Liberty Rowe

I have been on my year abroad for just over six months. During this time I have been based in Bogotá, Colombia and have gradually adjusted to living life in a different language.
However, when I first arrived, I was definitely in for a linguistic shock!
These are the lessons I learned when my daily life went from English to Spanish:

People Think You Are an Idiot
It’s a sad but true reality that when you cannot speak a language fluently, it can lead people to perceive you as less intelligent than them.
In my early days, I often felt frustrated that people were not taking me seriously or just didn’t respect my opinions as much as they would have if I had possessed more fluency. While annoying, this does make sense – it was obvious that I was having to carefully think about each sentence I was saying, causing me to pause a lot.
On one of my first nights in my new flat, my housemate slowly explained to me how to boil potatoes and use kitchen utensils. I felt indignant at first – of course I know how to cook! Shortly afterwards though, I realised that as a non-native-speaker-newbie, it seemed like I needed help with more than just Spanish.
I have to say that this experience has vastly increased my respect and empathy for everyone living in a different language – it’s easy to underestimate people when they can’t communicate perfectly, but that is not an indicator of what they really know.

Those Early Morning Feels
Anyone that knows me knows that I’m not the best at springing out of bed in the mornings, but during my first few weeks in Colombia I was repeatedly caught out by having to be on ‘Spanish mode’ first thing.
I would wake up and start talking to my housemates in English without thinking about it, before suddenly changing ‘Hello’ to ‘Hola’.

Impossible To Blend In
When I first arrived, I was determined to learn to speak Spanish like a true Colombian so that people would never know the difference by the time I left.
Six months down the line, I’ve had to readjust this goal, my sole comfort found in realising that it’s totally normal for people to speak with an accent even after they’ve lived in another country for years.
While I’m fortunate enough to look Latin American and can physically blend into a crowd, this illusion is shattered when I open my mouth. Upon asking anything – from the price of an avocado to the name of the next bus stop – I am almost always asked where I’m from and then, why I’m in Colombia.
In addition, I’ve realised that this perceived sign of unfamiliarity has gotten me some pretty inflated prices – that very avocado seller quoted about 3x what I’d expected to pay!
At first, I perceived my accent as a sign of failure – but now, I am just trying my best to speak as well and as clearly as I can and have accepted that I will probably never sound like Bogotá Spanish is my first language, because, well, it isn’t.

Talk All The Time!
Despite this though, the only way I found to grow my confidence and improve my Spanish was to speak it as much as possible.
Over time, I’ve felt much more able to express myself clearly and let my personality shine through!



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‘The most brutal, painful and terrifying experience. Yet, certainly the very best.’ 
 
The year abroad starts off so well. The sun is shining. Life is exciting, electrifying. You make friends, experience new flavours and feelings. You are living a life you once dreamed of. You have great sex. Lots of sex. You stay up all night. You learn to make love in another language. Effortlessly picking up new expressions.  Extraordinary encounters become commonplace. You feel a unique, utopian sensation. Almost as if the universe is revealing its secrets to you. You are exactly where you are supposed to be. Young, wild and carefree.
 
Then suddenly it happens. You danced too near the beach bonfire. Stepped too close to the cliff edge. You fall. You fall hard. You can’t fight it. Nothing had prepared you for this. There is nothing you can do. Your universes collided together. You are vulnerable, open and exposed. You have no choice but to surrender. Sliding your neck into the noose. You have never been happier. Nor more beautiful. Your heart is breaking and singing every second. The elements push and pull you to pieces. Days go by like a dream. You are unsure how to feel. Potent. Powerless. Power-hungry. You can’t control your feelings. Your lover. Your life.  You will never be the same again. Yet, would you do it all over again?
 
Part of me wishes I had never walked into that bar. Turned away as soon as we made eye contact. How easily we both fell. Neither of us wanting it, yet neither of us able to stop it. We both knew so soon. Were too scared to admit it. When we did it was almost too late. It could have ruined everything. It could have been the greatest decision of our lives.
 
