After five whirlwind months, I was finally on the plane home to Austin. It was 11:45 p.m. as we took off from Newark and I was exhausted, miffed with American goddamn Airlines and in the line of fire of some shouting match between the strangers beside me. But while every other student that’s been in my position has a trove of memories and personal growth to look back on, I spent the flight haunted by one thought: I felt exactly the same as I had five months ago, before I’d started my semester in Vienna. Had I squandered my time abroad?
Everyone I’d talked to about my semester abroad always told me I was going to be a completely different person when I came back. I had never traveled for longer than a few weeks outside the Lone Star State before and was vying for a change of scenery — and with how furiously discontent I was with my academics, extracurriculars and character as a person, I was vying for a chance to reinvent myself. But on that return flight, I still felt the same dread inside me as I did right when fall 2024 ended, humpbacked and groggy like a middle-aged high school economics teacher. My spring in Vienna had been wasted — or so I thought.
As it turns out, growth isn’t as easy as falling off a log.
The rise
I arrived in Vienna on a wintry February morning knowing nothing besides the fact I was supposed to be picked up by Anna, a native Austrian college student assigned to me by the Erasmus Buddy Network, the exchange program to help me acclimate to the new lifestyle. As we made our way to the train station, she tried soothing me over the fact I hadn’t learned a lick of German before the program began. Yes, everyone speaks English here aside from the elders, but I wasn’t going to have any of it. I was in a new city halfway across the world, now was the time to get out of my comfort zone linguistically — and in nearly every other way as well: housing, transit, food, socializing, sightseeing, the works.
One long hassle against Austria’s ghoulish international education housing website later, I secured a place in Rudolfsheim-Funfhaus, situated in Vienna’s artistic quarter at the foot of the Westbahnhof train station. For €670/month, I thought it was a total steal — until I saw another UTD exchangie only paying €309/month in rent. My new roommates were Brian, a chill and studious fellow Comet; Rohan, a kind-hearted Australian who always outdid himself in his cooking; and David, an easygoing Irish law student who bought me my first Guinness and savored the moment. Now, the place itself was dinky, dated and, as you’ll find in a lot of Europe, void of air conditioning, but it was conveniently located and affordable, too. It was worth it compared to the other housing projects my fellow exchangies moved into. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
I was in a new city halfway across the world, now was the time to get out of my comfort zone linguistically — and in nearly every other way as well: housing, transit, food, socializing, sightseeing, the works.
As I attempted to maneuver my key into the door lock the exact way Patrick instructed me, I realized I had no idea what Austrians even eat. Thus began my journey through Austria’s grocery stores, where I discovered that even the cheapest, lowest-quality shops like Lidl and Penny still offered quality options more nutritious and smaller in portion than those available in the U.S. The international selection, however, is an utter disgrace that did without even the most basic of international foods. Rohan and I went scouring the Billa Plus — supposedly the best-stocked and fanciest of the shops in Austria — for a block of paneer and all we found was one tin of haloumi. So much for the “Plus.”
That isn’t to say Austria itself isn’t diverse, though. I’d learn from Phillip, a very close Austrian friend I’d make later on, and Musya, the eccentric, fruity and bespectacled man in charge of EBN, that the country offers a breadth of diversity I might’ve otherwise missed as an American used to grouping all white people together. Musya told me that his secondary school in the sixth district was majority Balkan with maybe a couple of ethnically Austrian students, while Phillip said there were a lot of Asians, specifically Filipinos, who lived in Vienna, even if his home 13th district was mostly ethnic Austrian. That diversity is excellent for the food culture: the growing Turkish population, for example, means there are kebab stands on multiple street corners, including one right in front of my apartment.
Soon enough, I learned that Turkish kebabs are the bomb when you’re hammered and starving after a night of partying. The stand I frequented, West Kebab Stand, has an incredible chicken kebab with lettuce, onions, tomatoes, tahini and spice for only €4.50, completely justifying the consistent lines outside it at 4 a.m. But the fact that many kebab stand owners speak fluent Turkish, rudimentary German and a few words in English brought my concern about my nonexistent German right back up.
I had previously signed up for a pre-semester German fundamentals course, which I was determined to take head on and make the most out of. Excited to learn a new language with a new and diverse group of people, I excelled in the class even though the grammar was a tad complex. After that, I had planned to switch over to the Tandem Language Program, where I would be paired with a student who knew German and wanted to learn English and we could practice both our target languages together.
As my language skills came together, so did my social life. I was thrust into an orientation program with a dizzying number of people from a vast variety of countries, all incredibly open to talking with new people. While native Austrians have, in my opinion, a well-earned reputation for grumpiness and sticking to their predefined friend groups, my fellow exchangies were not like that, at least in the beginning. For the most part, we all had a similar situation, coming into Austria not being culturally Austrian or speaking the language one bit. People advertised get-togethers and trips all the time in our WhatsApp group. In fact, I met my main friend group because two people I’d met at a Speedfriending event wanted to see if anyone would join them at Cafe Europa, a wonderful Streamline Moderne cafe right in the heart of the 15th district about a 15-minute walk from my apartment.
