It’s finally here. The moment that always seemed so far away, ever since I received that email from Edinburgh University telling me that I’d been accepted onto International Exchange.

I’m sat on my bed, staring (quite proudly) at the one, extremely large suitcase that I’ve managed (somehow) to pack most of my life into for the year. So a big HAHA to all my friends who claimed I wouldn’t even fit my hairstyling products into one suitcase. Although they had a point, as packing was no easy feat. Almost every time my mum went to close the suitcase up I’d shout something along the lines of:

“I can maybe just fit this third tartan scarf in if we try really hard”.

She was not best amused.

Tomorrow morning, I set off to London with my parents, one of whom will no doubt already be sobbing at the thought of me not returning for Christmas (hint: it’s not my father, a blunt Yorkshire man whose usual advice is “it’ll be reyt”). After an overnight hotel stay tomorrow, I will no doubt have to be dragged from my bed at the horrendously early hour of 4am on Saturday morning to check in for my flight to Vancouver, Canada.

“So, how do you feel about it all?”.

This is the question I’ve been repeatedly asked by friends and family, each of them with a grin on their faces, expecting a deep and meaningful answer. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t really feel that much. And that’s not because I’m not excited or nervous, but because none of this seems real. After spending the majority of my summer holiday watching box sets on Netflix and convincing myself that at some point in the next three months I shall go for a jog, it just doesn’t seem feasible that I am moving to Canada. Canada! The land of maple syrup, ice hockey games and moose (not that I enjoy cultural stereotypes).

I’m sure halfway through my 10-hour flight across the Atlantic, once I’ve exhausted all the half decent on-board film choices and made the most of the free chocolate, it’ll hit me out of nowhere. That this is not a joke, I’m actually moving to Vancouver. That I will soon be arriving at an alien campus and thrown head first into the first day of University all over again. As much as I love meeting new people, this will definitely be a challenge after settling into a comfort blanket of close friends at Edinburgh, and enjoying that we could have much more exciting conversations than the “So, what do you study?” chat that flies around during first week.

Yet at the same time I’m more than willing to put up with numerous awkward handshakes, IKEA trips, and misread map routes to first lectures, if it means I get to spend the academic year at UBC. And if you’re wondering why, then you clearly have yet to visit Google Images and search “UBC”. I knew I wanted to apply to study there the first time I saw the picture that greets you after that internet search. My first reaction was “that cannot be it”, as I stared at a green University Campus literally sticking out at an angle into the Pacific Ocean, with a backdrop of snow capped mountains that wouldn’t look out of place on a Hollywood film set. And UBC is definitely not just a pretty face, it’s regularly ranked in the top 40 Universities across the globe (plus I heard the “frat” parties aren’t too bad either).

Which brings me to one of my many queries about campus life at UBC, do frats and sororities really exist? To any equally bewildered British friends reading this, it seems that yes, they do. And not only do they exist, but it appears they have their own “Village”, which I found out after Google Maps revealed to me that my accommodation is a short walk from a small line of “Frat Houses” named things like “Alpha Delta Phi”, that wouldn’t look out of place on an American Pie film.

So as I begin to learn that “Frat boys” do in fact drink out of red beer pong cups in their own houses, it looks as though there’s a few culture shocks coming my way. One of which will no doubt be the famous friendly character of Canadian citizens, something which I will struggle with after getting rather used to a nation of grumbling Brits who would much rather moan at you about the weather than wish you a fabulous day.

So, as I mentally prepare myself to embark on this slightly terrifying adventure, it seems that the best advice to follow is that which everybody keeps telling me, which is to make the most of this year. After all, not many are lucky enough to spend their third year studying abroad at a beautiful campus on the other side of the world. So it’s time to dive straight in, attempt (and probably fail epically) to ski, meet people from across the world, get used to the coastal rain, and try not to get eaten by a bear. As I remember that the specific grades I achieve at UBC do not count towards my degree classification at Edinburgh, the words of a friend at my Bon Voyage party are ringing in my ears:

“Lucy, if I don’t see a picture of you, upside down on a beer keg at a frat party, I’ll be severely disappointed”.

Canada, I hope you’re ready.