Dear Cherwell,
I hope this postcard finds you in the best of spirits. How was the summer internship at the Telegraph? I’ve got a few minutes spare so I thought I’d drop you a quick line to let you know how I’m doing on my year abroad. I do it ‘cos I care, you see.
It’s two months now since I waved goodbye to the eternal mediocrity of Derby, kicked my two 20kg suitcases through the departure lounge of Liverpool airport, bought a ridiculously overpriced Eat Natural bar at 30,000 feet and eventually rocked up in the delightful, industrial environs of Nantes. Don’t worry, I’d never heard of the place either. Turns out it’s the sixth biggest city in France, and it’s the European Green Capital for 2013. Oh, and they also have a 40 foot mechanical elephant that rides around an ex-shipyard all day squirting water at people. So there.
Nantes is actually a pretty cool city. Too cool in places – and I don’t just mean the weather. By day, tourists gawp at the contemporary art installations tucked away on every street corner. At sunset the city comes alive; its late night cafés and bars packed to the rafters with patrons so hipster it hurts. A former banana warehouse, transformed in the midnoughties into a gleaming strip of shiny new bars, clubs and restaurants, is an iridescent beacon of urban regeneration perched on the grubby banks of the Loire. Nantes’s industrial heritage continues to make its presence felt in every corner of the city. The old biscuit factory still stands defiantly against a backdrop of grey sky, its tower disguised as a Fabergé egg. Today Kraft Foods produces the pillow-shaped Petit Beurres, and the vast premises left behind is a national centre for music and the arts. The Machines de l’Île, home to an enormous nautical carousel as well as the aforementioned robotic pachyderm, is a veritable shrine to the golden age of engineering. Drawing inspiration from Jules Verne and da Vinci, this merry-go-round invites you to straddle steampunk seahorses and sit astride sinister squid as it completes its eerie rotation to a soundtrack worthy of a Tim Burton film. The exposed valves and pistons form a vital part of the aesthetic, and the overall result is a sublime feat of macabre marine mechanics.
But let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. A year abroad isn’t just a holiday. There’s work to be done. For me, this means that from 9 to 7, Monday to Friday, I can be found in the offices of EuradioNantes, a radio station specialising in European affairs. Along with nine other interns from around Europe, I’m here to take part in the biannual broadcast journalist training scheme. My job is to present the daily English language shows. This mainly involves talking animatedly about local festivals, interviewing obscure Italian indie bands, and trying to muster interest in the latest EU agricultural reforms. It sounds fun. And sometimes it is. Sometimes it makes Oxford look as easy as tarte aux pommes. I’m waiting for the day when I come home and have the energy to do more than just feed myself and sleep.
At the weekends it livens up a bit. Saturdays are invariably spent having a breakdown in Carrefour over the lack of sausages, peanut butter, golden syrup and/ or proper houmous. On Sundays, in a desperate attempt to curb the creeping homesickness, I fi nd myself watching Strictly Come Dancing on iPlayer. I still skip the bits with Bruce in, of course. There’s life in me yet. In my darkest hours, I think of how I could have bagged myself a juicy little British Council teaching job. How I could have been sunning myself in some backwater village in Provence, occasionally popping into the local school to point at a few laminated posters of farm animals. And been paid double my current wage for the privilege. But frankly, I would have hated it. For now, Nantes will have to do.
Wish you were here!
Sophie
xx
