Don’t Look Back Into the Sun…

The student holiday, alongside graduation ball, losing one’s festival virginity and the infamous Gap Yah, are rites of passage upon which we embark, in the fruitless quest to gain some sort of wisdom. Little do we know; the sarcastic, greasy, spot-ridden bodies in which we reside are so pickled with a noxious concoction of Glens Vodka and Bavaria, that we are wholly impervious to even the mere concept of wisdom. Lets face it, our teeth are the only source of so-called wisdom we possess (and even at that we destroy them by trying to prise steel caps off glass bottles with them).

What we do gain throughout these endeavours is experience and character. Not to mention photographic evidence created with the sole purpose of clogging up one’s Facebook feed and, for an unfortunate few, Chlamydia.

There is something curiously satisfying about the stinging of sunburnt shoulders, salty skin, sweaty clothes and sandy hair. I have just returned from Croatia, a country so intoxicatingly beautiful; her bountiful beaches and picturesque towns shine like a beacon of light amongst a sea of trashy tourist destinations loaded with chundering adolescents…

I spent a glorious seven days in the company of four amazing friends. It was an adventure I’ll never forget. While listing off private jokes, comical stories and gory details would bring me immense satisfaction, it would mean nothing to you. This is why I implore you, students, to go. Go now, while you can still get away with living off four quid a day. Go now, as you pass through what will no doubt be the most carefree years of your life. Go now while you have the chance.

Where you venture is entirely up to you. Contrary to nigh on every landlord in Edinburgh, I don’t think that every student is the same. Granted, every student should, on at least one occasion, go on an outright bender and make a complete and utter twat of themselves involving traffic cones and/or shoe polish whilst abroad. There are those among us, however, who seek more than that which Shagaluf and Ios (barf) can offer. Some have the travel bug, while others have a drinking problem. That’s what we call diversity.

For those among you with the passion to see more than a half-naked chick desperately trying not to swallow her own vomit whilst doing a keg stand, I applaud thee. As for those of you who just read an interpretation of your wildest dreams, I envy you. For yours are the days upon which we reminisce; knowing they cannot be recreated after you start taking red wine too seriously.

Regardless of what path you take on holiday (booze cruise or off the beaten track) when amongst friends, with little more to trouble you than module selection and whether you’ll get tickets to THAT gig, you will never forget your student holiday. For there will never be that same combination of pals, all willing to spend their last dime to be around you, with no particular purpose but to have fun, however that my unfold, ever again. Never. Do whatever it takes to make it happen

Around about the time my friends began to book their flights, a sense of panic overcame me. I had just been fired, had no money and Virgin Media had officially announced my bounty. There was no feasible way that I could afford to jet off for a week whilst living on a diet of nicotine and sultanas.  When faced with a choice like this the lucky student can often turn to parental assistance, student loan or savings for such funding. Unfortunately I wasn’t in such a position. Mother dearest had taken this opportunity to teach me a life lesson on prioritising money, my grant had died a death 20 jagerbombs ago, and saving shmavings- what kind of student has savings anyway…?

It was my sister, the explorer, discoverer, adventurer extrordinaire  who came to the rescue. Upon hearing of my ‘super mature’ decision to forgo my excursion in order to find a job for the summer, she promptly told me I was a fool, and to get some nuts. She spotted me the cash to cover the trip. While the sum in itself  will seem irrelevant in years to come, it meant the world to me that day. For this and every other experience she has given me I thank her. Cheers VonVon.

Befriend the locals; convince yourself you’re a mixologist and make some putrid mess of a cocktail. Break into a boat; teach someone to swim and steal a T-shirt for no reason in particular. Buy chavy hats, and wear them. Follow the crazy guy to the illusive beach party. Wrangle some drinks off crazy sailors and run away. Have sex under water. Take cheesy group photos and live on bread and cheap salami.

Wear suncream, but don’t ever be afraid to get a little burnt.

Written by special_k, University of Edinburgh




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