Last time I wrote on here I was probably in the best place ever since arriving on Canadian soil, taking a drunken dip in a fountain and embracing campus life. That’s not to say this blog post is coming from a bad place inside, but stress levels are definitely higher. That’s not because I still hate the fact tax is added at the till, or the Vancouver rain has set in hard and fast (although those two things regularly make me want to fork my eyeballs out).

No, it’s because North America invented “mid terms”. They can’t just accept that you want to get drunk for the whole semester and cram for one exam at the end can they? So, as I sit surrounded by my freshly washed laundry, my newly vacuumed room, and my half drunk water bottle after trying and failing to do a Miley Cyrus leg workout on youtube, I have reached peak levels of procrastination. As I almost forced myself to open the reading on USA public policy, I had a light bulb moment. “Hey Lucy, you haven’t written a blog in a while”. So here goes, after all – I only need to pass this year anyway…

A lot has happened since my evening of playing beer pong and trying to fit into the campus tree hammocks at 2am. I had to emotionally and physically support my friend that next morning, when our “brunch and study day” turned into her attempting to vomit numerous times in between trying to get through her eggs benedict, while saying through gritted teeth to me “I blame you for this”. Sorry, I just really need a tequila buddy sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Coincidentally, that whole morning made me feel very much at home after Edinburgh memories of my flat forcing ourselves to brunch, looking like we’d been collectively dragged through a hedge backwards.

Study day cancelled due to one solider down, I introduced myself to the Mindy Project, another beautiful gem that can only be found on Canadian Netflix. Then evening hit and I realised I did indeed have class tomorrow, so settled down on my sofa and did something I’ve never done before – I read a whole book in one sitting. Granted, it was with the help of a jug of Yorkshire tea and half a tub of Nutella, but it happened. It also helped that the book was on transgender identities, and not the economic cost benefit analysis of policies. This book made me very glad that I’d taken my outside course of “Introduction to Critical Studies in Sexuality” – a course that my friends here swear I’m telling lies about when I get home from class. Only in this class do we watch porn, and listen to our professor lecture us on the 50 shades of grey “sets” you can purchase in Walmart. As you could guess, it never gets boring. The only downside is that I definitely don’t fit into the type of student in that class, and try to hide the conformist jack wills logo on my coat as I shuffle into the back corner seat, and observe the rows of people who look effortlessly fashionable in a bohemian chic style, and are most probably drinking fair-trade tea in that flask.

Skip to the middle of the week and prep had began for that beautiful milestone that is my 21st. An excuse for a big night out, and when I say big, I mean huge. Because if someone had taken a GoPro that evening and observed the behaviour of my circle of friends as we entered the club, David Attenborough style, we would have most probably resembled an invasion of hyper epileptics who really loved to slut drop. One of my only crystal clear memories is getting extremely angry at the DJ who responded to my song request of “No Church in the Wild” with: “I’ve never heard of that one”.  A DJ that doesn’t know a song which involves all 3 of Jay-Z, Kanye, and Frank Ocean. Sometimes I really miss you Leeds.

All in all, that evening definitely taught us that it is never acceptable for the WHOLE GROUP to get “birthday girl” level drunk. Endless amounts of vomming, crying and drama shall only follow.

Once I finally recovered from this Geordie Shore-esque evening I was able to do what I do best, and drag my birthday celebrations out for a further three days. Which turned out rather nice – after a home cooked meal by my Italian flatmate who I could swear is the next Nigella Lawson, a home cooked gluten free brunch by my favourite British girls, and a Harbour-side evening of cocktails and dining – see, we can be classy sometimes. Emphasis on the sometimes.

My money continues to be thrown away in bulk on a weekly routine of over-priced groceries and my current sushi addiction. But cash flows and mid term exams aside, I’m not complaining. This evening I get to go to a home cooked Thanksgiving meal (it’s in October in Canada- no idea why) that involves Turkey and Pumpkin pie and get nicely tipsy while collectively laughing with my friends about how screwed we are for midterms. Which is 100% fine, because we’re on exchange – we’re far more concerned with planning weekend travel trips than actually opening a book. And that’s exactly how it should be.

4 weeks. One month. I guess that’s all it took. If you’d have told me on move in day that by the beginning of October I could call UBC home, I would’ve thought you were having a laugh. I still would’ve expected to be complaining about all the positivity and the fact that everyone appears to be asleep by 9pm and out for a jog at 6am.

Turns out Vancouver-ites are not crazy robot people programmed only to eat kale and do sun salutations on a beach. They’re just people, like me and you. And granted, I may not be spending every other night stumbling out of a club at 5am, with my shoes stuck to the dance floor, still singing along to “Summer of 69” and sprinting to the nearest takeaway. But that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying every day I spend on this beautiful campus. In fact, there’s a slight chance I may be turning into a Vancouver-ite myself. I actually found myself saying to a friend this week:

“I’m in a rush, I’ve got to do a wholefoods shop and then I’ve got a yoga class”.

What happened to me? Don’t fear though Edinburgh friends, it’s not all change. I still drink far too many tequila shorts on a night out and last night thought it would be a good idea to go for a “paddle” in a fountain outside an apartment building. Perhaps not the smartest move.

Bad drunk stories aside, UBC is unreal. I’ve never experienced a University life before where hoards of students pile onto buses on Saturday mornings in gym gear to either go for a bike ride across Stanley Park Seawall, trek up a mountain to take in the sea views or have a kayak along Jericho Beach. Every second I spend reading a Political article for class in my room, I get an immediate fear of missing out on some adventure that will definitely be happening somewhere nearby. Which perhaps explains the lack of writing in my notebooks, and the masses of panorama shots of landscapes that are currently blocking up my Iphone’s memory.

I may not be 100% Canadian for a while – after another visit to a Thunderbirds football match I’m still puzzled as to why there’s around 300 people on a team. And I may never be as at ease on the wee stenched number 4 bus back from Granville Street as the locals appear to be. But none of that matters. Because I get to spend my weekends watching 12 orca whales roam around in the wild, playing beer pong at the pub on campus, and participating in the peculiar “Day of the Longboat” in which buses of UBC students are dumped on a beach and thrown into a “Longboat” in teams, in an attempt to paddle as hard as you can around a choppy sea course while trying not to capsize.

<<<<<< Casual Killer Whale

I think I’ve realised the key to exchange is acknowledging that comparing your experiences abroad to University life at home will never end well. You have to acknowledge that you’re on this year for a reason. To explore a new and amazing place, to meet people from across the globe, but most importantly, to embrace it. And as I look at my calendar at the planned trip to Whistler for a hike, a “Thanksgiving” home cooked meal with the British girls, and a Sunshine Coast camping trip – I know I’m doing just that.