We made plans in haste. One of us would have to give up so much. Yet it would not matter. For we would be happy together. Together forever. Everything would be fine. The short separation would be ok. As we would have each other. The sun is shining. We are in love. Life is an illusion. Something to be read about in a cold classroom. Yet, it is real. It is happening. 
 
Everything challenges. They changed. You changed. Life changed. All in the cruellest flash of lightening. The short flicker of a dying lighter. Fantasies smashed to smithereens. Cold reality creeps in. Sunburnt, heartbroken and lonely. Far from home. You want to escape. Break free. But this is the only place you want to be. You have never been more upset. More lost. If you were to repeat events again. You would not change anything. Everything was perfect. Perfect because it’s past. 
 
You feel as if you could never love again. You have been suffocated and are already dead. This afterlife is without love. You come back to university. Full of memories, stories, but pretty numb. You want to move on. But you don’t want it to become a hazy memory. You don’t want to give up. You want the struggle, the fight. You want to feel something. You question whether it really happened. If it were just in your head. But you remember the way they looked at you. You will never forget it. You hold onto the memories. The euphoria. The pain. The past. 
 
The universe is cold, uncaring. Your survival instincts start to kick in. One day you wake up. Their memory is not the first thought to cross your mind. Your remove your bandages. Your life goes on. As does theirs. You finally feel the distance. The pain lessens. You realise you do not believe in absolutes. Life is flawed. You are now definitely flawed. It was the most brutal, painful and terrifying experience. Yet certainly the very best.
 

I have been on my year abroad four months and am a quarter of the way through. I’ve lived in two different countries and had two very polarising experiences, and it’s fair to say I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs. I started my year abroad in a Paris for the summer working as an office manager for a co-working company. I had the time of my life; I was working hard and playing harder. Paris exceeded my expectations. Then it was time to pack my bags and move on to Valencia, Spain to begin my 8-month placement as an English language assistant in a high school. During this transitory period something changed within me. All of a sudden the reality of moving to a new country kicked in.
 
The year abroad isn’t always a picture perfect experience; many of us will feel a mixture of euphoric moments and also periods of homesickness, loneliness and self -doubt. It’s completely normal to experience extreme highs and lows and I’d like to talk about my own experiences of living abroad in Spain so that if you are on your year abroad/ thinking about planning it, then you know that you are not alone!
                              
The ‘not so great’ things:

• Discovering the ‘No pasa nada’ attitude, particularly when applied to bureaucracy.

This phrase generally means ‘no worries’ or ‘it doesn’t matter’.
This mentality is applied to all aspects of life. Can’t find an apartment? No pasa nada. Don’t know when you’ll be paid? No pasa nada.

• The language barrier

I’m still adjusting to the speed of the language as well as the accent. It’s much different than being in a lecture or tutorial. It will take time to adjust but after 8 months it will be worth it!

• Little support from the British Council

Working in a school is great, but at times I feel like I have to navigate a plethora of information about the language assistant programme. I believed that I would get some more support at times, especially as there isn’t a comprehensive guide for each region I find myself trying to figure out what is relevant and what isn’t. Luckily a lot of other people are in the same boat as me, which gives me reassurance.

• F.O.M.O (Fear of missing out)

FOMO is definitely real and social media definitely intensifies this. Seeing all of my friends hanging out at college, going to formals- even nights out at Klute makes me miss home even more. However, I’m learning that it’s all about perspective- people always think that the grass is greener on the other side. I have to keep remembering that Durham will never go away, and I have to make the most of what there is here while I can!
 
The positive sides of Spanish culture

• The opportunity to meet new friends and create a new social group.

Valencia is a huge student town, with people from all walks of life. There is a lovely network of language assistants here and ‘intercambios’ are always a good way to meet new people and practise your languages.