To get to Café Europa on time that day, I rushed out of the Penny where I was about to shop only to get searched by the security guard because he thought I was shoplifting. The Ferris Bueller quote, “Life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while you could miss it,” rang inside my head the whole time. I ran to the cafe and was about 10 minutes late, though surprisingly, I was one of the first people there — even before Emilie and Yu, the two friends who’d offered the invite, showed up. This time, I supposed, I didn’t miss life. And I also found my main friend group… for the time being.
This time, I supposed, I didn’t miss life.
There were a whole new variety of experiences to wrap my mind around, starting with the city of Vienna itself, which according to a Forbes Magazine report, is tied with Zurich as the second most livable city in the world, though certainly nowhere as expensive. Each district was different, ranging from the touristy, historic Innere Stadt to the ghetto (by European standards) Favoriten district, along with tens of hundreds of restaurants, parks and scenic streets.
Beyond the famous tourist spots like Schonbrunn, Belvedere Palace, St. Stephen’s Cathedral and the Vienna State Opera were hidden gems like Cafe Landtmann, which offers just the most sublime eggs Hemingway and Mozart chocolate. Some other wonderful spots around Vienna include the Austrian Parliament, the Musikverien and even a brisk walk around one’s neighborhood. Even where I lived, the 15th district, had an aura like I’ve never seen and I want to see again. It was so historically rich, artsy, chic and lived-in that it felt like stepping into a painting every time I went outside. And Vienna’s central location in Europe meant tons of other cities, from charming Budapest to modernized Munich to baroque Prague, were only short train rides away.
I had my journey in German going for me, I was meeting all kinds of wonderful people with rich stories, I was learning about what it was to live alone, I was traveling to new destinations and exploring new cultures, I was walking around and eating healthier. Everything seemed to be going picture-book perfect. Too much so.
The fall
I was 19 going on 20 when I first stepped foot in Austria and, considering I had only drunk sparsely when I was in the U.S., suddenly being of age to drink anywhere and anything I wanted was like handing a machine gun to a chimp. Boy, I was the happiest chimp there was.
When I started out, I was an extreme lightweight. Two or three beers would get me tipsy and I was frankly a little ashamed of myself. I made a promise to myself that I would improve my tolerance to something respectable, so I tried to get more comfortable with drinking. Sounds reasonable.
Part of that was getting more familiar with the different kinds of Austrian beer. In my opinion, the best Austrian beer is a Puntigamer followed by Stiegel, with Weiselburger gunning for third place. All the other Austrian beers blend into each other, though none of them are terrible. My favorite beer period is Guinness, and I have Patrick and a couple affordable Irish pubs — Charlie P’s and The Long Hall — to thank for that.
I also tried White Russians, which are coffee liqueur (usually Kahlua), vodka and heavy cream, because I watched “The Big Lebowski” and thought they looked good. I first tried them at a shithole club called Loco, the hangout for all the exchange program students on Wednesdays: this rinky-dink, repurposed industrial dump off the Nussdorferstraße station run by a group of curmudgeonly Slavs in their late fifties, which sounds more interesting than it actually is. Every Wednesday at 7 p.m., I would find myself at Loco purchasing White Russians for €1.40 and practically scamming the owners with all the free drink coupons I used.
There was another popular exchangie hangout called Travelshack, a bar that turns into a club after 11 p.m. where we hung out on Tuesday, which I adored. It has a run-down, lived-in aesthetic, but unlike Loco, which puts you off, this pulls you in. It sported €3.20 for a small house beer, €6.80 for two decent-quality Happy Hour White Russians, an excellent music selection and a pool table where more often than not, a skinny pool hustler in an orange polo and an artist’s glove would challenge you to a game.
On Thursdays, we attended Spritzerstand and later Cocktailstand, which was run by EBN’s parent organization, AG WU, and would later head to Volksgarten, a classy 21+ club which you could sneak into if you had your EBN card. On Fridays and Saturdays, it was a free-for-all: whatever your friend group is doing, you do. U4 offers classic rock nights on Fridays and Praterdome was always best for Saturdays.
So now, we have the full alcoholic’s schedule: Travelshack Tuesday, Loco Wednesday, Spritzerstand and Volga Thursday, U4 Friday and Praterdome Saturday, a schedule I began to follow somewhat religiously as the months went on.
In the beginning, it physically hurt to drink more than twice a week. A few months later, though, I was spending recklessly, drinking five days a week and bumming cigarettes off Yu, who was a consistent smoker. And that fall lined up with how, at some point during the semester, the euphoric feeling of a new start had shut off.
It first started when communications with my assigned Tandem Language partner broke down. I tried to schedule a meeting to get to know one another, but he had an appendectomy and couldn’t continue. Talk about bad luck. I could’ve attended Tandem Language meetings or even had Anna be my Tandem Language buddy, but something inside me just didn’t push to try. I stopped learning and attempting to speak German with customer service people because they just responded in English once they knew where I came from and I didn’t even continue with my language learning app.
