the time to explain that not everyday was going to be a good day. What a travesty! She was a smart girl, a kind girl, but she was the type of girl that needed a warning. “Honesty is the best policy” may be an age-old adage, but damnit, it’s true. Let’s be real, folks, and tell every side of the story–even the tales we don’t want to remember–because it will save some poor gal (or guy) a lot of time crying it out, figuring it out, locked in the bedroom of a foreign country.

I had such a good time and learned so much. I also completed an internship with young Canadian entrepreneur running her own PR firm. It was just the two of us in her office. We arranged art gallery viewings, represented fine art galleries and individual artists. We pitched a lot of radio interviews, wrote press releases and even discussed a store window display with Harrods, which was to have featured a prestigious art gallery. Unfortunately, the store window display did not happen but I will never forget the months I interned and studied in London.

A study abroad experience is the way to go. It’s a life changing and eye-opening experience. Don’t miss out on pursuing this opportunity if you can afford to do so. Exploring a new city, learning about international business practices and customs and making new friends are only a few highlights that you are sure to enjoy. On top of that, you will receive credit towards your diploma. What could be better than that?