• Limitless opportunities to travel

A weekend away in Barcelona or a few days away in Nice are easy to plan- especially due to my flexible timetable. I’ve been able to see more than I thought I would and I have   increased my cultural awareness of the country and appreciate regional differences more.

• Independence and freedom

I like the freedom of being able to pick and choose new things and not being fully tied down to activities. If I try something and I don’t like it, I’m not obligated to go back. A year abroad is the time to discover yourself in a new environment, and you might find yourself picking up a skill or learning something new that you never dreamed of!
 
Honestly, I have no idea what the rest of my year could bring. I can fantasise about my dream year abroad or I can go out and live it; the latter is what I intend to do. This year isn’t perfect- it’s real life and its what I make of the experience. I’m learning that some things are out of my control but all I can do keep on looking at the bright side and take the good with the bad. 


Natasha Hylton

As anyone who knows me can testify, I have very few conversation topics other than my year abroad. However, when waxing lyrical about the edifying qualities of a year away from true responsibility, I feel it is necessary to send a warning to any of those considering the French countryside as a viable option for their year abroad.
 
Before arriving in rural Aveyron (which from now on shall be referred to as ‘the back end of nowhere’), I naively thought I would become worldly, chilled out and tanned, finding an affinity between myself and the countryside that I had never had, having been raised in the leafy pastures of South East London. However, after one week of rural life I came to the unsurprising realisation that I am not ‘zen’, can’t do yoga, and I burn really easily. Shockingly, it turns out that working on a campsite isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.

Though I complained bitterly throughout my extended exile, it wasn’t all bad. I was situated near a giant man-made reservoir, where I managed to find the perfect spot to top up my second degree burns. Key to remember that when I say Southern France, the area about which I am speaking is more wholesome families on a pedalo than yacht owners with offshore bank accounts.

It also turned out that my enclave of calm was also a haven for local (agèd) nudists. I took this to be a sign from the powers that be for having previously complained about speedos, which I now realise hide a multitude of sins. I must also emphasise that though nude, the male members of this covert clan were never to be seen without a heavy gold / silver or nickel chain adorning their necks.

To conclude my diatribe about southern France, if you too want to emulate me and waste 62 days of your precious life, I have some top tips for blending in with the locals. If you really want to assimilate, it is impediment that you dedicate approximately 2.3 hours of each day to slating Paris and bitterly insulting people from northern France. A similar amount of time must also be spent criticising English food and claiming French food is sent from the gods on high (even if you see one of your French housemates eating sweetcorn from the tin for supper).

You must also use BlaBlacar (hitchhiking on an app) as your main mode of travel, as the French rail system is often incapacitated due to strikes. Make sure you also leave plenty of time to account for a potential BlaBlacar break down on the autoroute (motorway). During my particular experience of breaking down in a stranger’s car I surprised myself with my calmness, because I realised I could probably live out the rest of my days on the edge of the autoroute subsisting on wild grasses and still prefer it to the campsite.
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Stylewise, dig out your year 7 union jack tee-shirt. It may seem paradoxical that French people claim to hate England with a passion, yet can’t get enough of our flag, but when in life does anything ever truly make sense? 


Ilona Phillips

I have spent the last four and a half months in Colombia and I am no way near ready to leave. I am in my final few weeks of my time here so I thought I would share some little tips or pieces of advice for those starting to think about a year abroad in South America. First and foremost, if you get the opportunity to go to Colombia, do! I have fallen in love with this country and definitely will be back one day. It is such a special and magical country that it’s no wonder that Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ magical realism hailed from here.
 
1.Don’t panic if you are scared or struggle with accents at first.
 
In the taxi from when I arrived at Medellin airport I understood all of about three words from my taxi driver, two of them being ‘Buenas noches’. Not the greatest start for my confidence in speaking Spanish but I blame it on the nearly 24-hour journey and jetlag... Accents all over South America and Spain vary so much and it takes time to adjust to them. Even now, nearly five months later, I still struggle with some people’s accents but you grow used to them and will even start picking up the accent and local lingo yourself too. 
 
