Bonjour, Buona Sera

I'm thinking about how people often use trains as a metaphor for a journey - mostly some sort of symbolic, life-shaping voyage, a 'journey of discovery'. The literal train I am currently sat on taking me from Geneva to Milan, one adventure to another, is therefore somewhat underwhelming with its dirty windows, garish red seats and the persistent snore of the sleeping middle-aged frenchman slumped across from me. Yet as far as journeys go, this one is quite significant for my twenty year old self, as I travel towards what will be my new home for the next six months: Italy.

Today is all about getting there. I began the day in Morzine, France, where I have been on holiday with my family for the last week. Having been at uni for two years already with quite irregular trips home I wasn't expecting saying goodbye to be difficult, but I think the fact that I left at the same time as my sister - who is embarking on a round-the-world trip today - made it easy to forget that, unlike her, I would be home again in two and a half months. 'No one said it was going to be easy' said my mum. But fortunately I couldn't dwell on the tears long as I soon found myself alone in Geneva with four hours to get through before the next stage of my journey.

The first thing I noted about Geneva was how expensive it was. I naively (or rationally) thought that 20 francs would be enough to get me through four hours, but after spending 4 francs on a 4 minute journey from the airport to the centre, 9 francs to leave my suitcase in storage and 1 franc to go to the toilet, I barely had anything for the next 3 and a half hours. And no map. That was my next problem. Alone with no map and no money and next to no French skills, I decided to follow anyone who looked vaguely like a tourist to guide me into the centre of town. After wandering aimlessly for a while in some unknown direction, I found a cafe and wifi and was pleased to discover that my common sense had proved me right and I was right on the edge of the centre of town. The rest of the morning was spent wandering up and down streets, photographing unknown buildings, accidentally venturing 'off the beaten track' (ahem lost) and then retracing my steps back to the train station. Geneva is a lovely city though, full of well-dressed Swiss folk lunching al fresco, tall buildings with wrought-iron balconies and those very European window-shutters towering over cobbled alleyways, and then the beautiful blue waters of Lake Geneva making the city seem so much more open and calm.

Then I sat on a train for four hours watching the landscape change from mountains, fields and French chalets to the lakes and terracotta roofs of Italy. And the new Italian train guard greeted us all with a 'Buona Sera'.

I spent the evening in Milan; admiring the spectacular duomo, eating gelato and making friends with a little, old Italian woman who helped me when I was lost and then proceeded to ask me all about my life.

(Un)preparing

I read the first post of a blog the other day in which the writer spoke about all their ready-made plans; flight  booked, accommodation sorted, modules selected. At that point I had snapped my laptop shut as panic set in. My usually super-organised self was so unprepared for the next year that I could barely bring myself to think about it. I blame (of course) the incredibly nonchalant Italians who have given me next-to-no information, leaving me forced to pretend to be laid-back about the whole thing whenever anyone (notably my mum) asks me about my plans.

Since then though I have tried to take some steps in the direction of 'organised'. After searching for days for a cheap train from Geneva (near where I am now on holiday) to Genoa (where I am spending a month before moving to Bologna), I finally settled on what seemed to me like a fairly expensive but obviously standard-priced train. When I arrive in Genoa I will meet my Italian family, who I will stay with for a month as their Au Pair. With them I will travel firstly to Cervinia in the Valle d'Aosta to spend a week, and then will spend the rest of August and the beginning of September with them in Cappelletta di Masone, a village which they have told me has only 30 houses and which 'is not the kind of place a girl of your age would usually go'. A nice, quiet summer in the country sounds perfect to me, I told them. I will move to Bologna in the middle of September to find a flat before term begins. And from there who knows - it's all rather vague.

I'm starting to think that I'm going to have to learn to be slightly more relaxed if I'm going to survive amidst the Mediterranean way of life...

But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies

When I decided to study languages at university I knew very well that my third year would be spent abroad. In fact, whenever I'd tell people my degree that would be one of the first things they'd ask me, "ooh have you been on your year abroad yet?". But even so, it wasn't something that I had thought about too much myself. My answers would be the generic "no not yet ... no, I'm not sure where I want to go ... yes I'm looking forward to it". It was just this thing you'd hear mentioned in passing in the corridors of the language department, or else you'd be reminded of it at the sight of those elusive fourth years who would return with what seemed to me like an air of greater wisdom and experience about them, shrouded in mystery and intrigue.

But in the last few months that phrase, "Year Abroad", has been coming up in my own conversation. And now somehow I have already packed up my life into a 29kg suitcase, and I have already left dear ol' Yorkshire to find a new home for a year in Italy and Spain.

I chose to spend the first part of my year abroad in Bologna simply because I had heard good things about the city and the university, and thought perhaps it wouldn't be as full of roaming tourists as Florence and Rome. Since then I have heard the food is spectacular and that there is a great student vibe. I will spend 5 months in Bologna before returning home and preparing for the second part of my adventure, Spain. My choice to go to Granada came after studying Lorca at A-level and being intrigued by the city and its potent Islamic history. The backdrop of the Sierra Nevada makes Granada look striking in photos, and promises of 30+ degree temperatures whilst I am there only endorse my decision.

Now I have said goodbye to the rolling hills of the Holme Valley; am currently on holiday in the Alpine beauty of Morzine, France; soon to depart for the Valle d’Aosta's famous views; then onwards to the charming red buildings of Bologna; before ending my year amongst Granada's intriguing Muslim architecture.

I am not expecting anything ‘life-changing’, but for my 20-year-old self, living and studying beneath new skies in this small pocket of the world will be a new and exciting experience.

Saying goodbye to London, learning Italian recipes, cycling in Yorkshire, exploring West Sussex, packing my life into a suitcase, making plans.