Because I’m not just a London-phile, but an Anglophile as well, I thought it was only appropriate that I see more of England and the UK. I would have liked to have made it out to Brighton to be by the seaside again, but I reasoned that seeing one of the university towns would show me exactly what I was missing by studying abroad in France.
It was between Cambridge and “the other place” (Oxford) as it always is – and I went with the former because I have a crew neck sweater with the Cambridge crest already and feel as though that means I’ve pledged my allegiance to them.
An hour train journey away from London, Cambridge is a college town with so many students – young, old, international, undergrad, postgrad, you name it.
I would have loved to have spent a semester at Cambridge, or any university in the UK for that matter. That’s what I always imagined for myself whenever I thought about a semester abroad. How I ended up in France is a mystery in itself, but I don’t regret my decision at all. French is a beautiful language, and France a beautiful country.
But that’s not the point here.
The point is that Cambridge is a cute town, and it was a privilege to visit it.
It was really humid, though. The type of humidity where it feels like it could start pouring any second. Which after some rumbles of thunder, it did.
There’s something about summer rain. It’s never too cold, or too warm. It’s a rain that you can walk in without an umbrella. And once it’s stopped, it leaves the air nice and fresh.
As I was sitting in a café that morning, I never felt so in the moment as I did there.
I have been living a dream, and I am head over heels in love with the feeling.