2.Take your time with settling in
 
Yes, it takes a while to get used to living away from family and friends and always communicating in a foreign language. Do not panic after two, three weeks or even a month if you still don’t feel settled or you think your language hasn’t improved (trust me it has). It took me way over a month to get settled and only now, when I have just over week to go, do I feel fully comfortable in my town and role at my job. Take your time, be easy on yourself, you’re going to be here for at least four months, probably more, so don’t force yourself to do everything in your first few weeks and panic or exhaust yourself. Go at your own pace and own rhythm, and don’t measure your experiences against others.
 
3.Make the most of every opportunity you get
 
You are only here for a short time, and may never return to your country, so take every opportunity that comes your way. Travel, explore, try something new: a new sport or a new food, make new friends. Being in Colombia, hailed the ‘Land of Salsa’, I gave it a go and went to some salsa classes. I was truly terrible so I only went to two but at least I tried and put myself out there. If you never try you’ll never know what you like or don’t like, and what you are really capable of! You’ll probably surprise yourself. With everything being in a foreign language it can appear intimidating to throw yourself into something completely new, but it really will do wonders for your confidence and language and communication skills.
 
4.If you have the chance to live with a host family, do it!
 
I was given the option to live with a Colombian family or find my own accommodation. I chose to live with a family and it was definitely the right decision for me. You get to experience what life is really like for families living here, eating meals with them and seeing what their daily life is like. I also got the chance to go to a quinceañera (a 15th birthday party which are a BIG deal in most of South America), which was a once in a lifetime experience and one of my highlights from Colombia. I’m not saying you have to live with a host family to experience the country’s culture, but for me it really helped as a starting point and a way to understand the way of life in South America. It can open your eyes to a completely different way of life.
 
5.Most importantly- enjoy!
 
My last piece of advice is to enjoy yourself! Don’t sit at your accommodation scrolling through Instagram and Snapchat stories (I’ll admit I am very much guilty of this) of all your uni friends going out together, you can do that next year. Durham isn’t going anywhere but you are. This is a once in a lifetime experience and a chance to be the best version of yourself. You can go out anywhere, spend weekends travelling or partying with new friends and embrace your year abroad as much as you can. As cheesy as it may sound, this is your opportunity to really grow as a person, don’t let it go to waste. 


Eva Hannaford

Lara Gibson

Having recently returned home from her year abroad in Beirut, I find myself  torn between feelings of love and hate for this muddled metropolis.
 
Beirut is a city I both love and hate. A city full of dualities, contradictions and conflicting emotions. A city marked by billionaires and beggars; diamonds, debt and dysentery. A city full of opportunity and hopelessness. A city which is a playground for some and a prison for others. A city which both inspired and disgusted me, but all the same, my love for Beirut never truly left me.
 
Walking the streets of the Paris of the Middle East, you hear French spoken by elderly ladies who have never left the Levant, American English whispered by teenagers, and heavy Levantine dialect being hurled around by weathered Taxi drivers. Most people you meet will have the notions of three languages, yet few people fail to find a true common language. Citizens are divided by language, wealth and religion. The war may have ended years ago, but the line which divided the city between East and West still remains luminously in the city’s subconscious.
 
Every day is full of conflict. Arguments between participants in the daily traffic jam wrestling match, the sound of gunshots in the background and the eternal collision of Eastern and Western ideals. Chaos and corruption threaten to destroy Lebanon’s hard fought for democracy, and conspire to create a political system which can only be described as inefficient, stagnant and exploitive.  Yet there is so much beauty to be found in the ugly. Bullet holes decorate abandoned villas, orchid gardens blossom 25 stories high and mesmerising graffiti covers construction sites.
 