Friend groups were cemented and cliquey at this point, and everyone I knew was traveling much more than me. My original friend group from the Café Europa days had splintered off. I was rarely invited to travel with anyone as my new main friend group either couldn’t travel, had already visited every spot in Europe or had other friend groups with whom they were traveling with. I tried advertising in our travel group chat for potential trips during Easter break, but no dice. I had a friend with whom I planned to visit Leipzig and another friend who would come for one day in Amsterdam, but I went, for the most part, on my own.
There were no public libraries in Austria like we have the McDermott or Richardson Public Library, so I couldn’t read, and I lost the time and interest in my drawing as well. And it goes without saying that I wasn’t immersed in my classes at all. The fact that I only had to get a 50 in each class motivated me not to care about anything but my most difficult one, corporate finance.
I didn’t have my drawing, I didn’t have my reading, I didn’t have consistent travel and I certainly didn’t have an interest in school. I did have an endless supply of cheap liquor, cigarettes and a whole bunch of people who I thought I had to impress.
Instead of cherishing what I had, I thought about what I didn’t have or, more accurately, what I thought I didn’t have. I had a close friend, Aurelio, a master’s student from Italy who was a character, to say the least — brash and politically incorrect. You either adored the man or despised him, but as far as I saw, he was the second most popular guy in the exchange friend circle, first being Musya.
I did have an endless supply of cheap liquor, cigarettes and a whole bunch of people who I thought I had to impress.
Now, he was my friend and he never wronged me, but I envied what he had. How come everyone I knew kept inviting him to trips and seemed so passionate with him when I couldn’t even get the time of day? How come everyone loved him for being himself and no one gave a damn about me when I’m myself? I vied for that, and I tried to get what he had by becoming the town drunk. No one gave a shit about my drawing or reading, but they’ll pay attention to this.
And so I indulged those insecurities, becoming the biggest fool on Earth in those last couple months as I kept on drinking and smoking. And once I was done being a washed-up old coot, I realized I’d been no better than I was back in the U.S.. and had therefore thrown away that heart-warming, once-in-a-lifetime study abroad opportunity: the chance to change and come back as someone new.
But what I realized later is that, while I came back entrenched in the worst versions of my usual bad habits, I hadn’t actually started the trip off as my regular old self. Because I’d changed before even landing in Vienna.
The deconstruction
During winter break, before I left for Vienna, my family chewed me out during a short trip to Fredericksburg for ruining the trip with my complaining. That harsh truth made me question the cause of all my discontent and dissatisfaction. And I realized that, because I’ve lived my life and done my schooling not based on what was good and what made me feel good, but on what looks good, I developed a “resume mindset” that poisoned me without realizing.
American students use this formula where they take all AP/IB classes no matter what their strengths are, join or start prestigious-sounding clubs so long as they get leadership positions and compete for awards to decorate their resume. If they get a B or don’t win, instant shame. The lucky ones brag about it on their application to some prestigious university, pull the exact same scheme on a larger scale and apply it to an internship, where they get even more prestigious internships and later prestigious job offers in major cities. They keep moving up the ladder onto better-sounding positions, more money, a better house, better cars, kids who also seem clever and well-rounded — until retiring on a pile of money, frumpy and worn-out from all the time they spent being miserable working toward an image.
That was the same path I was headed down throughout high school and college, but I just wasn’t as good as the rest. I couldn’t bullshit my way through AP Calculus or DECA. I gave up the chance to study German in high school because everybody I talked to said it “didn’t make sense” on a transcript. We saw how that shot me in the foot. I felt miserable in my marketing class at UTD even though it was taught by the former CMO of 7/11. I just didn’t care, when what I had to do was care.
Just before I left for Vienna, I had largely discarded the resume mindset by trying to feel again. I did what my gut told me and what felt good. I started learning how to play the guitar downstairs instead of letting it collect dust. I got back into piano. I tried learning how to draw. I began doing yoga. I went to the blood bank to give blood. And while Vienna presented me the chance to develop this new, gut-following, happiness-prioritizing version of myself, it also presented the chance for me to forget all that growth when my insecurities and discomforts flared up and end right back at where I started.
Study abroad, with its euphoric highs and crashing lows, is a double-edged sword. And studying abroad in a brand-new corner of the world, potentially feeling more isolated than ever with the weight of self-reinvention on your shoulders, won’t result in you spawning brand-new facets into your personality. You won’t magically become a social butterfly or a language expert just by treading different soil. That work begins at home and is a choice you make every day during your time abroad.
Study abroad, with its euphoric highs and crashing lows, is a double-edged sword.
What studying abroad will grant, though, is new perspective. In Europe and the exchange program, students weren’t frantically trying to puff up their resumes, scheming on how to rise up in clubs or stressing about internships. They were not trying to be “the” best, they were trying to be “their” best. And learning from that mentality gave me the resolve to solidify the positive change I’m striving toward. I’m content where I am now, back to writing, exercising, drawing and doing extracurriculars I actually like and want to improve in.
So, my parting advice if you study abroad anywhere: you can make a bust of New York and a boom of Nacogdoches. It’s not in the magic of the place, but in your mindset.