COLUMN: Life as an exchange student – not a tourist, nor a local
Starting a new life abroad is frightening and exciting at the same time. It’s the thrill of exploring, while missing your loved ones terribly. In her strive to do as the locals in Aarhus, Sofía Pereira, exchange student from Costa Rica, found that mundane things like riding a bike is key – if you can deal with the leg pain.
About the columnist
Sofía Pereira is an exchange student from Costa Rica. She studies Journalism at Aarhus University during the spring semester of 2025. She holds a bachelor’s degree of Journalism and Hispanic Philology from the University of Navarra, Spain.
During her stay at Aarhus University, Sofia Pereira will write columns for Omnibus about her encounter with Danish culture and the student life in Aarhus.
This is an opinion piece, and the views expressed in the article reflect the author's perspective.
I recently watched an Instagram reel from a girl who stated, “No one’s braver than the person who packed their entire life at 18 and started a new life abroad.” I felt very flattered by her post. I didn’t move away from home because my country was going through turbulent times or because I had family issues. My decision to move abroad came from a very privileged standpoint. It mainly came from my enthusiasm for seeing the world, of interacting with people from different cultures, and gaining more independence. I am very grateful for this because I know plenty of people, especially my people from Venezuela, for whom it’s not a possibility. Leaving your country out of desire versus leaving out of need are two very different experiences. However, both entail packing up your belongings, saying goodbye to your loved ones, and putting on your big girl/boy pants for whatever you may encounter at your destination. It was indeed terrifying to learn how to cook, do my laundry, take the bus – or even worse, to figure out how to protect myself from getting robbed. In that sense, I agree with the girl from Instagram: saying yes to uncertainty, to discomfort, and to figuring out how to fend for yourself (no matter the circumstances that brought you there) takes a whole lot of courage.
Finding joy in the mundane
When I arrived in Denmark, I was excited to go out and explore. I booked trips to Copenhagen and Odense, simply because I couldn’t get tired of discovering new cities. Getting to know the city has required me to make a conscious decision of taking time off to go for a walk, go sightseeing, go to a museum or try a new restaurant. It has forced me to deal with questions that make me reflect on my culture, what I want out of my own life and where I want to live it. I remember walking through the rainbow panorama at the ARoS Museum for the first time. Seeing the city through rainbow colours made me realise that I didn’t want a perfect life, but one surrounded by peace and beauty. Moving to Aarhus allowed me to find joy in the mundane and to regain the sense of curiosity and being easily in awe as when I was a kid.
in Rome, do as the Romans
The most important step for me, striving to do as the locals, was getting a bike. The first time I rode my bike down the streets of the city centre will probably be one of my core memories of my entire exchange, and going up the hill to get back home was the worst leg pain I have ever experienced. I guess I just had to do as the Danes to feel more Danish, and I think it worked. Well, it worked when I finally understood the very complex sign language used between bike riders (no, Sofía, they don’t want to high five you, they are saying they want to turn left). Paradoxically, doing basic things like riding a bike, felt authentic and fun. As a means of transportation, my bike has offered a special freedom, convenience, and flexibility that no other mode of transport provides. It has allowed me to go wherever my curiosity leads me, even to the most remote corners.
However, small things in everyday life still remind me that I am not from Denmark. First and foremost, the language barrier. Danish is … well … complicated. I have tried, and I’ve been disciplined with Duolingo, but it has still been a challenge. Then, the weather. Sometimes it's sunny, beautiful, and a slight breeze hits your face; the next day, its grey, cloudy, pouring rain, and the wind even makes the buses go slower. Some days, I have this sense of accomplishment and pride because I have been able to make so many new friends, but there are other days when I miss my sister terribly. This is the crazy roller coaster of emotions that international students feel every day.
The best part about not being a tourist or a local is being delighted by the little things that locals might overlook: the joy of figuring out public transport without asking for help, the quiet pride of no longer falling for the tourist traps.
Transformed by the journey
I must admit that doing paperwork without my mom telling me where to sign or what documentation to present scared the heck out of me in the beginning. Nonetheless, I was able to overcome that fear. And that might be the greatest achievement of living abroad: learning how to deal with uncertainty and novelty, how to adapt to a new culture, and how to make another country your second home. And, in doing so, proudly discovering a version of yourself that exists outside of your comfort zone. Adapting to a new place is a journey, and if you’re lucky, like I have been, that journey transforms you.