There is so much to inspire and uplift. Artists, architects and authors flood the winding streets of the city, crowding in packed bars, trying to talk to their friends over the thumping music at happy hour. New galleries, boutiques and restaurants open every week, and innovation and creation is everywhere. Laughter, love and local wine flood through the city, which is so much more alive than anywhere I have ever been.
 
New architecturally inspired buildings blossom on foundations full of history. Roman, Greek, French, Armenian and Ottoman influences shape the fabric of such a modern city. Lebanon may be a young country, yet her roots are old. The cedar trees that live here have witnessed far more than we can imagine to know. They have seen so much war and suffering, yet so much hope and happiness, and will continue to see so much more after we go.
 
Even though my experiences in Beirut shaped me greatly, I will leave no lasting mark on this hub of regeneration. I would implore any keen traveller to visit. It is safe, exciting and accessible. Also for those eager to learn Arabic, or with time of their side, it is an ideal destination to spend a few months or years losing and discovering yourself in this labyrinth of Lebanon.

Lara Gibson

The sign on the door confuses me:

PLEASE KNOCK LOUDLY is printed beside a man in a black bowler hat who seems to be in the act of kicking his way in.

Cautious of being promptly kicked out again, I choose the former approach.

I am welcomed into the office first by Will, then by the rest of the team at various speeds. Nadya wins the race and greets me enthusiastically; Will smiles. ‘Nadya runs a lot. That is, she runs around. Not the business.’

It would hardly have been an internship at a translation company without doing some translation. I translated dialogue for children’s cartoons, marketing materials and job contracts, and in my last week I even translated the first chapter of a children’s book. All of this, I should point out, was from Russian into English. Apart from one occasion, when I was asked to translate an extract from Dickens into Russian in order to show why you should only ever translate into your own language. If you’ve ever seen a bad translation, you will understand.

As well as working with written translations, I learned how to edit subtitles and had a go at two different subtitling projects: a Russian comedy TV series called The Island and a ‘rap musical’. Translating rap turned out to be a very new challenge for everyone in the office. A bit like poetry, you have to weigh up whether you translate the words or the rhythm and rhyme but… well, it’s a bit faster than poetry.

I love languages and I love writing: translation should suit me down to the ground, right? To start with, I wasn’t so sure. It seemed to me that the words were not my own. I was translating someone else’s text. When I said this to Tal, however, he shook his head without hesitation. ‘I disagree,’ he said. ‘Every translator has his or her own style. When you translate, you put your voice on the page.’

I soon discovered that he was right. When you translate, you are not only conveying the message from one language into another, but also from one culture into another. This means there is sometimes even room for creativity. For example, in an episode of The Island, Olga accidentally dyes her hair blue and Mila calls her ‘Malvina’. But who’s heard of Malvina in the English-speaking world? I certainly hadn’t, so I did a quick Wikipedia search and discovered that she’s a china doll with blue hair. I would have to think of an equivalent. Blue hair, blue hair… how about Marge from The Simpsons?

Having discovered that I liked writing, Will also asked me to write for him: job advertisements, presentations and articles (the freedom of an empty page!); and then Will, a true ‘wordnerd’, edited my work and gave me some surprising advice. ‘Print it out, turn it upside down, read it backwards,’ he said, and I laughed, but he was serious. ‘It works.’

Two months went very quickly. Returning to England to complete my university degree does not mean severing all contact with Eclectic Translations, however. Time to have a go at freelancing…

The man in the bowler hat is still there when I leave, and it is a sign of how much I have learned during my internship that I now know who is pictured on the door: it is (of course) John Cleese, from the sketch ‘The Ministry of Silly Walks’.

You never know quite what to expect at Eclectic Translations.

Rebecca undertook the internship in summer 2017 as part of her Year Abroad. She found the internship advertised on duo, sent the company an email, and then had to complete a short translation test… two months later she was in St Petersburg.

Written by Rebecca Thorne