Wish I was there...

January is generally not the best month in anyone’s year. What passed for enjoyable, seasonal weather in December has become dreary, cold and depressing in the new year. For all Imperialites, the first month of the year is stressful, sleep-scarce and just generally bollocks.

While reading this on campus, there are two ways you could have reacted to the previous paragraph: by nodding your head in agreement more and more vigorously, as you remember how bloody cold it was this morning (and your unfinished lab report); or by telling me to fuck off if you know me. Chances are it’ll have been the former. So, why do all my friends hate me?

Time to confess something: I’m not in London, but in Spain, thanks to some lovely people at the EU (and a Renaissance humanist). I’m spending my year on the Spanish Mediterranean coast, in Valencia. Two semesters that involve learning some physics (no, really), some Spanish, and how to “communicate” with the twenty-six other nationalities of the European Union. It’s not exactly Imperial. There are far too many beaches, for a start. Not to mention the 20ºC “winter” temperatures.

What right do I have to be moping about January, then? None, whatsoever. But if you’ve got this paper in your hands then neither do you.

One of the first things that a Spanish person on my course said to me was “what are you doing in Spain, if you’re at Imperial?” I gave her the usual babble about the weather, the language, the culture and the people (thus understating the relative importance of the weather) – but it got me thinking. Over the next few weeks, as I discovered life under the siesta regime, it was impossible to stop drawing comparisons between London and Valencia. Culture shock probably isn’t strong enough a word to describe it, but to compare the advantages and disadvantages of life in the UK and in Spain would take an entire book, and I’m going to let that be somebody else’s problem. For the skeptics who think that there’s no way that Spain could be worse than the UK, I can give you reasons ranging from the 20% unemployment rate to the seemingly arbitrary opening hours of shops.

However, there is one side of things where the balance is tipped in London’s favour – the university itself. Don’t get me wrong, Valencia has a really good university with excellent lecturers, a decent library, sports facilities and the like…yet it is simply incomparable to Imperial. The two don’t fit on the same scale. It’s like comparing the Heathrow Holiday Inn to the Ritz.

“World-class” is a term that gets bandied about by College PR people quite a lot ; while it may be a bit over-used, it is unquestionably legitimate. Very few other institutions in the world can claim to have facilities on a par with us. We are spoilt; having free use of a gym and a pool in the centre of London, societies for everything you could possibly think of, an incredibly active student union…the list goes on (not forgetting the inimitable felix). The whole science campus here has about as many cluster computers as the physics department at Imperial and its library covers about one floor of South Ken’s.

Forget widescreens in booths in a café; think CRT monitors and missing mice. But that’s just the material side of things. Everything back home is so much more structured: for example, you know what you have to hand in, to who, and when. In Spain these are considered variables rather than constants, which ends up being a lot more stressful in the end. Not everything can be done mañana.

I‘m loving Spain, though, and I’m loving my year abroad. One thing it’s taught me so far is this: Don’t take Imperial for granted. Of course, I know that you expected a lot when you chose Imperial. I know that you pay more than Spanish students. I know that I’m talking about two very different cultures.

But next time you’re complaining about how full of geeks this place is, or how small the gym is, or how cold it is in January, go find an Erasmus student and ask him to compare their university to yours. You’ll see how lucky you are.

Oh, and buy a thicker coat. You live in London, for god’s sake, not Valencia.